Chapter Forty: Beneath
"It is a common condition of being poor... you are always afraid that the good things in your life are temporary, that someone can take them away, because you have no power beyond your own brute strength to stop them." –Rick Bragg
My heart sinks as soon as we enter the room.
The puréed meal I fed Mom earlier evidently proved too much for her stomach, seeing as to how it's now covering the bed. To make matters worse, it appears as if she'd tried cleaning it up using her nightgown and the cover, but only made it worse by smearing it around and rubbing it in. Now she's sleeping on the floor without a stitch of clothing on besides the adult diaper she's thankfully still wearing, the ordeal having drained her of what little energy she had.
I avoid looking at Madge as I rush forward and kneel down beside my mom. I feel her forehead with the back of my hand before lowering it to her mouth to see if she's still breathing. Her eyes flutter open for a brief moment as she whispers something weak and indecipherable, and then she immediately drifts back to sleep. I'm relieved to see that, despite the mess on the bed, she doesn't seem to be very dirty herself; she only has a few dried patches on her face, arms, and hands that can easily be cleaned away with a damp washcloth.
Realizing I've been holding my breath the entire time, I heave a sigh as I stand back up.
I know that Madge is standing silently by, no doubt sickened and disturbed by the scene she walked into, and I can't help being a bit irritated because of it. I didn't ask for her help, Peeta and his dad did, and if she doesn't want to help then I don't expect her to. But she also doesn't have to stand there like a statue, saying nothing and staring at us as if we're zoo animals.
Despite the blood rushing to my cheeks and the twisting in my gut, I remind myself that this is Peeta's cousin—a cousin he obviously respects and cares a great deal for. So I take a deep breath and think of something casual to say to break the silence. After all, if she decides not to like me for any reason, it won't be because I said something regrettable. With everything that Peeta's done for me and my family, I'm not about to cause a bigger rift between him and his.
"I told you it wouldn't be very pretty," I mumble as I retrieve a pillow from the floor that was untouched by the mess. "I'll go get a washcloth and a change of clothes, and ask Peeta where he keeps his clean sheets—"
When I finally turn around, however, I find that I've been talking to myself; Madge has already left the room.
I close my eyes and clutch the pillow tighter in my hands. I should've known just from looking at her that she wouldn't be able to cope with something like this. I can understand if it was a bit too much for her to stomach, though.
This isn't exactly something most people are used to—it shouldn't be something anyone should be used to. And at least she wasn't staring at us and not helping like I'd suspected a few moments ago. That makes things slightly better, I guess. Still, I can't help thinking that if this girl can't bear the sight of vomit and a sickly body, she has no business at all being a nurse.
I slip the pillow beneath Mom's head as gently as possible before walking across the hall to the bathroom and wetting a washcloth. Knowing I'll have to see Peeta's cousin again when I ask for clean sheets, I try my best to mask my irritation as I walk out into the hallway again.
I don't get far, however.
I'm only halfway to the kitchen when Madge makes her way towards me, her arms full of folded bedclothes.
"I thought I'd help by getting some fresh linens for the bed. I suppose I should've said something before leaving, but you looked busy with your mom, so I wasn't sure…" she explains in a rush, then nods down at the bedclothes in her arms. "I have a nightgown here, too. I didn't know where you kept her clothes and I didn't want to worry Peeta or your sister by asking, but I brought some clothes from home for you guys – a few nightgowns, pants, and shirts… stuff that's still in good shape, but doesn't exactly fit the same after having a baby. I heard you lost almost everything, and I figured the clothes might fit one of you—"
For a moment I debate whether to tell her that, no, we didn't lose everything. That, in fact, we've actually gained much more than we've had in years in the couple days we've been here. But I ultimately decide not to say anything at all, especially something that might sound as if I'm disregarding her thoughtfulness.
"I'm rambling, sorry. I hope it's okay about the clothes? I know we just met, and I don't want to overstep any boundaries…."
She looks at me with an expression somewhere between a smile and a cringe, her cheeks bright red. From her demeanor, she seems just as anxious and uncertain of being here as I do. She also gives off the distinct impression of being genuinely concerned and wanting to help, but wary of saying or doing the wrong thing. In fact, she's looking at me as if I'm about to yell at her or something. This confuses me for a second, until I realize I've been frowning at her the entire time, my eyes narrowed as I try to assess her intentions.
"No, not at all. Thank you," I finally say, mustering up the best smile I can. My lips quiver and my cheeks spasm as I do so, causing me to feel like an idiot for even trying to force it. "It's, um, it's… really nice of you to help. You didn't have to, but it's nice that you did."
My strained smile and horrible attempt at a thank you is heartily accepted by Madge, however. Relief washes over her features and she seems to deflate a little, as if she'd been holding her breath for my reply.
"Well, Peeta means the world to me, and you mean the world to Peeta, so by extension you mean a lot to me too. I don't know all the details of the situation, but I know I want to help in any way I can," she replies earnestly and continues to walk towards the bedroom. "The whole town is in an uproar over this, you know. Uncle Avory says the phone's been ringing off the hook since he got to work and people have been coming into the bakery in droves asking questions."
I follow her into the room, my mind reeling. "What sort of questions are people asking?"
"I honestly don't know," she says, placing the folded linens onto a chair and moving to the bed, "I didn't ask; he seemed in a rush when he called. I'm sure he'll say when he gets home, though… but I think it's safe to say they want justice for you and your family."
"Funny they all decide to care now," I mutter.
The fact that it took our supposed 'deaths' for people to care makes me want to both laugh and cry. Especially since I know most of them don't really care. They're only curious and asking questions under the façade of sentiment. None of them knew me, none of them wanted to, and whoever hadn't made fun of our misery turned a blind eye to it.
Madge frowns and shakes her head. "It's amazing how much people will ignore until they're confronted with the tragedy of their ignorance."
I nod, but I don't say anything in reply. After all, what more is there to say?
She begins to remove the soiled sheets from the bed, and I quickly take my place on the opposite side, untucking the sheets and covers, and folding them over towards the middle of the mattress. When we're done, Madge gathers and places them next to the door before retrieving a clean sheet from the chair.
As she fluffs the fitted sheet over the bed, it occurs to me how she doesn't have the slightest trace of disgust on her face. In fact, she seems rather unfazed by it all—as if this is something that happens to her all the time.
Perhaps I was quick to judge her before.
"So… does this sort of thing happen often?" Madge asks after a moment.
I shake my head as I take hold of the other side of the sheet and begin tucking the edges beneath the mattress. "No, not really. This probably just happened because she's had more to eat in the last day or so than she normally would in two weeks. Peeta's kind of been overly generous with the food since we got here. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining or anything. It's just… a lot to take in all at once." As an afterthought, I add quickly, "Sorry about the mess, by the way. I know this isn't exactly an ideal way to meet someone for the first time."
"I'm a visiting nurse who cares for disabled elderly patients, and I have a 2-year-old boy. Trust me, I've seen much, much worse than this. No need at all to apologize," Madge replies with a reassuring smile and a wave of her hand. "As for Peeta and his surplus of food, well… he always has been the type to give 150 percent to everything he does, and I imagine when it comes to you, it's double that."
"I appreciate all he's doing, and like I said – I'm not complaining at all, but I hope he eventually realizes that he doesn't have to do so much. I'm thankful enough for just the bare minimum."
"I'm sure you'll both find some common ground as things settle down and time goes on. In any case, it's far better to have a man who gives you too much than too little," she reasons with a wink.
"I know," I shrug, my cheeks flushing, "I just… I guess I feel a bit guilty. I wish I could do as much for him."
"Peeta's had the biggest crush on you for as long as I can remember. He probably feels as if he won the lottery just by being with you. I mean, it says a lot that even with all the bad things going on right now, I haven't seen him so happy in a very long time," Madge says, grabbing a purple flannel nightgown from the chair and making her way over to my mom. As she begins to kneel down onto the carpet, she glances up at me with a warm, sincere smile. "Trust me, I've known Peeta his whole entire life. I very highly doubt he expects anything in return for what he's doing, and he certainly wouldn't want you to feel like you owe him anything, either."
I know what Madge is saying is correct; Peeta only does good for the sake of doing good, and expects nothing in return. That's part of what makes him so wonderful. But that still doesn't change the guilt I feel over it, or my want to give to him as much as he gives to me. I don't want this relationship to always be one-sided… and it won't be.
I say nothing, though, and let the subject drop.
Instead, I just nod as I sit down beside my mom. Gently and carefully, I maneuver her into an upright sitting position, and with the damp washcloth I proceed to clean the dry patches of vomit from her skin. Mom says nothing and has very little reaction. Instead, she merely fixes her eyes unblinkingly upon Madge as if desperately trying to figure out who she is.
"Celia," she whispers after a moment, tilting her head in question.
"Hi, Mrs. Everdeen," Madge greets brightly, as if speaking to a young child. It startles me to hear someone refer to my mom as 'Mrs. Everdeen' after so many years. "Remember me? Madge Undersee? I'm Celia's daughter. You used to babysit me when I was younger. Along, long time ago."
"Can't babysit today," mom replies, her dull, tired blue eyes suddenly taking on a sparkle of life, "Vance and I have song rehearsal for the church program on Sunday night. Oh, you should come see it if you can! It'll be so lovely. Of course, Vance could sing the phonebook and it'd be lovely—"
Madge doesn't answer, just nods and continues to listen with a patient, unwavering smile on her face.
"My mom used to babysit you?" I ask, taken aback by this information. "I didn't know that. Peeta never told me." Madge's gaze shifts quickly to me, the patient smile slightly slipping into one of nostalgic reverie.
"Yeah, it was a really long time ago though. Before I started school, mostly, and only a handful of times after. You were still in diapers, so I wouldn't expect you to remember. But yeah, when Grandpa Mellark was getting old and sick and couldn't run the bakery anymore, Mom and Uncle Avory had to take over for a while. And since my dad moved to a different state the year before, and Mom didn't trust Aunt Prissy to save her life, your mom looked after me."
I watch in stunned silence as she begins to comb her fingers through my mom's hair, smoothing it back out of her eyes in a motherly sort of way.
"She'd always bake sweets and have tea parties with us. I remember you'd gather all your dolls and stuffed animals around the table. No one got to eat a cookie until you made sure each one of them had a pretend bite first," Madge fondly recalls. She gives a wistful sigh as she stares at my mom, sympathy and confusion evident in her expression. "It's kind of hard to believe this is the same woman."
"I know," I whisper. "It's hard to remember who she used to be, and know what she's become. It's a little bit haunting."
Madge only nods in reply, seemingly lost in her thoughts for a moment.
Suddenly, as if a light has been switched on, her expression of sorrow changes to one of giddy delight. Her eyes widen and her face breaks out into a smirk as she catches my eye and wiggles her brows in a playful manner, "Peeta came over a few times, too, you know."
I narrow my eyes in surprise.
"He did? I definitely don't remember that."
"Yep," she answers. "He doesn't seem to remember either, or at least he didn't when I brought it up a couple years ago. You guys were really young and it didn't happen often, only when Aunt Prissy would go out of town, so it's no wonder. You two would have a lot of fun together, though. He was usually a pretty shy kid, but you had a way of bringing him out of his shell."
"Funny, it's pretty much the opposite of that now. It's hard to imagine him being shy," I reflect. I find myself trying desperately to remember playing with an adorable blond boy when I was little, even though I know the effort is fruitless.
"Yeah, he got a little more talkative over the years. Got really withdrawn and reserved after losing his leg, but he eventually came around again. Especially after starting work at the bakery. It kind of gave him a renewed purpose."
I nod, mulling over this information. I only know Peeta from my own perspective, and I only got to really know him in the last couple months. It's enlightening to hear how his friends and family, who have known him his entire life, see him.
"Mrs. Everdeen, I'm going to slip this nightgown on you real quick, okay? It'll only take a second or two and it won't hurt at all, I promise," Madge informs before quickly clothing my mom. I can tell she's had plentiful experience because she makes it look effortless, which I know from years of dressing my mom that it isn't quite so easy.
Afterwards, Mom looks down at her new nightgown and whispers 'pretty.' She seems to be getting sleepy again, as her eyes are droopy and her voice is growing increasingly hoarse.
"I guess we should move her to the bed?"
I nod and stand up. We each take hold of a side of my mom and carefully walk her to the bed. I make sure not to overexert or strain my chest or side, in fear of inflaming the bruising that's still present. It stings slightly, but it could be a lot worse.
We place Mom onto the bed, and Madge promptly lays a cover over her and tucks her in.
Breaking the silence that has fallen between us, Madge begins recalling memories from the times my mom had babysat her. She sits on one side of the bed, and I listen intently as I take my place on the other.
"This one time, your mom and Uncle Avory walked in on you and Peeta trading kisses—"
"What?" I ask in amused shock. "Seriously?
"Mmhmm. I mean, you all were like three or four – obviously it wasn't sexual or anything. It was really adorable. Uncle Avory asked why you guys were kissing each other, and you stated very matter-of-factly, as if you were a doctor or something, 'We're kissing each other's boo-boos away.'"
A small laugh escapes me as I imagine such a scene taking place, and my mind immediately wanders to just earlier today, when Peeta had photographed my scars and bruises. How he had kissed each one, as if to heal them.
I guess some things never change.
"Apparently, you had gotten a scrape from falling down earlier that day, and Peeta saw your mom kiss it better, and so he wanted to help you too. In turn, you offered to kiss his boo-boos and make them better. Uncle Avory pointed out to Peeta that he didn't have any boo-boos that needed healing. Peeta just answered, 'yeah, 'cause Katniss kissed them all away.'"
"I wish I could remember that," I say, my eyes focused on Mom, who is now humming to herself. I notice it's the same song from the cliff. It appears she's humming it to her stomach, too, as she's gazing down and contentedly caressing it.
I can't help but wonder what she'd think of Peeta and me dating now if she were in a normal state of mind, or of all the stories she'd tell me of my childhood, if only she could. Instead I have to hear them from strangers.
My mind then switches back to the story Madge had just told me, and I suddenly feel as if I've been sucker-punched. While the tale is endearing and sweet on the surface, I recall the horrific stories
Peeta had told me about the years he'd endured with his mother before he began school; how she would stick him with needles and lock him in closets. And it makes me wonder if the 'boo-boos' I had kissed back then were the very same 'boo-boos' he had confided in me about. If so, it makes this heartwarming tale an extremely heartbreaking one.
I suddenly have the urge to go hug Peeta and kiss his wounds right at this very second. Aside from his leg, however, his wounds aren't skin-deep.
"So you and Peeta… I take it you two are pretty serious then?" Madge inquires with a knowing grin. "I ask only because Peeta is very much the committed type, and I have a hard time imagining him not taking your relationship seriously at this point, with you all living together... and the adorably proud way he introduced you earlier. And Uncle Avory might've let it slip that you all have been seeing each other for a while now—"
"Yeah, I guess we're pretty serious," I reply shyly, my cheeks burning. I bite my lip and stare down at my hands. It feels so strange to admit such a thing to someone I barely know. Since I began dating Peeta, it's basically been kept a secret in public, so speaking aloud of my feelings now, it's… relieving. It feels good to claim him as my own. I shrug and look up at Madge with newfound confidence. "I can't see a future without Peeta in it. Home is wherever he is." She nods, apparently pleased with my answer. I quickly try to shift the topic of conversation off of myself. "What about you? Are you married or anything?"
"Nope," she answers. "The only man in my life is Jayden."
"Oh, I see." I'm not sure how to reply to that. I want to ask about the father of her baby, but I don't want to dig up any negative feelings or seem like I'm being judgmental about her not being with him.
She evidently senses my questions, though, as she quickly begins to explain, "I still keep in contact with Jay's father and he'll always be a part of his life. It's just... we're very different people who want totally opposite things, you know? It would've never worked in the long run, and there was no use making each other miserable and having our child grow up in an unhappy home. I've seen what that does to people. Uncle Avory and Aunt Prissy being example #1. People stay together because of the kids, and it's the kids who suffer the most when they do."
"That's true," I reply, nodding my understanding. "At least you came to that agreement early on. Better to be separate and happy, but both be there for your son, than be together and have everyone be unhappy."
"Exactly my point. It's not conventional, but it's better than the alternative," Madge says. "Anyways, I guess we should get back on the topic of your mom. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?"
"Sure," I answer, my stomach suddenly doing flips.
Madge releases a breath and scratches her head as she seemingly searches for the right words to say. She frowns as she fixes her eyes upon my mom, who is now fully asleep, before looking back at me again with a slight, sympathetic smile.
"First off, I know it's probably weird for you, with someone you barely know wanting to know all kinds of personal stuff, but… I just want to help if I can. I mean, I can't make any promises and I'm way limited in what I can do, considering this is off the books, but I can at least try to figure out what's going on, and then we can go from there."
"Trust me, I'm not expecting any miracles," I state. "She's been like this for years, and I really don't see her changing anytime soon."
"Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes changes come in baby steps," Madge replies. "So I'm guessing she has memory issues based on what she said earlier. What can you tell me about that?"
"Well… she has about as much of a chance of remembering you as she does me and Prim. She's more likely to remember something from 20 years ago than 1 year ago, or hell, even yesterday. Some days she's a little more lucid than others, but for the most part it seems like her mind is stuck in another time."
"When did this start happening?"
"Years ago, after my dad died. She'd cry all the time back then and she rarely left her bed... but it was also different - she still remembered us at that time."
"When she stopped remembering you and your sister, was it gradual or did it happen suddenly?" Madge asks, her voice taking on a more professional tone.
"It seemed gradual, but I guess it was pretty sudden. She slept for a whole week, and then when she woke up, she just... didn't remember us. And it only got worse."
"She slept for an entire week?" Madge asks, raising her eyebrows.
"Yeah," I nod. "It was a horrible time for her... for all of us, really, but mostly her. My little brother had just died—in her arms. He was born with a lot of internal injuries due to abuse. My stepdad wasn't a very nice man, obviously." I sigh as I stare down at the blanket on the bed and pick absentmindedly at a stray thread. It's easier to say these things without looking at her. I'm afraid I might lose my resolve and begin to cry, which would be embarrassing. "After that, the doctors put her on these really powerful anti-depressants. I suspect my stepdad also added a few tranquilizers to the mix. Probably some poison too. I don't put anything past that man."
"And this was when you were how old?" Madge inquires, her voice shaky and nearly a whisper. I can tell without looking at her that what I'd said has struck a chord with her. I'm not sure how much Peeta and his dad have told her about these things, but judging by her reaction, I'm assuming it wasn't a whole lot.
"12, almost 13."
"And you've been taking care of yourself, your sister, and your mom ever since then?" she asks incredulously, a hint of indignation etched in her tone. "Since you were 12-years-old?"
"Yep," I whisper. I swallow loudly to rid a lump that's quickly forming in my throat. "I didn't have any other choice."
"What about your mom's parents, her siblings? What about your father's parents and his relatives? Didn't anyone try to help you?"
I shake my head as I answer, "My mom's parents live across the state, and I've only seen them a few times, but from what I remember they were pretty harsh people. Not harsh in the way my stepdad was... they just gave the impression that they didn't quite approve of my mom's life choices, or of my dad. Or of us. They never acknowledged us on Christmas or birthdays or anything like that. As for her brother, I don't know what became of him, but I don't think he was much better than they were.
As for my dad's parents, they live in a different state… not sure which. I haven't seen them since after the funeral, though. I remember they were pretty nice people, but I never really knew them well. I only saw them a handful of times when I was a kid, due to them living so far away. I know I have at least one aunt on that side, but she passed away. She had daughters, but I don't know them at all. I had no way of reaching out to these people, even if I wanted to, though. So… I just did what I had to."
"I'm sorry you had to go through that. For all you've had to do by yourself. No kid should ever be put in that position, and it's horrible that nobody helped you," Madge strongly asserts, and when I glance up at her, I'm surprised to see that she has tears in her eyes as well.
She seems genuinely troubled by what I've told her. I'm not quite sure how to feel or what to think about that. My first instinct is to apologize, but I somehow refrain from doing so; I know, despite my instinct, it's not something I should apologize for.
"Like I said, I didn't really have a choice in the matter. But I also wouldn't have chosen to do anything differently, given a second go at it. We're alive, we made it through, and now I just want to put all of that crap behind me. I want justice and peace of mind. I want the future to be as bright as the past was dark."
"That's an excellent outlook to have, and I really hope everything turns out in your favor. After all you've been through, you more than deserve it. I can't even begin to imagine…," Madge says, placing her hand over mine and giving it an encouraging, comforting squeeze. I'm taken aback by this at first, but then I simply nod and give a small smile of thanks. As if trying to collect herself again, she gives a small sigh and rubs her eyes before continuing.
"Anyways, as far as your mom's health… just looking at her, I can safely say she likely would've died a long time ago without you caring for her as you have been. She's pretty severely malnourished and dehydrated. She also appears to be suffering from muscular dystrophy, due to lack of physical exertion.
Mentally, it's hard to pinpoint what exactly is going on there. She probably needs some CT, MRI, and PET scans done to determine if she has brain damage, blockage, or if it's some sort psychological condition. It could be any or all of those, or even something else entirely, based on her history. One thing's for sure, though, regardless of what caused it, she has a strong case for anterograde amnesia."
"What exactly is that?" I ask. "I mean, I know what amnesia is, but what does the other part mean?"
"Basically, it's when someone can recall past memories with ease and vividness, but they can't seem to create new memories, or at least lasting coherent ones, after a certain point in time. It can be caused by a number of things: brain damage, taking psychoactive drugs like the ones your mom was likely prescribed after the death of your brother. It could also be brought on by powerful emotional shock. The mind can sort of just dissociate and run off to a place when it remembered being happy," she explains. "That's not to say she doesn't still experience emotions of happiness or pain in the present – it's just not consciously remembered in the long term."
"I ask this more for my sister than for myself, but is there any chance… is there anything we can do to help her get better? Can she get better, after so long of being this way?" I inquire, trying not to get my hopes up. After all, just because it sounds like what she has doesn't mean that it is. Nor does it mean it can be cured or even improved.
"I'm not sure, to be honest," Madge replies. "Like I said, she needs to be looked at by doctors in a hospital setting. I can only hypothesize. I will say that anything is possible. I've read about people gaining control of their memories after years, even when the doctors said it'd be impossible. The brain is powerful, and it's always trying to repair itself. Only time will tell. In the meantime, you could try association games, such as showing her pictures or videos of you when you were younger, and then introducing yourself as you are now. Do it repeatedly. She might not get it at first, she might never get it, but then again, she might just eventually make the connection. Persistence is key.
Another thing that might help is involving her in family activities, and if she had hobbies that you remember of, maybe try getting her doing them again. Basically, create as much activity in her brain as possible. Get her up and walking, it's the only way to get her strength back. Take her to the bathroom after eating, and don't let her leave until she goes – like potty training a toddler. The more she's held accountable for herself, the more active she is physically, emotionally, and mentally, the better.
As it is, I thought ahead and brought some multi-vitamins, so that'll help with getting her nutrients up a bit. Make sure she gets plenty of food, even if she throws it all back up – at least a little bit will be digested, and every little bit counts at this point. You and your sister should probably take some of the multi-vitamins, too. It certainly couldn't hurt."
"Okay, I'll try to keep all of this in mind," I reply with a determined nod. I'm overwhelmed already just thinking of all the changes we're going to have to make, though. But then I think of my mom possibly getting better, and it makes me want to start doing all these things right now. I know Prim will be totally on board, and of course Peeta will help in any way he can – as he always does. "Do you think you can write all these things down, though, so I don't wind up forgetting any?"
"Of course! I'd be happy to," Madge enthusiastically answers. She then gives me a pointed look and lowers her voice as she continues, "Aside from the multi-vitamins and clothes, I should also mention I brought some other things, too.
Things I thought you might need, you know, as a woman?" I narrow my eyes in confusion for a moment until it dawns on me what she means. As it sinks in, I avert my eyes, give a quick nod, and mouth a silent 'oh' in acknowledgement. "I'm not sure if you're comfortable with sharing those intimate details with Peeta yet, but I figured it might make things a bit less awkward if you didn't have to ask him or his dad to buy them for you. That being said, I wasn't sure of your preference on the matter, or whether your sister and mom needed them as well, so I brought a mixed supply, just to be sure. Speaking of which… when was your mom's last menstrual cycle? Do you remember?"
"Nothing recent. I think she's only had maybe 2 or 3 in the last few years, and they were really light and only lasted a couple days."
"How have your cycles been, if you don't mind me asking? And what about your sister's, or has she even started yet?"
"Prim hasn't, and mine have always been a little bit unpredictable," I answer, avoiding her eyes. I know she's asking out of concern, but it's extremely awkward for me to talk about these things, especially so casually.
"How so?"
"Sometimes it'll be normal for a couple months, and then I'll go for months with only a few spots or nothing at all," I answer. "It's been two months since my last…."
As far as menstruation goes, luckily it had been one lesson in Health class that I hadn't missed, and so I knew it'd happen to me eventually. However, when it finally did happen, it took me by complete surprise. I didn't get my first period until I was 15 and a half, and when I woke that morning to find my bedding, clothes, and thighs drenched in bright red, I was nothing short of horrified.
The first thing that came to mind was Snow kicking me in the stomach the day prior. I thought he had injured me internally and that was where all the blood was coming from. I thought I was dying. I began crying, panicking, worrying how Prim would survive without me to care for her. It was only after I had changed my clothes and was in the process of scrubbing my cot with bleach water that it dawned on me what had actually happened.
As it is, my periods have never lasted long, nor have they ever been particularly heavy. When I lived at the trailer, I had a bag of clothing scraps that I'd use during that time, which I'd then soak and clean in bleach water, and reuse until they were too stained or falling apart to use anymore. I was never really worried when I'd miss a month or two, I'd just thank Mother Nature for sparing me the inconvenience. I never stopped to think about what it might mean.
Now, however, with the concerned way Madge is looking at me, I'm admittedly a little worried.
"Are you on any sort of birth control or other medications?" she asks quietly, tilting her head as if trying to figure something out.
"No. I actually haven't been to a doctor in years. Since I was like eleven," I answer slowly, curious as to where she's going with this.
She leans forward as if she's about to tell me a secret, then practically whispers, "Look, I won't say anything to Peeta, this'll only be between us, but could there be any chance you might be—" She places her palm over her stomach, then curves it out as if to depict a pregnant belly. My eyes widen at the implication and I fervently shake my head.
"No! Peeta and I've only… we haven't… I've never—" I take a deep breath and close my eyes before finishing with a curt, "There's no chance at all. None."
"Okay, I get the picture. I just assumed when you said you two were serious…." She trails off with a shrug. I know she doesn't mean anything by it, but it kind of rubs me the wrong way.
"You can be serious about being with someone, and not… you know," I proclaim, my cheeks matching the shade of a fire truck. "Not that it won't happen eventually. It just… it hasn't yet."
"Hey, I'm not judging you one bit. I think it's great that you're getting to really know each other without sex putting the blinders on. At least when it happens, you'll know it's for the right reasons. I wish I would've been so smart. Great sex doesn't always equal a great relationship," Madge states. "Not that I'm saying you guys won't have great sex when it happens. Like I said, Peeta's known to put 150 percent into everything he—"
"Oh God." I hide my face behind my hands, feeling extremely mortified and uncomfortable to be talking about potential sex with Peeta to his cousin. "Can we please change the subject?"
"Yes, that we can do," she replies, giving a small chuckle. "Just know, if you ever need another female to talk to… about those things, don't be embarrassed to talk to me, okay? I promise whatever is said will stay strictly between the two of us."
"K," I mumble quickly, lowering my hands from my face – which I imagine is redder than a cherry tomato.
"As for the unpredictable menstruation cycles, it's likely due to malnutrition. Hopefully with the vitamins and surplus of food, things will get back on track. As soon as it's possible, you should see a gynecologist though. Just to be safe."
I only nod in reply. I don't ask about the last part, 'just to be safe'. I don't want to think about what it could possibly mean.
Soon we leave the bedroom to join Peeta, Prim, and Jay in the kitchen. It's a welcome change of environment after talking about such serious things. Madge and I stand silently in the doorway for a moment, taking in the adorable scene before us.
Peeta is sitting at the table with Jay on his lap, and Prim is sitting in a chair right in front of them. Jay giggles frantically, his chubby cheeks red as an apple, as Peeta holds his hands in his own and claps them gently against Prim's. His voice is playful and jubilant as they sing cheerfully together:
"Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man.
Bake me a cake as fast as you can;
Pat it, roll it and mark it with a "B",
Put it in the oven for baby and me."
It's such a charmingly sweet little moment, I don't want to interrupt or ruin it. Evidently, neither does Madge, who catches my eye and smiles. It's the sort of smile that says 'cherish this guy, he's a keeper' without a word needing to be spoken between us. I know. I nod my agreement and smile proudly over at him. God, do I know.
Prim is the first to notice us. She grins and wastes no time in asking, "So how is she? Did you figure out what's wrong? Can she be fixed?"
I snort as I sit down, "Slow down, Prim. We don't know if she can get better yet, but Madge gave us some things to try to improve her condition. I'll explain it all to you later."
"Okay," Prim says, turning her attention back to Jay. "It's better than nothing."
"It looks like you all were having fun in here," Madge states as she pulls a chair out and sits down. She grabs a haphazardly decorated cookie from a plate and takes a bite. Jay notices this, pouts his lip, and sticks his hand out at her. She snorts and breaks the cookie in half, giving him a piece. "So Jay didn't give you any trouble? He's usually not so comfortable around new people. You guys must have done something right."
"What can I say? Babies love me," Peeta smirks.
"Yeah. Because you bribe them with sweets," Madge deadpans. "Speaking of which, how many cookies did you give him?"
"Only half of one, I'll have you know, not including the one you just gave him. He was more content with decorating," Peeta answers, jutting his chin out in mock indignation. Madge rolls her eyes and he laughs. "Anyways, he cried for a bit after you left, but Prim helped distract him pretty well. They had a fun game of peek-a-boo going on for quite a while."
"And then Peeta started pretending Jay was an airplane and he loved it," Prim continues with a small laugh. "He's so adorable. I hope when Katniss and Peeta have babies, they're all as cute as Jay."
I'm sure it slipped from Prim's mouth without her thinking first, but when I see Peeta's smile falter and his eyes fix themselves on the floor because of it, my insides twist into an unpleasant knot of guilt. She should know that this is a touchy subject, and that she shouldn't bring it up casually in front of company.
"Enough, Prim," I abruptly state, fixing my eyes on hers and raising my brows to indicate I'm serious. I avoid looking at Peeta, altogether.
"Oh my gosh, Katniss," she dismisses flippantly with a roll of her eyes, "it's not like I meant anytime soon."
"Shhhh," I hiss, placing my finger to my lips and she in turn sticks her tongue out at me. I know from her reddening cheeks that I've embarrassed her, but I don't care. She should think twice about what she says in front of people.
"Anyways," Peeta starts in a tone that says it's time to change the subject, "Dad texted a few minutes ago saying that he was on his way home. Must've been pretty busy for a Sunday, judging by the late close."
"It definitely sounded that way when he called this morning," Madge affirms. "Like I told Katniss earlier, people in town are apparently worked up bout all this. Uncle Avory said they kept calling and coming into the bakery."
"Explains why he hasn't been answering half of my texts today," Peeta mutters. "I knew I should've gone this morning to help him out. He could've said something."
When Mr. Mellark finally comes home, he seems very frazzled and lost in his own thoughts. He immediately thanks Madge for coming by to help, asks how we are - which we reply with a generic 'fine', and then he visits with Mom for a couple of minutes. Afterwards, he comes back into the living room and plops down onto the couch without a word.
He closes his eyes and rubs them as if trying to relieve a headache, and when Peeta asks how his day was, he only replies with a drowsy and short, "Busy. Very busy. And interesting, to say the least. Crazy things happening in town."
"I hear people have been asking about us?" I prompt, curious as to what they've been saying, especially in regards to Snow and Coin. "What's going on?"
Mr. Mellark opens his eyes, looking overwhelmed before he even starts, and takes a deep breath.
"Everyone in town thinks your stepfather murdered you guys, and that Coin is trying to cover the whole thing up. There's a crowd picketing outside the police station, and it's growing by the minute. Ribbons of remembrance are up all over.
The most curious thing happened earlier today, too. Apparently, now they're going back on what they reported over the weekend. You guys didn't die in the fire. No bones were found upon further investigation. Acoroner can't pronounce a death without proof. Now they're saying you were all kidnapped by the arsonist, and they're refusing all media coverage due to the 'delicate and serious nature of the case.'
They're only digging themselves deeper, though. No one believes them, not that they ever did. Turns out their reputation precedes them. Ruin enough lives in one town, and of course people will turn on you as soon as the opportunity arises. This is likely going to hit the national news before long. Hopefully they'll be arrested soon. At this point, it's pretty inevitable."
"They're going to try their best to find us, you know," I state as soon as he's done talking, my whole body shaking. I feel sick all of a sudden. I can't stop glancing at the door, expecting them to barge through it. I don't know what their plan was in the beginning, but I have a feeling it backfired on them—badly. And if they find us, I have no doubt we'll pay dearly for it. If they're getting taken down because of us, they're going to try like hell to take us down with them.
"They won't, dear," Mr. Mellark assures softly. "But what if they do?"
"They won't," Peeta echoes, bringing me into a hug. "You're safe here. I promise. We just have to wait this out." I'm not comforted at all by their reassurances, though. In fact, they only cause me to worry more.
Madge leaves soon after, and I find myself severely exhausted by the events of the day. I don't want to think of the enormity of everything going on, and I certainly don't want to talk about it. All I want to do is curl up and sleep, which I wind up doing. I fall asleep on the couch, and only wake for a moment as Peeta places a blanket over me and a pillow beneath my head.
He also wakes me a little while later to say that he had called Haymitch. Since I had fallen asleep, instead of visiting tonight, Peeta said he'd just give Haymitch the pictures and notebooks tomorrow morning at the bakery. As far as the videotapes we were supposed to make today, Peeta said it'd take us another day or two to complete them. Haymitch suggested we just wait on that part, however, and that the pictures and notebooks should be enough for now. That if they still happen to need them, they'll probably send one of their own staff for the tapings anyway, just to make sure nothing is being scripted or coerced.
I'm thankful for this turn of events, as writing everything down was draining enough and I certainly don't have the energy to do a recording tonight, nor do I come close to even wanting to.
I wake later that night to a dark room.
The TV is off and Prim is curled up under a blanket, sleeping peacefully on the opposite end of the sofa. I look up at the clock; it's after 11. I glance down the hall, wondering if Peeta has already gone to bed yet, but then I see that his light is still on.
Quickly, I stand up and make my way to him. His door is partly open, and I see him standing inside the room, his back facing me as he concentrates on the canvas before him.
Without announcing my presence, I tiptoe forward as silently as possible and wrap my arms around his waist. I link my hands just below his ribcage as I place a kiss right between his shoulder blades. He leans his head back a bit, emitting a noise of approval halfway between a sigh and a moan, and lays his hand over mine.
"Why aren't you in bed yet?" I murmur, resting my forehead against his back and caressing my fingers lightly against his stomach. "You have to get up early in the morning and you're low on sleep as it is."
"Painting, waiting to see if you'd eventually show," he answers in a low, gravelly tone that sends shivers down my spine. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't."
"You should've woke me."
"I thought about it, but you looked so peaceful. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I also thought about carrying you in here, but I didn't want to freak you out," he says. "You're here now though, so I guess that's all that really matters, right?"
I nod, glancing over his shoulder to see what he's painting. Once more, I find myself in awe of his unbelievable talent. It's a beautiful scenic piece, with numerous trees tinged orange, brown, and yellow. Rolling storm clouds loom overhead as raindrops ripple upon the surface of a lake. But it isn't gloomy like one would expect; it's serene. Peaceful.
It's also very familiar….
"Peeta, is that…?"
"Yeah," he answers before I can finish my question. "Our lake. I figured since you won't be able to see it for a while, I'd bring it to you. I know it's not exactly the same, but..." He places his paintbrush into a cup of muddy paint water, and then turns to face me. He plants a tiny kiss to the tip of my nose and smiles drowsily as he wraps his arms around me. I give a contented sigh as I close my heavy eyes and rest my head against his bare chest. "Plus, I also caught my first fish from that lake and saw you naked beside it in the very same day, so I'd say it's more than earned it's worth to be painted."
I'm suddenly thankful my face is hidden by his chest so he can't see the blush on my cheeks.
"Hard to believe all that happened only a few hours before I shot Snow," I reflect. "Strange how so many days go by uneventfully, but it only takes one to completely change your life forever. And you never see it coming."
"That was my life until you came into it," he says, kissing the top of my head. He then releases me and sits down on the edge of his bed. "My life was one meaningless day after another, the same thing, the same predictable routine, day after day. Now I wake up with something to look forward to, and I never quite know what to expect."
"As of late, I don't know if that's exactly a good thing," I say dryly as I sit next to him. I narrow my eyes a bit as he turns his body slightly away from me to remove his prosthesis, as if he's ashamed to let me see his leg up close.
"Good or bad, at least it's not boring," he shrugs. There's a little button on his prosthesis, which he moves to push. I gently place my hand over his, however, stopping him. Peeta glances over at me in question, looking extremely confused. "I can keep it on, if you want. I just thought—"
I immediately shake my head, "Of course I don't want you to sleep in it." Moving from the bed to the floor in front of him, I keep my hand on his and nod towards his prosthesis. "Can I?"
"Can you… what?" Peeta asks hesitantly, his eyes wary as he looks from me to his leg.
"Can I remove it for you? I figure it's about time I got a little hands-on experience," I answer with a hopeful smile. Peeta frowns and releases a long breath. He looks conflicted. It makes me incredibly sad; sad that he feels so self-conscious about something he can't help and sadder yet that he thinks I'd ever judge him for it.
"I got it, Katniss. You don't have to—" he quietly assures, then slightly turns his body away from me again.
"I know I don't have to. I want to," I assert, raising my eyebrows. I give him a look that tells him I'm not about to take no for an answer. "I let you see all my scars, didn't I? Isn't that what relationships are about? Trusting someone else with the most vulnerable parts of yourself? You trust me, right?"
He rubs his face with the palm of his hand and relents silently with a nod.
Before he can stop me, I press the little button. A tiny hiss emits from it as the prosthesis loosens, and then I remove it. Peeta promptly takes the prosthesis in his hand and places it on the bed beside him. Beneath is a flesh-colored rubberband like material.
Slowly and gently, I roll it down and off his leg. The whole process takes no more than a minute.
When I see Peeta's leg, which stops right above where his knee would be, I place both of my hands on it and begin to lightly massage.
"Pretty ugly, isn't it?" Peeta asks in a half-joking manner, his voice shaky and uncertain. I glance up at him and shake my head.
"No. It's not pretty or ugly. It's just a part of you." To prove it doesn't bother me, I bring my lips to his leg and kiss it. He takes in a sharp, raspy breath and his leg jerks beneath my lips. But I keep planting kisses from the top of his thigh, down to the tip of his nub, and back up again, caressing his leg with the palms of my hands. His breathing is getting heavier and he seems to be trembling a bit. I glance up at him with a smile to see him gazing down at me as if he can't quite believe what's happening. "I love all of you, Peeta, every bit, and I wouldn't change a damn thing."
Peeta's face breaks into a wide grin as he takes my hands in his and, in one swift movement, he pulls me up onto his lap. He brings his arms tightly around me and, without a word spoken, our lips meet. My body immediately melts into his and so does my mouth as our kiss finds a frenzied, passionate rhythm. My palms sprawl upon his chest, my fingers searching the curves of his muscles. His hand snakes beneath the hem of my shirt and finds its way to my breast.
Our kiss is ever deepening until, suddenly, we hear a knock on the door, followed by a deep, "Ahem."
We break away from each other in an instant. With bright red cheeks and a heart beating like a drum against my ribcage, I look up from where I'm sitting in the floor to find Mr. Mellark standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. He appears to be both amused and stern as he looks at the both of us.I don't even have to ask to know that he saw everything.
"Um… hey, Dad. Good night?" Peeta offers sheepishly.
I want to disappear where I sit.
"Look, as hard as it is to believe, I was a teenager once. I know that if I forbid you to sleep in the same room, you'll just sneak around and do it anyway, and quite frankly, there's enough right now to deal with. So… just keep the door open, okay? And, Peeta, don't do anything stupid," Mr. Mellark states in a tired voice.
"We were only kissing," Peeta points out, "and the door was already open."
Mr. Mellark nods in acknowledgment. "Keep it that way. If I catch it closed, I will open it. And I'm sure if it comes to that, it'll be embarrassing for all involved. So just don't."
"We won't," I assure in a quick, small voice. "Good night, Mr. Mellark."
"Avory," he corrects, a gentle smile replacing the stern expression on his face. "Good night to you too, Miss Katniss. Peeta."
"G'night," Peeta mumbles. And with that, Mr. Mellark turns and walks back down the hall. I look up at Peeta, who is scowling at his retreating form. "Don't know why he's telling me to be smart. You're just as bad as I am."
"Ha! You wish," I scoff teasingly. I stand up and make my way to the head of the bed and crawl beneath the covers. Peeta winks at me and nods as he scoots up the bed beside me.
I quickly drift off with the soothing rhythm of Peeta's heartbeat against my ear, and for a few hours, I enjoy a very peaceful sleep.
But then the nightmares inevitably begin.
After a night of intermittent sleep, morning comes.
The sound of the alarm going off matches the panic building in my chest. As Peeta sits up in bed and stretches his arms, I have the strongest urge to jump up and hide his prosthesis or throw it out the window. I don't want him to leave. I don't want anything to happen to him, because I will never be able to forgive myself. I'll never be able to move on.
Peeta glances over at me as I sit up. He gives me a sleepy, sweet smile as he leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "Good morning, beautiful. You know you don't have to get up—"
"Don't go today," I blurt, unable to shake the feeling that something bad will happen to him if he leaves. "Please don't go."
He looks at me blankly and then rubs the space between his eyes.
"Katniss, I have to."
"No you don't! Say you're sick or something. Tell your dad you're not ready. I don't have a good feeling. I don't want anything bad to happen to you and I don't want to be alone," I plead, tears welling up in my eyes and threatening to fall. "Please, Peeta... please. Just stay with me?"
"Nothing bad will happen. I'll call and text you every half hour or so, okay?" Peeta reassures, soothingly caressing the bottom of my back with the palm of his hand. "I'll be just fine, and so will you. You're safe here. If I miss today, it's only going to make things look bad for us."
"How so? As far as everyone else knows, your friend and coworker just died. They'll just think you're grieving—"
"I'm not talking about everyone else. I'm talking about Coin and Snow. We don't need any blinking clues that might make them suspicious of us. Trust me, I don't want to go any more than you don't want me to, and I'll try to get home as soon as possible. As it is, it could be really helpful to see what's going on in town and hear what people are saying."
"I don't care what they're saying! It doesn't matter," I retort dismissively. "Besides, what if Coin already suspects you're hiding us and he's just waiting for you to come into town so he can make his move? He's desperate right now. I don't want to lose you, Peeta. I… I just don't have a good feeling… if you loved me…." I'm cut short as I begin to cry. I place my head into my hands, feeling excruciatingly weak and pathetic. I can't help it, though, even if I wanted to. Keeping Peeta safe and away from danger is more important than protecting any sort of pride I may have.
"Oh, Katniss. Come on now. You know I love you with all my heart," he says, bringing me into his arms. "Everything's going to be okay. We're going to get through this. They're being heavily watched by the public right now, so they're gonna have a hell of a time sneaking around and spying on others."
"I hope you're right. I just want all of this to be over with. I want things to be normal. God, I'm so sick of worrying. Literally sick of it."
"I know," he whispers gravely. "Me too."
I stand in the bathroom doorway watching as Peeta brushes his teeth and then combs his hair. I can't help wondering... what if this is the last time I ever see him? What if the last words we say to each other this morning will be the last words we ever say to each other? I suddenly feel as if the air has been sucked out of the room. I feel nauseated and dizzy. I know his reasons for going are rational, but Snow and Coin aren't.
God, I don't want to lose him.
When he's done combing his hair, he turns to me with a heavy sigh and runs his hands up and down the length of my arms as if trying to warm them up. I close my eyes as he places a kiss to the center of my forehead, to the tip of my nose, and finally, to my lips.
That's when I lose it and begin to sob uncontrollably.
He immediately gathers me in his arms, caressing my back and resting his warm cheek upon the top of my head. His attempt at comfort only causes me to cry harder against his chest, however.
"You're letting your paranoia convince you that horrible things are going to happen, Katniss, and they're not. I assure you, everything will be okay."
"All I'm asking is for you to stay. Just for today. Just until we know more."
"And you know that I can't. I have to meet Haymitch this morning, for one thing—"
"Have him come here instead."
"Katniss—" Peeta sighs and shakes his head.
"If you stay... if you stay, I'll-I'll have sex with you. Right here, right now. All day long, if you want. I'll do anything," I offer desperately. I mean it, too, if that's what it takes for him to stay. I pull back and stare unblinkingly up at him for an answer.
He frowns deeply and narrows his eyes. "Seriously, Katniss? Now you're just being ridiculous." He moves swiftly around me and out of the bathroom before calling back, "I'm going to go eat breakfast. Care to join me?"
"I'm not hungry," I whisper sullenly. "But since this might be the last morning we share together, I might as well."
Peeta eats leftovers, Mr. Mellark drinks a cup of coffee, and I just sit there, wondering what I can say or do to convince Peeta not to go.
They talk casually about how they're going to go about their day, and how they're going to carpool because it's safer. Peeta argues for a brief moment about how he'll get to work from school, but Mr. Mellark reasons that he'll pick him up and drop him off, and that's the end of that. I don't think Peeta's too happy with the arrangement, but it is what it is.
Entirely too soon, they're placing their dishes in the sink and I'm watching in defeat as Peeta and his dad make their way to the front door.
It feels as if I'm in some sort of nightmare. You know, the kind where you're aware that something bad is going to happen, that a monster or some other form of impending doom lurks right outside the door, and you try desperately, helplessly to warn everyone... but they don't listen. And they all die or get hurt. That's how I feel right now; as if I'm witnessing them walk into an inevitable tragedy, and there's nothing at all that I can do to stop it.
"Peeta..." I beg one last time, my voice hoarse and constricted with worry. "Please?"
Peeta looks back at me with heavy eyes and rubs his neck, then turns to his dad and tells him that he'll meet him down in the garage in a few minutes. Mr. Mellark glances from him, to me, and then back at Peeta again before nodding. Giving me one last pitying, apologetic look, he waves and exits the apartment.
As soon as he's gone, Peeta quickly makes his way over to me. I stop bothering to hold back the tears, letting them pour down my face as he wraps his arms around me and plants a dozen tiny kisses on the top of my head. I bring my arms around his waist and hold onto him tightly - maybe if he can't pry me away, he won't be able to leave. Maybe he won't want to.
Even as I'm doing and thinking these things, I know I'm being irrational, but I can't help it. I just want him to stay. I don't want to entertain even the slight possibility of something bad happening to him.
"Katniss, it's going to be fine. I promise," he murmurs into my hair. "Please stop crying, okay?"
"You can't promise that, though! No one can," I retort between sobs. "It's not too late to change your mind."
"I'll call you and text you all day, any chance I get, okay?" Peeta reassures in a would-be cheerful voice, all but ignoring my pleas. "Would it be better for you if someone came over to keep you company today? I could see if Madge can—"
"No." I lean back to look up at him. "It's not that. I don't care about being here alone. I just don't want anything bad happening to you."
"And nothing will," he states strongly. "Now, I really have to go. I love you more than anything, and I'll be home before you know it."
"I love you too…" I whisper.
With one last kiss to my forehead, he steps backward and unclasps my hands from his back.
I watch with my heart in my throat as he walks to the door. He says goodbye. Blows me a kiss. And then he leaves.
As soon as the door closes, I stand motionless for a few seconds, unblinking, wishing for him to come back. The room is spinning. I can't breathe. I can't speak. I can't even cry.
After a minute or so, however, my legs give out beneath me, and I fall to a crying heap on the floor. I cry so hard that I can't catch my breath.
Only when I feel a pair of tiny arms wrap themselves around my shoulders and hear a sweet voice trying to console me do I finally begin to calm down.