Oh god, Peeta. Please don't give up. Please. You have to come home to me. Please.
Cato is still calling for help, but there's nothing I can do. I have no weapons and no strength to use them if I did. All I can do is lie here and listen to his pitiful cries and moans as I lose more and more blood, coming closer to death with each breath I take.
Adding to my misery, a bitter cold wind is now blowing through the arena. I'm sure it's Gamemaker intervention, but it doesn't really matter what's causing it—all that matters is my aching, trembling body. Every movement sends a shot of pain coursing down my leg. I curl up into a ball in an attempt to retain any warmth that might remain in my body.
I try to think of Katniss, of home, of my brothers. I try to put myself back in the warm kitchen of the bakery, surrounded by delicious smells and my father's easy laughter. None of it lasts for more than a few seconds—my mind is confused, my body weak. I'm dying.
I turn my face to the night sky. Above me shine millions of bright stars and a luminous moon. I wonder if any of it's real, or if it's just a projection of the arena. It doesn't really matter, though. It's a beautiful sight—my last, I am sure. I would have preferred Katniss' face, but this will have to do.
Cato's voice pounds in my ears. I know, if by some miracle I survive this, that voice will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.
I'm fading now—all I want to do is sleep. Sleep would be so wonderful—an escape from the pain and the cold, the horror of Cato's slow, agonizing death. But I can't. I know if I sleep, I will never wake up again. I must stay awake. I must live. Katniss is waiting.
Something drifts into my view, blocking out the stars. What is it? What have the Gamemakers sent to worsen my torment now? Whatever it is, I can do nothing to escape it. Then my brain connects with what my eyes are seeing, and I realize it's a parachute. It slowly drifts down and lands right beside me.
I can't believe it. How in the world did Haymitch manage to send me something this late in the game?
I drag myself into a seated position and grab the small box attached to the parachute. I open it to find a long canvas strap with a buckle on one end. I look at in confusion—what am I supposed to do with this? I had been hoping for medicine for my leg, or maybe a nice thick blanket at the very least.
I check the box—no note this time. I'm on my own. My brain is moving at a snail's pace.
When the answer finally comes to me, I can't believe it took me so long. It's a tourniquet—a way to stop the steady stream of blood from my leg that is slowly draining the life out of me.
I move quickly, wrapping the strap around my leg and pulling it as tight as I can stand it. The flow of blood slows almost instantly—this gift has probably saved my life. Now when I shudder it's from relief.
Making use of every resource at hand, I take the parachute and wrap it around my shoulders. It's thin and doesn't add much protection from the cold, but at least it's something.
I lay back down to stare at the stars again. Almost instantly my eyes start to droop, and this time I don't fight it. I fall into sleep, where I dream of wolves and blood. And Katniss.
It's a long time before I wake.
For an indeterminate amount of time I drift in and out of consciousness. I see bright lights, and hear loud, commanding voices. I feel pain, and then a slow, pleasant drifting sensation before the darkness takes me again.
When I finally wake up, the first thing I see is Haymitch sitting next to my hospital bed.
"Welcome back, boy," he says in his usual gruff manner.
"Haymitch," I rasp out. My voice is weak, my throat parched. He quickly pours me some water from the pitcher on my bedside table. He holds the glass while I sip through a straw. Never have I tasted anything so cool and refreshing—never again will I take clean, cold water for granted. After, my voice is clearer, stronger.
"Did I win?"
"Wouldn't be here talking to me if you hadn't," Haymitch smiles.
I won. I'm alive. I'm going home!
"How long has it been?" I ask.
"Three days."
Wow. I've been sleeping for three days. It didn't seem that long. Was I really that sick? I feel pretty okay now. Then I remember my leg. I try to sit up to see it, but there's a strap across my chest, restricting my movement.
"Haymitch? Why am I strapped down?"
"Something I need to tell you, boy."
Something about his tone brings fear creeping into my chest. "What is it?" I ask.
"No easy way to say it, I guess, so I'm just going to say it. By the time Cato finally died and they got you out of there, it was too late to save your leg. They had to amputate, just below the knee. I'm sorry, Peeta."
For some reason the only thing that registers at first is that Haymitch used my name. I don't think I've ever heard him say it before—it's always been "boy." Then the rest of it sinks in. My leg. Is gone. I'm a cripple! No!
"No!" I cry aloud, struggling against my restraints. "No!" It's the only thing I can articulate. This can't be happening.
"Calm down," says Haymitch, placing his hand on my arm.
"No! My leg…I have to…"
"Calm down!" he says more forcefully. "Listen to me!"
Something in his voice stops me.
"Don't you dare go feeling sorry for yourself, boy," he snaps. "So you lost a leg. Big deal. Not like you're not going to walk again. They'll give you a nice, shiny new one to replace it."
"But…" I sputter. I can't believe he's being so harsh, so unfeeling, even if he is Haymitch.
"Don't. You're alive, and that's all that matters. You're going home, which is more than any of those other kids can say. Don't you think any one of them would give their right leg to be alive right now?"
I realize immediately that he's right. I can't dwell on this. My leg is a small price to pay for the rest of my life. It could have been so much worse.
"Okay," I whisper, nodding, accepting. "Okay, you're right."
Haymitch sits back in his chair, visibly relieved.
"Can you unstrap me now?" I ask. "I promise I won't become unhinged."
He chuckles and agrees to help me. A moment later I'm sitting up in bed, staring at the stump that is all that's left of my right shin. It's not quite as grotesque as I had thought it would be, but it's still not a pretty sight. I can't help wondering what Katniss will think. Will she be disgusted? Repelled? I can't bear the thought.
I pull the sheet back over my leg. I'll deal with it later. For now, I have so many questions.
"How did you know about Katniss, Haymitch? Did you talk to her? Does anybody else know? And how did you afford that tourniquet? It must have cost a small fortune. And what happened to Rue? I was out of it when she…"
"Calm down, boy. We'll have plenty of time to talk once you're rested up a little more. Aren't you hungry?"
Reluctantly, I give in and agree to wait for answers. For a little while, anyway.
Haymitch manages to avoid me for the rest of the day. The doctors spend a long time with me, checking me over and teaching me how to use my new prosthetic leg. They refuse to talk to me about the games, though—it's all business with them. It's not until later that afternoon, when my prep team gets ahold of me to prepare me for the crowning ceremony that night that I get my answers.
"There he is!" cries Aurelia as she comes to my room in the Training Center.
"All hail the conquering hero!" Livia joins in, following just behind.
I smile indulgently. Aurelia and Livia are idiots, but they mean well.
Quintas, who is worse than the other two combined, comes through the door and engulfs me in a gigantic hug. He's actually crying with joy. Crying!
"Oh, Peeta!" he says. "I'm sorry, I'm just so happy for you and Katniss! It's so romantic, my heart just can barely take it!"
"Um, what?" Did he just say Katniss? Romantic? What?
"Hasn't anybody told you?" asks Livia.
"Told me what?"
"About Katniss!" Quintas answers.
"What about Katniss?"
"Oh my god. He doesn't know!" Quintas squeals to the other two.
"I can't believe it!" breathes Aurelia, her eyes wide.
"Will somebody please tell me what you're talking about?" I ask, getting frustrated. What do they know about Katniss that I don't?
Quintas draws himself up, takes a deep breath, and declares in the most dramatic way possible: "Peeta, Katniss Everdeen is in love with you!"
"What?" This is the most bizarre conversation I've ever had with them, and that's saying a lot, believe me. "What do you mean, she's in love with me?"
"I mean she's in love with you, silly boy!" Quintas giggles. "She told everybody. When you said her name right before you passed out, I just about died, oh my god it was so obvious you were so in love, and of course they went to interview her and she told everybody how much she loves you and misses you and oh! It's so romantic!"
"She's such a pretty girl," chimes in Livia. "It's no wonder you fell in love with her! But oh, how I wish I could get my hands on her eyebrows…what I could do with just a pair of tweezers…"
"Aurelia," I turn to the girl who I've judged to be the sanest of the three. "Is this true? Katniss said she loved me?"
Aurelia is smiling at me, nodding. "She did, Peeta."
I can't believe it. I can't believe it!
"How do you think you got that tourniquet, honey?" asks Quintas. "Everybody just adores you…couldn't wait to get you two lovebirds back together. And we're all going to get to see you reunited with her!"
Reunited. With Katniss. Who loves me! It's almost too much. I sink down into my chair.
The prep team is still babbling around me as they start their work, trimming my nails, treating my skin, yanking out undesirable hair, but I no longer hear a word they're saying. All I can think of is Katniss, and that she loves me, and that I'm going to see her soon.
I can't control the smile that stretches across my face.
The euphoria of my prep team's revelation carries me all the way up to the beginning of the crowning ceremony. I find myself back on stage, joking back and forth with Caesar like we're old friends, while the crowd laughs and yells encouragingly. Caesar asks me if there's anything I want to say to Katniss, but I decline, explaining that anything I have to say to Katniss is something that should be said in private. The audience oohs and ahhs at this, and I'm grateful they're satisfied with that non-answer.
Then the recap begins, and my mood declines considerably. I haven't been allowing myself to think about this since I woke up, but the fact is that twenty three kids had to die for me to be sitting here. Now, watching it all play out again on the giant screen, it's impossible to escape. I look away as much as possible and damn their rules. I lived it; I shouldn't have to watch it.
Now I finally know exactly how Rue died. I'm grateful it was so quick, but that doesn't really make it any easier. I have to fight back tears as I watched her body lifted away by the hovercraft. Then there I am on screen again, whispering Katniss' name as I fall, knocked out by the Tracker Jackers' venom.
Then, suddenly, I'm looking at Katniss' face. I gasp. This must be the interview my prep team was talking about.
I can barely absorb what I'm seeing—she looks beautiful, as always. She's wearing the same blue dress she wore on the day of the Reaping, but her hair is down out of her usual braid, cascading in loose waves over her shoulders. She's smiling shyly.
She's talking about me. Saying all kinds of wonderful things that should be making my heart soar. Saying she loves me. Saying she misses me. Saying her only wish is for me to come home to her so she can tell me how she feels. If I die, she doesn't know how she'll live without me.
It should all make me ecstatically happy, but it doesn't.
I know Katniss, and that wasn't her. Katniss is sharp and strong and sarcastic. She's not that bashful, sweet girl I just saw up on the screen. The Katniss I know would never talk so openly about her feelings in front of anybody, let alone the entire nation of Panem. Not that way. Not gushing and simpering about it. This is not how I had imagined it.
The sighs of the crowd remind me I'm still on stage, on camera. I force a smile back on my face. I'm madly in love, right?
The rest of the recap thankfully passes by in a blur…my near break-down, District Five's death, the showdown on the Cornucopia…it all seems unreal. Then it's over, and President Snow is there to place the Victor's crown on my head. The roar of the crowd is deafening.
Finally, I'm being shuffled off stage. I find myself alone in an elevator with Haymitch.
I turn to him.
"You told her what to say, didn't you?" I ask.
He looks at me.
"Yes," he answers honestly and simply.
I nod and look down, all my hopes shattered.