A/N to follow...
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The car comes to an abrupt stop at the right side of the building. Everything around us is pitch blackness, save for the small lantern that hangs on the building, illuminating a doorway just below. The door I have been leaning against is wrenched open and a meaty hand reaches in, wraps itself around my arm, and pulls me out of the car and to my feet, which waver beneath me.
"Easy," Nurse Trinket warns. "She won't be giving us any trouble, will you Katniss?" She looks at me, and I nod numbly, earning a comically large smile from her. "Wonderful!" she gushes, before turning to head towards the entrance, the heels of her shoes clicking on the paved path.
I step through the door, which Nurse Trinket holds open. The inside of the hospital is dimly lit and eerily quiet. Our shadows lengthen frighteningly against the walls as we walk down the hall; the air is stale and scratches at my already dry throat, staving off the screech that wants to tear its way out of my mouth.
The walls of the long corridors seem to close in, becoming narrower and narrower with every turn we take, and the sound of Nurse Trinket's clicking heels mixes with the sound of my heart beating in my ear, filling me with an intense feeling of dread. I have never felt so scared as I do now, walking blindly into the unknown.
We stop at a small desk manned by a stout nurse whose skin takes on a ghoulish green tinge in the low light.
"Good evening, Octavia," Nurse Trinket greets cheerfully. "How has your night been?
"Quiet," the younger nurse says with a smile.
"Oh good." Nurse Trinket claps her hands together before turning to me. Her smile is so genuine that it begins to ease my mounting anxiety. "You know, dear," she addresses me, "you are so very fortunate that your family could afford to send you to a private hospital." Her voice rises in such a snooty tone that I forget about focusing on her easing smile. "You do not want to go to one of those state hospitals... butcheries, all of them." She sounds convincing enough, but I would still rather be anywhere than here.
After writing something on a few sheets of paper that Octavia places in front of her, Nurse Trinket grabs a large ring of keys from the desk, takes my bags from the orderlies, and gestures for them to stay behind. She leads me through a door to our right, which she unlocks using a long silver key.
We enter a small hallway, which is a tad more illuminated than the previous parts of the hospital. In front of us is a set of closed double doors. When my eyes focus on the image painted on them, I gasp. Nurse Trinket stops and glances back at me.
"Marvelous, isn't it?" she chimes in, misinterpreting my alarm. I stare back at the painting of a strange bird, a bird I have only seen once before—the bird that was on the pin that Prim gave me, the same pin that now lies grasped in her dead hand, deep down in the cold earth.
"Who painted it?" I ask; my voice quivers with each word.
"Another patient in this ward. Such talent!" she gushes proudly, like a mother over her own child.
"Wh-what kind of bird is it?"
"He tells me it's called a mockingjay," she answers.
"A mockingjay." I test the word out, feeling a strange familiarity growing inside of me. "I never knew what it was called," I say, more to myself, but I hear Nurse Trinket laugh softly next to me.
"Oh my dear." Her eyes light up brighter than the small room we stand in. "That is because they don't exist."
"Oh," I blurt out without thinking. "I thought they were real. My sister, she—"
"Yes, well," Nurse Trinket cuts me off, quickly indicating that she could care less about any personal anecdote that I'm about to share. "It's been a long night, let's get you settled in your room."
Neither of us utters a word until we are standing in front of a brown door labeled with a chrome-colored number four.
"I'm sorry we were not able to find you a room of your own, but many people are eager to find treatment at The Capitol." I have my doubts about what she is telling me, but I compliantly nod. "But it really doesn't matter, since your roommate Annie doesn't talk much, it will be like you have the room all to yourself." She chuckles, clearly amused with herself, but my head feels heavy, my body feels numb. I am done playing along tonight.
She opens the door, revealing a pitch-black room. When the light from the hall floods in, I can make out the silhouette of a girl dressed in a nightgown, lying above the blankets clutched into a fetal position, seemingly asleep, but her mouth is screwed tight and her eyes clenched so hard that I can't be sure.
"Well here you are, my dear," Nurse Trinket addresses me in a hushed voice. "This is yours," she says with a gesture over towards the neatly made bed off to the right. "That closet is yours." Her long finger points to a closed door near the bed. "And that is your bathroom." She points to another door. "Sleep tight, Katniss, you have a big, big, big day tomorrow!" She pats me once on my shoulder and quickly scurries out of the room.
I walk into the small bathroom, pull on the light, and look at myself in the mirror. The prominent bags under my red-veined eyes look like bruises, and my skin is paler than I have ever seen it before. When's the last time I ate? I try to remember, but attempting to think about anything hurts my head. I use the toilet then wash my hands, splashing water on my face before turning off the light. I toe off my shoes and crawl under the covers of my new bed, clothes and all.
My roommate still looks to be in the same state of distress she was when I entered the room, but she hasn't moved, so I suppose she is actually asleep, and though I know I should still be alarmed by the day's events, my tired eyes want desperately to close, so I let them.
I'm wet…
A constant frigid rain pours down on top of me. A chill sets so deeply in me that my bones are screaming in pain. I look around. I am propped against a tree, my backside sinking into the mud; my hands look smaller than I remember, and the skin is tight over protruding bones.
A gloriously warm smell wafts into my nose. My eyes glance up and find a small weathered building labeled "Bakery" positioned in front of me. My stomach burns with hunger pains, to the point of nausea. I need food, but I somehow know it would not be safe for me to acquire some from the bakery.
I take a shallow, shuddering breath that makes my lungs spasm and a hacking cough tears from my mouth. It is then I realize I am going to die
I just want to be warm again…
My eyes close, I decide, for the last time, and I wait for the end.
A screech brings me to attention; my glazed over eyes focus on the door of the bakery, as a faceless boy, no older than twelve, is practically shoved out of it, in his hand a loaf of bread.
"Feed the pig, you stupid creature!" I hear a woman yell, but my eyes are focused on the loaf of bread, which appears to be blackened on one end.
I watch the boy walk down the steps to a pig pen just on the side of the building. He pulls off a chunk of the burnt end and tosses it to the squealing animal before him, who ravenously devours it, and my mouth begins to water.
The boy spins around in my direction, wet blond hair splayed against his forehead. I can't see his eyes, but I can feel him staring at me, and all I can think is how ashamed I am that this boy is seeing me this way.
I contemplate getting up and fleeing, finding another tree to die under, when the bread that the boy was holding suddenly lands just inches from me. When I look up, I find the boy already running back up the stairs to the bakery, so I grab the bread, stuff it under my shirt, and run.
I wake with a start; my stomach growls violently and I can still feel the heat on my belly where the warm bread pressed against it.
When my eyes adjust to being awake, I look around and immediately startle again when I find that my roommate is sitting cross-legged on her bed... studying me.
"Hi," I say weakly, my voice hoarse. "You're Annie, right?" She doesn't say anything.
"Um, I'm Katniss," I offer. Her eyebrows furrow at my name, and she looks like she is trying to place my face, but I have never seen her before in my life.
Our staring match is interrupted by the door flinging open and a round, angry-looking nurse barges in.
"Let's go. Breakfast time," she barks, before spinning around and stomping away.
I get out of bed and look down to find myself still wearing my rumpled school uniform from the day before, but my grumbling stomach stops me from changing, and I walk towards the door. I turn to see if Annie is behind me, but instead she is face down in her pillow.
"Aren't you coming?" I ask softly. I watch her shake her head in the pillow. "Ok," I whisper, before walking out into the hallway.
An orderly points down the hall to my right. I can see other girls about my age shuffling in almost a line towards something I can't see because they move out of sight. I move to follow them and eventually the line leads me to into a cafeteria. The smells that fill the room are enough to make me sigh out loud and for my stomach to groan loudly.
I follow the girls into the line, and wait as patiently as possible to reach the food. I glance around as I wait, and notice that it is not just girls in the cafeteria, but boys as well. I feel my cheeks blush.
I have gone to an all-girls school my whole life, and outside of school it was usually just Prim and me, so besides the few times that they bussed in boys from a nearby prep school to our school dances, I haven't really been around many. Boys have never really been a concern of mine, but I now wish I had changed out of this stupid uniform.
When I reach the front of the line, I am handed a tray with a bowl of porridge, a small, bruised red apple and a carton of milk. I thank the woman, who grunts in response. I turn to scan the room. It's eerily quiet, though people are sitting together and I see a few engaged in hushed conversation while several orderlies walk menacingly around the tables. I spot an empty table in a far corner and head that way. I am used to being alone, especially since Prim has been gone. So being by myself makes no difference to me now.
I begin to shovel the lumpy gray mush into my mouth. It's tasteless paste, but it calms my hungry stomach, so I continue to eat. I drop the spoon into the empty bowl and am about to grab the apple when a shiver runs up my spine and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I look up, my eyes almost immediately finding a boy with blond hair, about my age, glaring back at me, his face twisted in disgust.
I look down abruptly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anger. What have I ever done to this boy that I deserve his ire? What's wrong with me that he has to glare at me like that? I self-consciously smooth down the material of my plaid skirt, and try to go back to my meal, but I can still feel his eyes on me, so I don't do much more than roll the apple around the table, and bite the inside of my lip until I taste a hint of copper.
A nurse enters the cafeteria a short time later to indicate mealtime is over. I sigh in relief and gather the remnants of my meal. I slip the apple and an unopened milk carton into the pockets of my skirt, and start to take my tray to the garbage barrel on the other side of the room.
I don't make it though. Instead, I trip over something and fall flat on my face, my dishes scattering across the room. The impact crushes the milk in my pocket and the liquid begins to soak my stockings.
I hear laughter next to me. A hulking boy looks down with a cruel smirk, his leg jutting out in my direction and I know it is what I tripped over, and the self-satisfied look on the dirty blonde's face tells me it was on purpose.
Normally if something like this had happened to me in school, like when Madge Undersee yanked on my braid in grade five, I would have punched them square in the face, but between one boy glaring at me and the other humiliating me in front of everyone, and the overwhelming feeling of loneliness, all I want to do is cry.
Burning hot tears sting my eyes, and I can feel a sob begin to form in my throat, and normal breathing becomes harder. I begin to pull myself off the floor; my ears ring with the sound of snickers and whispers all around me. When I stand up, those snickers turn to raucous laughter.
"Did she piss herself?" someone asks loudly, causing another eruption of laughter. I look down to find that the whole front of my skirt is wet with the destroyed milk that was once in my pocket.
I can feel myself begin to shake, and a wave of nausea runs through me. Splotches of white begin to stain my vision, but before I give in and slump to the ground I feel someone grab my arm and jerk it abruptly. I look up to find a girl who looks older than me, with large, angry brown eyes and dark hair that looks like it was cut by a drunk half-wit with gardening shears.
"Don't let them see you cry," she hisses at me. "They will make you pay for it."
"Miss Mason!" I recognize the high, nasally voice of Nurse Trinket. "You will unhand Miss Everdeen right this instant."
The girl squeezes tight, causing me to flinch, before she lets go of my arm and turns to face the nurse.
"What's the problem, Trinket? Afraid I'm going to fuck the new girl in front of the whole cafeteria?" My eyes widen and I take a step back, letting my jaw drop open.
"Johanna!" Nurse Trinket scolds. "What have I told you about that kind of language?"
The girl snorts in response, but when she catches eye of the surrounding orderlies closing in, the defiant smirk falls off her face and she lifts her hands up in self-defense.
"I was just trying to make the new girl feel welcome, since Cato's way of welcoming her is tripping her to the floor," Johanna blurts out, before looking over to the blonde brute still laughing in my direction.
Nurse Trinket raises an eyebrow to Cato, but does nothing else.
"Head back to the common room, Johanna." She sighs, then glances over to me. "You can go to your room to change," she says to me, before moving to help the orderlies clear the room.
I wipe my eyes and quickly sneak out the door I came in. I practically jog down the hallway towards my room. When I take the final corner, I stop short as I catch sight of the boy who was glaring at me earlier, standing at a door. When he starts to look around, I duck back around the corner. I count to ten before looking back, but by then he's gone.
I move to see what door he went through, as I don't remember there being patient rooms in this part of the hallway, but I hear someone cackling with laughter behind me, so instead I break into a run again, and don't stop until I push my way through the door to my bedroom.
I recoil a bit when I find a boy with reddish hair sitting in a chair next to Annie's bed, but my skirt is drenched and I am overwhelmed and frustrated, and right now I don't care who is here. So I go to my bags that are still resting on the floor in front of my bed. I open one and pull out the first shirt and skirt I can find. I know my mother must have packed these, so there won't be any of the pants that I used to wear to do chores or walk in the woods in here.
I walk into the washroom, shutting the door behind me. I strip down and put on the clean clothes—a green blouse and brown tweed skirt. I soak my soiled skirt and blouse in the sink, and then hang it on the radiator behind me. Then I splash water on my face, and leave the bathroom, and plop onto my bed.
The copper-haired boy is still sitting next to Annie's bed. He pays me no mind, but Annie doesn't seem to be paying attention to him. She just stares straight ahead while he murmurs quietly to her.
I throw my head into my hands, and begin scrubbing my face furiously. Images of the glaring boy, the bully Cato, the crazy girl Johanna, and all the other kids who laughed and taunted me while I lay helpless on the ground appear in the forefront of my mind. I can hear their cruel laughter in my ears, and I stick my fingers in them to stop the sound. My head shoots up.
"Is everyone here insane!?" I blurt out the question, and immediately burst into tears. I miss my home. I miss my dad. I even miss my mom. I have been here less than a day and already I feel more alone than I have felt in my entire life. More alone than the first night I slept in my room without Prim.
I feel the mattress beneath me sink, but I can't stop my sobs. A hand gently touches my shoulder. I look up, and through tear-clouded eyes I can see my roommate Annie sitting next to me. Her brows knit with worry. I want to say something, to voice my surprise, but before I can, she has pulled me into her embrace, holding me tightly with her slender arms. This small comfort, this moment of compassion is too much, and louder, more hysterical cries begin to wrack my body.
Eventually my tears ebb, leaving me sniffling and wiping tears from my face with the heel of my hands. I pull back from Annie; she smiles sweetly.
"To answer your question," she whispers, her voice so very fragile. "Yes, we are all insane, but I think that's the point."
A snort of laughter escapes me, causing Annie's eyes to widen in surprise, but soon she is softly chuckling with me.
"I'm so hungry," Annie laments suddenly, to know one in particular. "Is it still breakfast time?" I look over to the redhead, who still sits next to Annie's bed, watching us, sadness veiling his eyes.
"Breakfast is over, love," he tells her, before quickly rubbing his eyes with his fingers.
"Oh," Annie whispers and bows her head.
"I have an apple." I add, "It's a little bruised, but you can have it if you want." I don't wait for her to answer before I get up and retrieve the apple from the edge of the bathroom sink.
When I hand it to her, I am rewarded with a large smile. Her sea-green eyes widen just before she bites into the battered flesh, and she lets out a small groan as she chews. When I look up at the boy, he is smiling at me.
"Thank you," he mouths, and I nod in return.
After devouring the apple, Annie introduces the boy as Finnick, her fiance. She tells me that as soon as the doctors say she can leave, they are going to get married and move to the Gulf Coast. Finnick smiles, and adds his bit to the conversation, but I can see the wistfulness in his eyes—the lost look one gets when something is truly hopeless.
I know that look.
I see it in the mirror everyday.
The days start to pass. Annie falls in and out of her catatonic state. Some days she doesn't snap out of it at all, and other days she seems no different than any other girl. But no matter her state of mind, Finnick is always here, by her side. From what I have heard, boys are not allowed to be in a girl's bedroom, but that doesn't seem to bother him.
I begin to make sure that I grab extra food at mealtimes, for both of them, since Finnick frequently misses his meals as well.
"Why don't you go get some food? I'll be here if she wakes up," I tell him one evening, as the dinner bell rings. Annie has had a bad day today and has been staring at the same spot on the wall for hours now. Finnick smiles to himself.
"It's ok, I want whatever I can get of Annie. I don't want to miss a thing."
The next week seems to drag by. Despite my reservations, I am made to take several medications each day. I am told the daily cocktail has been prescribed to me by the head psychiatrist, a Doctor Aurelius, who I have never met but I am told has my best interests in mind.
The drugs leave me feeling listless; everything is hazy and my feet feel like lead. Everyone around me looks like they are on the same sort of medication, and I highly suspect that they just mean to keep us sedated enough to control us.
Since that first morning in the cafeteria, the other kids have left me alone, except for Cato who growled in my ear once when we passed each other in the hallway.
I spend as much time as I can in my room, but sometimes the nurses will force me out into the common room to interact with the other patients, but even there I keep to myself.
The boy who glared at me that first morning—Peeta, as I found out from Finnick—still seems to hate me for no apparent reason. Either he completely ignores my presence or stares at me, his face filled with something I can only reconcile to be contempt. The other day when I accidentally brushed by him in the cafeteria, he recoiled from me like he had been burned. Today, he has decided to pretend I don't exist.
A bunch of us are crammed into the common room. Most seem to be involved in some sort of activity, like chess or cards, but I just sit in an off-white armchair and stare out the small barred window across from me. A commotion sounds from behind me. I turn just in time to watch the oafish boy Cato flip one of the card tables with an angry scream. He grabs the collar of the young boy I saw him playing with and pushes him to the ground. I suck in a shaky breath.
Cato starts stomping around the room, on the verge of a tantrum. The sight of his hulking form makes me nervous, and my eyes begin to shift around, desperate to locate my escape route, but it's no use. Where would I go? So instead I sink back into the chair, trying to make myself as unimposing as possible.
The boy's behavior becomes more and more erratic with every moment that passes, and I wonder as to why the orderlies have not gotten involved yet—that is, until the thought crosses my mind that they might be afraid of this boy as well. After all, he towers over most of them. I gulp.
"Stop fucking looking at me," he screams, and then picks up the wooden chair to his left, and glances around menacingly before throwing it across the room.
A small cry escapes my lips before I am able to stop it, and I am sure he has heard it and will fling the next piece of furniture in my direction, but instead I find Peeta is standing in front of me. Not only that, but he has grasped my hand in his, and quickly pulls me to my feet.
"Come on," he says quietly, for my ears only, and hurriedly takes me out of the room, down a small hallway, then out a set of double doors, out into a stairwell that seems to have not seen much activity in recent years.
As soon as the door shuts behind us, he drops my hand and brings his fingers up to rub his temples.
"Once Cato gets going it can get bad; people can get hurt," he informs me.
"Oh," I answer lamely, not knowing what else to say. Then the boy tilts his head up, and for the first time I get a clear look into his blue eyes, which look tired, angry, and scared all at the same time.
"I'm Peeta," he says a few seconds later, his voice catching on his name.
"Um, Katniss," I reply.
"Yeah, I know," he says, before turning away from me to look out the crack that the slightly ajar door makes. I want to ask him how he knows, but I never expected to have any sort of dialogue with him, and it feels odd being around him, so instead I ask the second question on my mind.
"Why did you help me?" He doesn't turn around, but I watch him bow his head.
"Because he would have hurt you," he states earnestly.
"But what about the other people in the room? Couldn't he hurt them as well?"
Peeta sighs. "Yeah well, you're new. You don't know how Cato can get."
"I just don't understand why you helped me." I take a step closer to him, but he
still won't look at me.
"I just did what I was supposed to do, ok?" I hear the frustration in his voice, and although I want to question him more, I don't know how he would react if pushed, so I back off, and nervously chew my thumbnail instead.
A few silent moments later, Peeta opens the door wider, and sticks his head out to scan the area. I assume he deems it safe, because he steps out and beckons me to follow him with his hand. I do, but keep a safe distance behind him.
Once we are back near the common area, Peeta walks quickly away from me without a word. I mean to call out to him in gratitude for what he did for me, as strange as it was, but the words never leave my throat, and instead my eyes widen at the sight of puddles of blood on the floor near my feet. It must have come from whoever Cato got his hands on.
That blood could have been mine! I shudder at the thought. I came close to being Cato's victim, had it not been for Peeta.
That night I fall into a fretful sleep, but sometime during it, I dream…
The fluorescent light in the room hurts my eyes, so I look down at my hand instead, which is gently running through a head of thick blond hair. It feels like a luxury. So soft, so smooth. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I can't for the life of me figure out how I lived without the feel of these golden strands running through my fingers.
"You're still trying to protect me, real or not real?" the boy whispers suddenly, and I halt my movements, and think about the answer. The next words spill out of my mouth.
"Real...Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other."
Thank you so much for reading! When I first started writing this it was only to get this story out of my head, so I am pleasantly surprised by the positive feedback I have gotten so far! Thank you so much!
Thank you so much to the incredible Court81981 who gave my writing CPR and maybe a few shocks with a paddle when the slump I was in left it DOA! Her encouragement helped spark something , and I am finally able to get the words on the screen again! YAY!
And Thank you to the lovely Pookieh who I gave this to only a little while ago and was like "READ THIS NOW" and she did...and still added her helpful suggestions, her theories and her words of encouragement instead of telling me to fuck off... LOL!
I really tried to portray the asylum in this story as accurate as possible to the period, but I did take some liberties, when needed. All inaccuracies are my own.
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Thanks again!