Chapter Eight
I gasp in a breath, suddenly awake and disoriented. My memories are hazy, a fine film over false images I can no longer distinguish from the real. Shaking shoulders, pulsing thoughts. My hands clutch beneath me, gathering in a soft, thin fabric. As I struggle to sit up, hands push at my shoulders, forcing me back down, and suddenly I know where I must be.
Back with Snow. Back with the doctors. Back to torture and pain and fear.
But something isn't right, and my pulse quickens in anticipation as I wait for the pain that doesn't come. The visions that don't appear. There are hushed, harried voices and a gentle beeping, but nothing makes sense in the tumultuous chaos of my mind. I see shapes moving but nothing matters nothing makes sense nothing matters. There is a woman before me, she shines a light in my eyes and it burns but I don't mind. I can understand pain.
"His vision looks fine," she calls to someone behind her, as I blink rapidly in the face of the brightness. She pauses for a moment, looking into my eyes though I don't see her. "How do you feel, Peeta?" she asks, her voice soft but too close, too close to me. Peeta. Yes, that is me. That was me. It feels unfamiliar in my ears. Was that who I was? Is that who I am? I don't know anymore. How do I feel? How should I feel? I feel unsteady, and I feel afraid, and I feel angry.
She waits for a response, but I have none. So I say nothing, just stare at her blankly. She frowns slightly, backing away and whispering something to a woman with a clipboard. I don't try to make out their conversation because it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Because even though I am here I am broken and they are going to try to fix me but they CAN'T and I don't want them too because THEY are the ones who broke me and THEY are the ones who will break now.
I fall back on the mattress, suddenly dizzy and breathing heavily. They look at me with alarm, and suddenly several nurses are surrounding me, testing and poking and prodding. A man sticks a needle into my arm, and I feel a sharp pain, but I am too tired to react. Too confused to question. I make maps in the lines on the ceiling, trying to remember. I don't even know what. Just, remember. But nothing helps and soon I find myself sinking, falling, drowning back into the memory.
Her voice whispering in my ear that she loved me and her hand clasped in mine telling me everything was going to be okay. But she didn't love me and it isn't okay and I am the victim of her cruel games and I will have vengeance. They promised me that. I must. I have no choice. She has left me no choice.
"His heart rate is rising." The scratch of pens on paper. "Breathing is quickening." White coats and dark eyes. "What's happening?" I don't know. They should know. They brought me here, they want me here but what is going on and how do I exist in this prison that is closing in on me?
There's a gentle click as my door opens again. I glance over, expecting to see another white-clad figure, but no. I know her face the instant I see it. And I
can't
breathe.
It can't be real. Can it be? She looks the same, but so sad. Not sad. Guilty. Guilty for what she has done. She how she hesitates. She is afraid. And she should be. She sent us to the Capitol. It's her fault. It's all of their faults. This was always their intention. And now it's my turn.
My arms move, but I'm not sure what I intend to do with them. She, however, starts toward me, her arms reached out in front of her. To me. And I am gone.
It's happening again. She is trying to kill me. Her smile is a mask, her tears are weakness, and she will fall. Because I will not be weak anymore. I will not be me. I was weak and she knew that and she took advantage and now I am strong and she will know it.
She is so beautiful.
My hands reach up, fingers closing around the soft skin at her neck, and I squeeze.
Her throat is as easy to damage as my heart.