It's been four days since I arrived at the Capitol. On the firs, I was looked over. On the second, they made a decision. The third, I had surgery to reconstruct muscles and tissues around the bullet hole.
Today is the beginning of a four day long recovery and resting period.
And I'm already itching to get out of bed.
Peeta hasn't left my side since I got out of the operating room at seven last night. I don't know if he's even let go of my hand.
I try to ask him if he needs to take a bathroom break, but the drugs I'm under slur my speech to the extent of having it sound like: "Done-chew-knee-duh-gaw-doo-tibet-broom?"
By some miracle, Peeta understands me, and he laughs quietly, "I went less than ten minutes ago, darling."
I frown, thinking hard. I can't remember.
"Don't strain yourself. Don't worry either. It's just the narcotics." He reaches up and brushes the hair out of my face.
The whole rest of the day is filled with attempted conversations, visits from my mother, and Peeta reading to me.
On the second day of my 'recovery' the narcotics have worn off, and I refuse to take more. Even though my leg may be in a little extra pain, I want to be able to do more than just sit and listen to people talk.
"If it starts to hurt, just tell me, and I'll have the nurse put you on a morphine drip." Peeta squeezes my hand.
"I promise I'll tell you if I'm in pain." I say, but it's a lie, because it hurts already. I just can't let him know that.
"So what do you want to do today?" Peeta asks, his optimism shining through.
"What I want is to get up out of this bed and walk around." I shift uncomfortably, making my point.
"Let me rephrase my question…"
"Don't bother." I grumble.
"What's wrong?" Peeta sighs in exasperation.
"Just let it go." I hiss.
"Fine." He snaps.
It's quiet for a few moments, both of us trying to think up a way to apologize.
"I'm sorry. I know you're going through a lot right now, and I should be more supportive instead of degrading." Peeta chews on his bottom lip.
"No. I'm sorry. Just because I'm the one in the hospital bed doesn't give me the right to treat you like crap."
Peeta seems to think about what I said, and then stands, a smile on his face. He makes his way to the side of the huge hospital bed, and slides in next to me, careful not to jostle my leg at all. "here. Now both of us are in this hospital bed."
"So no more arguing." I laugh.
"None." He grins, and I lean into his chest.
We drop into a conversation about my mother, and how well she's been recovering. It's shocking to see how far she's come since I saw her last.
"She's stronger than you thought." Peeta points out.
"Too bad it took so long for it to be noticeable."
"Well you have to really want to get to know someone before you notice the minor things." Peeta plays with my fingers, "Like how you always bite your bottom lip when you're not sure about something. Or that every time you say you love someone, your eyebrows come together, like that word confuses you. Or how when you're deep in thought you naturally look up." I realize that he's talking about me in particular.
"You tap your finger against your knee when you're nervous. Every time we kiss, I can feel your heart skip a beat. Without noticing, you'll run your fingers up and down my leg when I sit next to you." I point out to him, letting him know that I care as much as he does.
"I like observant people. Your mother is very observant. All you've been seeing in her for the past years have been her bad characteristics. But she had many good ones. Your father was a lucky man. And you're very much like your mother."
It takes me a few moments to register what he means. "So does that make you a lucky man too?"
His smile is dazzling, and I melt more into his lips than just kiss him back. When he pulls away, he's still smiling, "The luckiest."
Peeta doesn't leave my bed for the rest of the day, and I fall asleep in his arms; which happens to be my favorite way to sleep.
"Really?" my mother shrieks more like a school-girl than a forty year old woman.
"Yeah." I roll my eyes.
My mother and I are the only two in my hospital room. She'd ordered that we talk in private, after she walked in on Peeta and I… er… messing around.
"You're really a couple? Like, for real? Not for show anymore?" She sounds excited, more than angry now. Just the emotion in her voice makes her sound like a completely different person than my own mother. It's shocking.
"Yes, Mom, for real." I grumble, arms crossed.
"Oh, honey, that's… that's… awesome!"
I snort in response.
"Well… you're not going to like me for this… but, Katniss, you know we've never actually had the chance to sit down and talk about boys, and relationships, and-"
"Please, please, please, please, PLEASE stop right there in that sentence!" I shriek as loud as she had.
"But you don't know-"
"Mom, I know everything."
"But how-?"
"I was a high schooler, you know. Not that long ago." I say pointedly.
"But-"
"Mom."
"Kat-"
"Mom."
"What?" She tosses her hands in the air, frustrated.
"I'm 18. Technically, I'm an adult. So, please. You do not want to have this conversation with me. Trust me."
She doesn't mention one single boy the rest of the day.
((A/N What do you think so far? I'm so grateful for all of these reviews! It's so encouraging! But please... Comparing my writing to Suzanne Collins'... Wow guys. Nobody could do better than her. I'm literally floored from all of these reviews. THANK YOU!))