4

The hunt is fruitful, at least, even we do fall quiet after our discussion. It's better that way, we needed to concentrate anyway. I manage to bag three fat rabbits and five squirrels. We did try to find bigger game, but I guess it was just a quiet day. I'm thinking of a big stew that Sae will no doubt want to prepare. The funerals are very subdued events and it's customary to bring over something for the grieving family. It doesn't have to be food (or it can't be food, because it was so scarce back then). Some families will bring over knitted throws or firewood. I know Peeta will bring over some bread, no doubt. Maybe even a cake.

I give Gale most of my kills, filling his forage bag. He gives me a look.

"Catnip…" he starts.

"Don't. It's my gift. I know Posy loves rabbit stew." I argue.

"You need to eat, too, Katniss."

"I have Peeta, I'll be fine."

"Yeah."

The twinge of doubt in his voice makes me roll my eyes.

"He's been lots of good to you. Gave you a nice little necklace, last time I remember."

He's referring the bruises caused by him nearly strangling me to death in his early Hijacked state. Fury ignites in my stomach for even bringing it up.

"Gale, he can't help it."

"Exactly! Which means he's even more dangerous! I know I'm damn well not planning your funeral!"

His raised voice scares off the birds.

"Peeta would never kill me." I mumble.

"He tried to."

"He wasn't himself. He's getting better."

"And where is he this morning? Hmm?"

I think back to his borderline episode in the early morning.

"He's broken. I am, too. And now you are, too. Congratulations, I'll mail you your fucking membership card." I say, leaving the forest.

"Katniss!"

"Save it!"

He tries to catch up with me, but I'm much faster. I'm out of the forest and into my house. Buttercup greets me, no doubt wanting my remaining squirrels.

"Shut up." I snap, slamming down my bag.

I'm so angry, I know I shouldn't be holding a knife. But I begin skinning the squirrels carelessly. I'm so practiced at this, I'm not as attentive I should be. Before long, I slice open my hand.

"Shit…" I swear, searching for a rag. I wrap up my hand. I try to staunch the bleeding, but it's no use. I'll have to see a medic. The nearest one is all the way in town.

I run to the door, smacking into the one person I don't want to see.

"Katniss I—what'd you do?"

"I had a fucking tea party, what do you think I did? I need to go to the medic…" I say, brushing past him.

"Should I go with you?" he asks.

"If you must, I just need to go before I bleed to death."

We set off down the road. The rag becomes more and more stained.

"Did you shove the knife in your hand?" Gale tells me after he makes me stop to check the wound.

"I was skinning squirrels and the knife slipped."

"Did you miss your wrists?" he murmurs darkly.

"Honestly? Do I need this?" I shout, alarming people near me. I set off again to the medic, leaving him behind. He catches up.

"Sorry…I just…" he begins.

"Shut up. You just keep digging the knife in farther every time you talk. Handle your shitty life, and I'll handle mine."

I don't hear his footsteps as I continue on.

"Good Lord, child, what did you do?" Ama asks I rush into the small shack. The little hospital was built just after people started dwindling back into 12. Healers were given better supplies from the Capitol to deal with illness and injury. Ama Palette was from District 3, originally. She moved here to help with the poorer districts. District 3 made more than enough making electronics, so they weren't they bad off.

"Trying to skin game." I tell her.

"Well, let me see it."

She hisses when she sees how deep the cut is.

"Well, I need to clean it. Let me give you a local analgesic."

I see the syringe. My face blanches as I see the needle.

"Calm down, child. After a knife in your hand, a needle is nothing." she reprimands me. I see down, looking far away from the needle. I feel the prick and let out my breath. My hand is instantly numb. Ama takes down a bottle of alcohol. I think of Haymitch, wondering if he's drowned in his booze. Ama tends to the wound, dousing my hand with the alcohol and taking out another needle to stitch my hand together. I don't feel it though.

"Alright, I'm going to give you pain medicine to take as needed. I'm going to order some anti-infection ointment as well. Rest your hand, don't get it dirty." Ama says, handing me a little glass vial of blue pills. I hate taking pills. "I want to see you back in here in two weeks, to check how it's healing. I mean it, girl, the closest you stick to the instructions, the fastest your hand will heal."

"Right." I murmur stubbornly.

"The ointment should arrive in 3-5 business days. Change the wrappings every time you bathe."

She sends me out with a bag full of gauze, the pills, and little alcohol pads. I head back to Victor's Village, noticing the Hawthorne's house is buzzing with activity. Through the window, I see Gale at his kitchen table with his siblings and some man I don't recognize. Probably the guy that's going to see to the funeral arrangements.

I'm barely up the steps to my house when I see Haymitch nudging a group of goslings into a pen.

"Hey, sweetheart. Looking banged up, there, I see." he slurs. I can smell the spirits from here.

"You're one to talk." I snap.

"Gale said to tell you that Hazel's funeral is going to be Saturday at 9am. The Meadow." he says in a subdued voice.

"Got it."

I go in my house, slam the door, and lock it.

I stare at the blue pills before cradling them up to my mouth. I drink water and swallow them, almost gagging. We never had medicines like pills and capsules before the Rebellion. Usually, we drank concoctions of herbs. Those suffering from arthritis and other joint problems had homemade salves. I remember Prim sitting at the very table I sit right now, grinding up herbs with a mortar and pestle. Now there's just nothing but the swirling dust in the dying sunlight beams.

"Meooooooow…" Buttercup whines. His ugly face comes into focus.

"What?" I bark at him.

He meows more persistently. There's an alertness in his voice that's almost eerie. I get up and he rushes toward the door. I follow behind him. His agile, furry body jumps up and grabs the door handle. One little swing later, he's out the door.

The little shit knows how to open doors!

I shake off my agitation and follow alongside the cat. He's trotting along, passing Haymitch's house and going up to Peeta's.

I look up at Peeta's house. Something's off. I can smell something burning.