When I hear feet slamming into the platform I am immediately defensive. I spin around to face the attacker, placing myself between him and Peeta. The man approaching does not come across as hostile, but I can't trust anyone at this point. He looks vaguely familiar. His skin is dark and as he rushes to us, I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
"Is he breathing?" the man asks when he is close enough to whisper. He drops to his knees, his concerned eyes surveying Peeta's body.
"Barely," I choke out. The man raises his fingers to Peeta's throat, resting them gently under his jawbone.
"His pulse is weak. Breathing is thready. We need to get him inside. Run, go get Haymitch." He gestures to the train as if to point, but his limb comes to a stump partway down his forearm. I don't know who he is, but I know he's one of us. A victor. I push myself up and run to the train. I throw the door open and storm past the attendant. I bolt to the bar, certain I'll find at least Haymitch there. When I burst inside, the whole team is sitting around a table, sipping cocktails. Their eyes lift to me and they immediately know something is wrong. My dress is torn and hanging from my body. My hands and torso are covered in Peeta's blood. The heel on one of my shoes is broken and my entire stance is off-kilter.
"Peeta," I gasp out, my lungs burning. They are immediately on their feet and follow me out of the train. The frigid night air envelopes us as we run down the platform. Effie throws off her shoes to keep pace. I reach Peeta first, dropping down to him. "I'm here, I'm here," I say as I run my fingers through his hair. His body is cold, and I can't tell if it's from lying in the night or something more foreboding. I push that thought from my mind.
"Chaff," Haymitch says as he reaches out a hand and pats the dark-skinned man on his back.
"Get him on the train. I'll send a medic," Chaff says, and rushes away from us down the platform. Haymitch loops his arms under Peeta's, and Cinna grabs his legs. They push up and Peeta moans out in pain.
"Stop it! You're hurting him!" I scream. Portia grabs my hand and forces my eyes to hers.
"We can't leave him out here," she whispers.
I know that. I know that. They carry him back to the train and I follow, feeling utterly useless. I look over my shoulder to where the lamplight pours like a spotlight on Peeta's silhouette of blood, already seeping its way into the dry wood.
Effie runs ahead of us, and when we enter the train she gestures to the dining car. "In here! Bring him in here!" she calls as she sweeps an arm across the table. Centerpieces and accompanying adornments fly across the room. Haymitch and Cinna lay Peeta on the table. Portia hands Cinna some fabric shears and he begins carefully cutting Peeta's clothes from his body. It looks so much worse than I imagined.
"They clearly avoided his face," Haymitch says as we take in the rest of him. Peeta's mouth is covered in blood, but only because he coughed it up. His face remains relatively intact. But as the clothes are stripped from his body, the extent of his injuries becomes alarmingly evident. His skin is already bruising, and angry, dark purple marks streak his rib cage. His legs are covered with puncture wounds and deep lacerations, and I quickly realize one of the batons must have been wrapped in barbed wire. I feel trivial, so I start to unlace his shoes. My fingers shake and struggle with the double knots he always ties. Seeing him lying there exposed makes his missing limb that much more dramatic. This is a boy that has been beaten, tortured, and abused again and again. I pull the shoes off his feet and hold them in my hand.
After what feels like an eternity, a medic finally boards the train and is escorted to our room by one of the train attendants, who looks at us sympathetically before closing the door behind him. People from the Capitol are real, I remind myself. I remember Peeta's words. He always makes me see beyond myself in a way I can't get to on my own. I'm too selfish. I'm selfish right now, too. I want Peeta.
The medic sets her bag on one of the chairs and begins to assess Peeta. She listens to his chest and palpates around his torso. She runs her fingers over his body, assessing wounds and checking his eyes. Finally, she says, "As far as I can tell, he's okay. I have no idea the extent of his internal injuries, but we aren't in the position to know. I'd really like to get a chest scan, but…" Her voice drops. We all know. "You two are stylists, right? I recognize you from TV," the medic asks, gesturing to Cinna and Portia. Portia nods her head quickly. "I'm going to need you two to help me with his legs. Some of those lacerations are deep and need to be sewn up. I assume you are good with a needle and thread?" she asks.
"I sew fabric. That's… it's his skin," Portia chokes out. Cinna turns to face her and places a hand on each cheek. He looks at her with warm eyes.
"It's no different. You can do this. Peeta needs you to do this." Portia nods again, batting tears out of her eyes. The medic hands them some supplies, shows them how to clean the wounds, and Cinna and Portia begin stitching his legs back together. I start to find my breath when suddenly Peeta's eyes shoot open. He grasps his chest and his breathing quickens.
"Dammit, that's what I was worried about," the medic curses under her breath, digging through her medical bag. "How do I not have a tube in here?" Her eyes shoot up to Haymitch and Effie. "I need you to find me a plastic tube. Something sturdy but flexible. At least as big as a pencil, and relatively clean. Can you do that for me?"
Haymitch gets a look in his eye and I know he has an idea. He and Effie leave, and I suddenly feel very alone. Peeta is still gasping for air and I take his hand and whisper to him. "Hey, we've been through worse. You're going to be fine. Just stay here with me, okay? You promised to stay with me." He meets my eyes, and I see tears streaming down the side of his face. He nods at me and continues gasping like a fish on land. His color is starting to shift, and I begin to panic. This is so stupid. We won the Games. This is supposed to be over.
Haymitch and Effie burst through the door, a long rubber tube hanging in his hand. "It's from the keg. Effie washed it in the sink, but I'm not sure it's clean enough?"
"It will have to do," the medic says, and takes the tube. She removes a scalpel from her bag and brings her face over Peeta's. "Okay, listen to me. This is going to hurt, but then you will be able to breathe. I need you to lie very still, okay?" Fear overtakes Peeta's eyes, and he looks at me desperately.
"Do you want me to hold you down?" I ask, and he nods again. I press all my weight on his shoulders and look at the medic. "We're ready."
"Okay, here we go," she says, and the scalpel slices into Peeta's side. She shoves in the tube, and he screams in agony. His body struggles against mine, and I push him into the table. Finally, I hear a whir like air being released, and then blood pours from the tube onto the dining car floor.
"Is that what's supposed to happen?" I ask frantically, but then I feel Peeta's chest moving up and down. He can breathe. I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heart beat. Portia and Cinna finish, and Effie begins wiping Peeta's body down with a wet cloth. The medic whispers to Haymitch, and finally she excuses herself and slips out of the train. Portia brings some clean pajamas and, with some effort, we get the clothes on his body. He has 3 broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and general signs of trauma. We need to get him to his room, and not move him again. I suggest carrying the whole table down, but the narrow hallways of the train won't allow for it.
"I'll walk," he says, and I immediately dismiss him. "No, I can do it," he says again, and sits up. His world shifts dramatically and Peeta grasps the table tight, trying to right himself. "Let's go," he says, and rises to his feet. Haymitch and Cinna each hold a hand on his shoulder and one on his back, and after an hour we've made it down the couple of cars to his room.
"I should stay here tonight," Haymitch says, and the others nod in agreement.
"No," I say, and my team gives me a peculiar look.
"He shouldn't be alone at night, while everyone is sleeping," Effie insists.
"He hasn't been… alone… at night." My eyes drop to the floor. My secret is out. Our secret is out. Effie begins to protest, but Haymitch urges her out of the room. Cinna follows behind them, and Portia reaches to close the door, but not before giving me a kind, thankful smile.
I feel the train lurch, and we finally leave District 8.