20
I decide I hate Haymitch. I truly, utterly loathe him for sending down food that Katniss is surely going to make me eat. And she does. She makes me eat every bite. I fight her at every spoonful because food is the last thing I want right now. It smells awful, it tastes awful, and it's hard to swallow down. I know if I wasn't so sick it might taste delicious, but that doesn't make me want any of it. However, I do get kisses whenever I don't fight her as much, so there's some incentive to eat.
When the pot is empty, the food actually has stuck and it settles comfortably in my belly, nice and warm. I start to feel drowsy again and Katniss lets me sleep. Nightmares plague me. I wake up several times, still half in my dream world. The second time I wake I feel a warm body next to me, watching over me and outside. Katniss. I smile happily. When I drift back into sleep the nightmares aren't so bad.
When I wake up fully, I feel much better. My fever's broken. Then I notice that Katniss is not beside me. I open my eyes and sit up weakly. She's not anywhere in sight.
Panic grips me. What if Cato and Clove have found her? I start to get up so I can go find her, but it's difficult because my leg feels like dead weight.
Katniss appears in the mouth of the cave and a wave of relief sweeps over me. The fright I've just felt doesn't disappear so easily, though. She raises her eyebrows questioningly at me.
"I woke up and you were gone," I explain. "I was worried about you."
She chuckles as she eases me back down. "You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"
"I thought Cato and Clove might have found you," I say seriously. "They like to hunt at night."
"Clove? Which one is that?"
"The girl from District Two," I explain. I realize, though I have assumed Clove has survived because she doesn't seem the type to go out so easily, I have had no information to confirm this. "She's still alive, right?" I ask.
"Yes," she answers. Though I am not surprised by the answer, I don't like it. I have no doubt Clove still has it out for me, and she would kill me happily. And Katniss, just to hurt me. "There's just them and us and Thresh and Foxface."
Who in the hell is Foxface?
"That's what I named the girl from Five," she answers my unsaid question. "How do you feel?"
"Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud," I say, smiling happily at her. Though I still feel awful, I really do feel a bit better after a good night's sleep. And I know most of the reason is because of everything Katniss has done for me. "Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag…and you."
She smiles, and touches my cheek. Sparks fly in my chest at the gesture. She starts to pull away but I catch her hand, and kiss it. Just because I can do that now. And it feels wonderful that I can.
I desperately want to believe this is real, but some part of me knows a lot of this is all for the audience. Especially on her part. A little bit on mine. Because normally I would never be so forward. It took me years to even talk to her, longer to confess my feelings, and even then it was all for the audience. Being forward is definitely not one of my strong points.
"No more kisses for you until you've eaten," says Katniss.
Dammit.
We prop myself against the wall into a sitting position and under threat of no more kisses I eat the berry mush she feeds me. I manage to keep it down but when she tries to feed me groosling meat the smell churns my stomach and I turn it down. Thankfully, she doesn't force it on me.
I scrutinize Katniss while she makes me eat. She looks tired. She has dark circles under her eyes and I wonder how long it's been since she's had a good night's sleep. As far as I know, she has been alone in the arena until this time. And most likely sleeping in trees. I have no idea how she can sleep like that at all, and I can't even begin to believe she has slept restfully. And last night she was keeping watch over me, keeping us safe. Even now I can tell she's exhausted.
"You didn't sleep," I voice my thoughts aloud.
"I'm all right," she lies.
"Sleep now," I tell her. "I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens."
She doesn't seem entirely convinced. She has to sleep, though. And it's better she does it now while she still can. Who knows what could happen tomorrow? I'd rather have an alert and well-rested Katniss taking care of me and keeping me safe than a groggy one. But my reasons are not entirely selfish. She's going to wear herself out if she doesn't sleep.
"Katniss, you can't stay up forever," I point out. She sighs, giving in.
"All right," she says. "But just for a few hours. Then you wake me."
She smooths the sleeping bag out and lays on top of it, one hand on her loaded bow. I would call her paranoid, but she has every reason to be. I sit close beside her, sitting up against the wall to make sure I don't fall drift off, my leg stretched out. The pain has increased a bit. Katniss keeps her eyes trained on my face. I look down at her.
"Go to sleep," I say softly, and it only seems natural to brush the loose strands of hair off her forehead. She closes her eyes at my touch. I don't want to stop stroking her hair and she doesn't complain, so I don't, even when she falls asleep.
And I decide I love watching her sleep. She looks so much more peaceful. That ever-present scowl of hers disappears, and her expression becomes very soft as well as her breathing. The weight of her world has lifted off her shoulders in sleep. She could be as innocent and happy and peaceful as she was before her father died.
I become so absorbed looking at her that I almost forget I'm supposed to be keeping watch. I look outside, but there's no danger to speak of. So I continue watching her sleep, glancing every once and a while outside the cave to make sure everything is safe and sound.
She said to wake her after a few hours, but I can't bring myself to do it. There's really no reason to wake her, and she needs a good hard sleep. And I love seeing her sleep. It takes me back to a happier time during childhood. I can't let go of it that easily.
It's late afternoon by the time her breathing has quickened and her eyes flutter open. She sits up, looking much better rested. She does look slightly angry, though.
"Peeta," she says accusingly. "You were supposed to wake me after a couple hours."
"For what? Nothing's going on here," I say. She frowns at me. "Besides I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your look a lot."
And of course she scowls at this, making me grin. She looks at me in concern, and places a cool hand on my cheek.
"Have you been drinking?" she says accusingly.
"Hey," I say, smirking. "I'm not Haymitch."
She huffs at this, though the corners of her mouth twitch in amusement. "I meant water."
"I know," I say. "And yes I have been."
I'm lying. I haven't been drinking much water. At all, actually. I wasn't thirsty, and I was more caught up in watching Katniss sleep. Water is somewhere down around food on my priority list right now. Which on a healthy person's priority list is just above getting mauled by a tiger.
It's clear Katniss doesn't believe me. She even checks the water containers. She makes me take more pills and drink two whole quarts of water. Then she tends to my wounds again, leaving my leg for last. She unwraps it, and this time I look at it myself. Dread fills me as I see the red streaks crawling their way up my leg. Even though my medical skills are rudimentary (pretty much limited to stick a band-aid on it) I know enough to know that it does not bode well for me.
"Well," she says unsteadily, looking worried. "There's more swelling, but the pus is gone."
"I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," I say softly. There's no point in her trying to hide it from me. It's more destructive than not. "Even if my mother isn't a healer."
Her eyebrows come in and up, and she bites her lip anxiously.
"You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win."
She's in denial. Avoiding the situation like my brothers do.
If I'm doomed, I'm doomed. It's already too late to save me. I might have known this from the moment Cato stabbed me and left me alone. I had already resigned myself to die, anyway. At least now I can die knowing Katniss doesn't want me dead, and knowing she doesn't hate me. And this means a change in the game plan. I don't want her tethered to a dying person. She should be free, like a bird. Like a mockingjay. And then she can bring down the other tributes and go home. I can't help her anymore. Not like this.
But I don't voice any of this. I know from when I tried to say if I didn't make it back and she kissed me that that would lead nowhere and get me nothing.
"Yes, that's a good plan," I say instead.
"You have to eat," she says. "Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup."
"Don't light a fire," I say, suddenly concerned she'd give away our position by doing so. "It's not worth it."
"We'll see," she says, then exits the cave.
While she's gone I grow progressively worse. I feel absolutely miserable. My leg hurts like hell. My entire body is sore. I'm hot and cold at the same time. Staying in the sleeping bag makes it unbearably warm, so I lay on top of it.
Katniss is gone for a while. I wish she'd come back. I'm beginning to feel too alone. Having another person with me the arena makes it seem less violent. Sometimes I've almost forgotten I'm in the Hunger Games and on national television with Katniss around and taking care of me, talking to me. It's so wonderful to hear another human voice . . .
God, I'm going loony. This fever and heat is getting to me.
At long last, Katniss comes back. She puts cool clothes on my head. Just like my parents would do if I were sick. My father would always tell me stories after he did this. And they always made me feel better.
"Do you want anything?" asks Katniss.
"No," I say. She's already doing enough for me. "Thank you. Wait," I say, remembering those stories my father would tell me, and wondering if Katniss would do the same. And I'd really like to know a bit more about her. "Tell me a story."
"A story?" she says, looking slightly apprehensive. "What about?"
"Something happy," I say, because I've had enough misery and conflict for a lifetime. "Tell me about the happiest day you can remember."
I know what the happiest day I can remember is. The day I heard Katniss sing. I wonder what hers would be. I want to compare it to mine. She scowls at this, and huffs, which makes me smile. Surely it can't be that hard to come up with a happy story? Maybe it is, when you're Katniss Everdeen and you are the sole breadwinner for the household . . . no pun intended.
"Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim's goat?" she asks. I shake my head. Apparently she's forgotten she's never told me much about anything, and that we didn't even talk to each other before the reaping.
She tells me the story, how she sold an old silver locket of her mother's to pay for dress materials as a birthday present for Prim. That she spots the Goat Man in town while she's at the dress shop with Gale and goes to him. One of the goats was injured, so badly that Goat Man was going to send her to the butcher, but Katniss knew her mother and Prim could fix it. She told Gale she wanted the goat for Prim. Rooba, the butcher, showed up, and all but let Katniss buy it. It took half an hour for Goat Man and Katniss to agree on a price. But she got the goat for her sister, and bought a pink ribbon to tie around it's neck in a moment of complete giddiness. The thought of a giddy Katniss makes me smile, because she never seems to get giddy, and it's a wonderful picture.
Gale carried the goat and they went home. The way she explains Prim's reaction to the goat reinforces how much she loves her sister. Her mother and Prim went to work on fixing up the goat, reminding me of how Katniss is caring for me.
"They sound like you," I voice. She looks down at me like she'd forgotten I was there.
"Oh, no, Peeta. They work magic. That thing couldn't have died if it tried."
Then her eyes go wide, and she bites her tongue, realizing what she has said. Realizing the fact that I am dying. Though I would have been dead long ago if it hadn't been for her care.
"Don't worry," I say jokingly. "I'm not trying. Finish the story."
"Well, that's it," she says. Then she tells me that night Prim had slept with the goat, Lady, on a blanket next to the fire. And the goat licked her cheek just before they drifted off, like it was giving her a good night kiss. The image along with the expression on Katniss's face as she speaks of her sister makes me unbelievably content and happy.
"Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Just trying to get a picture," I say, the image completing itself and bringing a smile to my face. "I can see why that day made you happy."
"Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine," she says.
"Yes, of course I was referring to that," I say drily. "Not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping."
"That goat has paid for itself. Several times over," she says in a superior tone. I smile.
"Well, it wouldn't dare do anything else after you saved its life," I say. "I intend to do the same thing."
I do. I plan to give her my life. Whether here or back in Twelve. It's hers. I'll pay it back, one way or another.
"Really?" she says. "What did you cost me again?"
"A lot of trouble," I answer truthfully. "Don't worry. You'll get it all back."
"You're not making sense," she says. I suppose I'm not. I'm not even making much sense to me. I guess I had just said she'd get a lot of trouble back. That's not what I want to give her. She places her hand on my forehead again. Her hand is ice-cold and I know the fever must be worse. She bites her lip. "You're a little cooler though."
Bullshit.
The sound of the trumpets makes us both jump. Katniss is on her feet and at the mouth of the cave in a flash. Claudius Templesmith is inviting us to a feast. We're not even close to being hungry thanks to Katniss, so news of a feast isn't all that important to us. Katniss seems to have the same thoughts I do, and turns away, waving a hand in indifference.
But Claudius's next words are enough to grip me in a panic. Each of us need something desperately, and we'll find what we need in a backpack at the Cornucopia at dawn. And we do need something desperately. Something to heal my leg. Already I know what Katniss is planning on doing, and I am not going to let that happen. She is not going to that thing, where all the other tributes are, all of them willing to kill her if they get the chance. Cato and Clove, who I know for sure will be gunning for her. No. She is not going. Not on my account, and not if I can prevent it.
It's scared me enough to get me to my feet. I grip Katniss on the shoulder, as if to prevent her from running off right now. She jumps.
"No," I say firmly. "You're not risking your life for me."
"Who said I was?" she says.
"So, you're not going?" I say doubtfully.
"Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid."
She helps me get into bed. Her eyes dart between mine, her reassuring smile is a little too wide.
"I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there."
"You're such a bad liar, Katniss," I tell her. I know it's not just me. I may be an expert at lying and can easily pick up when someone's doing so, but even a totally honest person could call her bluff. "I don't know how you've survived this long." I pick up my voice and imitate her. "I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going." I shake my head. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin."
She flushes angrily now that she's been caught. "All right, I'm going, and you can't stop me!"
She can be stubborn all she wants, but I can be even more stubborn. And I have to be.
"I can follow you," I say determinedly. "At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure."
I really will do just that if she goes.
"You won't get a hundred yards from here on that leg," she says.
"Then I'll drag myself," I say stubbornly. "You go and I'm going, too."
She looks at me uncertainly. I know I'm starting to work myself over on her. She can probably see me doing it. I will. I swear I will.
"What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?" she says, anger and frustration filling her face. There's also a hint of fear there. It's almost imperceptible. Something the audience probably hasn't picked up on. She really does not want me to die.
"I won't die. I promise." It's a promise I'm not sure if I can keep, but I will hold on as long as I can, for her sake. Maybe the other tributes will kill each other off and we can go home, before the blood poisoning kills me off. "If you promise not to go."
She scowls, knowing I've won. I feel a flare of triumph.
"Then you have to do what I say," she says, giving in. A wave of relief sweeps over me. "Drink your water, wake me up when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!"
"Agreed," I say, knowing I'll have to do everything she says to keep her from going. "Is it ready?"
"Wait here," she says. I watch her as she goes down to get the soup, just to make sure she doesn't try to pull one over on me.
I eat every bite of her soup without complaint, and I'm surprised to find it actually does taste good. I compliment her cooking multiple times but she seems annoyed with this. Though she is very patient with me, and merely nods and agrees with everything I say. Then she gives me another round of fever pills, and I go off my head completely, rambling on about anything and everything that comes to mind.
Katniss is clearly getting impatient with me, and walks out of the cave. I don't bother watching her. I know she's not going anywhere. Right? Right. . . she can't leave me in this state. I'm sick. I need her. I need her to stay alive. And stay with me.
When she comes back she has some kind of mashed up berry concoction in her hands.
"I brought you a treat," she says. "I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream."
Remembering that I have to do everything she says to keep her here, I take the first bite without hesitation. But something seems off.
"They're very sweet," I say. Katniss nods.
"Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?"
She pokes the next spoonful in my mouth. I can't quite place where I've tasted them before, but I know that taste.
"No," I say. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?"
I've never even heard of sugar berries.
"Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow in the wild," she explains, feeding me another mouthful. If they grow in the wild, then there's no way I've tasted them before. The only thing I eat that grows in the wild is Katniss and Gale's squirrels.
"They're sweet as syrup," I say, and she feeds me the last mouthful.
Syrup . . .
"Syrup," I say.
Syrup!
Haymitch! That traitor! Sleep syrup! How could I be so stupid?
I'm about to spit the stuff out but Katniss clamps her hand over my nose and mouth hard, and the sickly sweet substance slides down my throat without my consent. I try to vomit it up, but already my limbs and eyes feel heavy, heavy, so heavy . . .
And I know as I fade away and Katniss watches over me, looking grim but satisfied, that I will never forgive her for doing this. I'll never forgive Haymitch for enabling it.
And I'll never forgive myself for falling for it.