Hehehe I bet you guys are rolling around on the floor drooling by now. Or not. I don't know. Anyways, I am getting off track. Here is chapter fifty-one!

"What happened?" Peeta said frantically.

I whimpered. It was hurting more and more by the second, and no doubt I would probably be unconscious in a few minutes. "I-I don't know."

Without even worrying about privacy issues and such, Peeta set me down on the bed next to him and tugged up the bottom of my shirt to see what had caused it.

I gritted my teeth, already seeing white dots in obscuring my vision, and laid my head back onto the pillows.

"Why do you have a giant gash in your stomach?" I don't know if Peeta was just talking to himself or asking me, but even if he was, I couldn't answer.

I whimpered and lifted my head to look at what Peeta was talking about. There was a six-inch cut in my stomach that looked about an inch deep and was bleeding profusely all over Peeta's bed. Sorry, Peeta.

"What do I do?" He seemed to be freaking out a lot, not knowing what to do. After a second of looking around at the room hysterically, he seemed to come (sort of) to his senses. "Hospital! Can you walk to the hospital?"

"No!" I cried, and shrank away from him. "Don't make me go there again!" The hospital was my worst enemy, and Peeta knew it.

"But what else can we do? You're bleeding like crazy!" Peeta put his hand to the gash and it came back slick and red. It reminded me of the Games.

"Something! I don't know. Just don't let me go there again. They stole my baby from me and shackled me down on one of their beds more than once. They are going to have to do it again if they want any more needles in me."

"I can't fix this!" Peeta grabbed onto a fistful of his hair, getting blood all over his forehead and in his roots.

I took a deep, painful breath. "If we can get me over to the bathroom, put me in the tub and wash out the cut, and stop the bleeding with towels," My voice broke on the last word and for a second, things went black, but I resurfaced.

"Okay…" Peeta didn't go to all the trouble to hook his arms under my arms and drag me across the room; He just scooped me up and dumped me into the bathtub. I guess having a husband who is use to lifting 150-pound bags of flour had its advantages.

I bit down hard on my tongue to stop myself from screaming. When Peeta turned the faucet on, I didn't even feel the cold water getting me wet all over. All I saw was ribbons of dark red blossoming around me as blood swirled down the drain. Hopefully the water would numb the pain as well, but I didn't really care, seeing as how I passed out for a second, again.

"It is really deep. How the heck could this have possibly happened?" Peeta said as he gently washed away as much blood as he could.

"…Yesterday when they cut the baby out of me." I winced. "The doctors stitched it back up, but we broke the threads open again."

Peeta turned the water off and pulled a towel from the rack, pressing it to my cut. "So it is even deeper than one inch?"

"That is my guess." I had stopped blacking out enough to hold the towel on myself, pushing away the wet material of my shirt.

Peeta sighed and sat on the floor next to the tub, wiping mildly-sweaty hair out of his eyes. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Okay. Guess not." Peeta rested his head back against the wall. "Once the bleeding stops I am going to bandage you up, but if it starts bleeding again, I am going to take you to the hospital. And no matter how much you whine, I am still taking you."

I laughed, but winced because it hurt like crazy. "I will try not to bleed too much, then."

"How is it now?" Peeta shifted onto his knees and bent over the bathtub. I gently removed the wadded towel and made a small noise of pain. Blood welled up on the cut and very slowly trickled down my side. It wasn't bleeding as hard as it was a little bit ago, but that didn't classify as "not bleeding".

I signed and put the towel back. "It's still bleeding."

"Does it hurt much? Are you about to pass out again?" Peeta frowned at me and unconsciously rubbed his hands together where the blood was drying.

"I am trying not to think about that too much. I actually did pass out a few times there, but I don't think I am going to do it again." I slumped over and flopped my head onto Peeta's shoulder, which was luckily close enough to do that.

Peeta brushed his fingers along my jaw line sympathetically. "There is a reason they gave you stitches, Katniss. You are probably going to need them again since you only got them a few hours ago, and they broke."

I pouted. "I don't want to go back. I have had mortal wounds in the middle of the wilderness with over twenty people out to kill me, and still survived without good medical help. I don't need doctors. I hate them."

"So do I, believe me. " It's good that he understood what I was feeling. "I just don't want you to bleed to death or something like that based on your dislike for hospitals."

"Shut up." I told him. "You're making too much sense."

Peeta laughed. "Okay. You can just keep moping around in that bathtub all by yourself while you soak through towel after towel with your own blood."

I rolled my eyes. Sure, Peeta understood why I hate doctors and empathized with me, but when it comes to sympathizing with me, he doesn't exactly cut the mustard.

"You have soaked through that towel." He pointed out.

I looked down and wrinkled my nose at the squishy wet towel that was stained pink-red. Peeta took it from my hands and went to get another towel while I examined the gash. It was definitely feeling better, and washing it out seemed to do it good. The skin all around it was dirty with both wet and dry blood, but no fresh stuff seemed to be pouring out of me anymore.

Peeta, with a new towel in his hand, bent over me and ran his index finger carefully against the edge of the wound. I winced, but let him do it anyways.

"I can still see the little pieces of broken threads sticking out from the edges." He said, laying the towel down next to him with his other hand. "Those will probably need to come out so they don't grow into your skin."

"I don't want to have to do that in the bathtub, but your bed is sort of covered in blood." I wrinkled my eyebrows into an apologetic look at Peeta.

He didn't seem too fazed. "There are clean sheets and blankets in the closet."

"That's good…" I frowned to myself then looked up at Peeta. "Do you think you can do me a favor?"

"Hm?" He stood up at looked down at me.

"Can you get me an extra pair of clothes from my room?" I pointed to my sopping-wet clothes that were also stained with blood.

"Sure." Peeta grabbed the fresh towel on the floor, draping it over the edge of the bathtub. "Stay there, and if it starts to bleed again, use the towel. But if not, let it dry out as much as you can."

I nodded in agreement.

Peeta gave me a swift kiss on the forehead before ducking out the door and leaving me sitting in the bathtub, fully-clothed, and with a six-inch wound in me. I just love my life.

If I had just gone on and ended the chapter where I had originally planned to end it, it would have been twice as long. I know, I know. Some of you people wouldn't mind that too much and neither would I, but I would have skipped the chance to have a whole other chapter all but done. Anyways, it was so cute last night. My little sister was trying to scream like Steven Tyler, and it was really funny because no matter how hard you can try, no one can scream like Steven Tyler. For all of you people who don't know who Steven Tyler is, he is the lead singer of Aerosmith. For all of you people who don't know what Aerosmith is, I am so, so sorry.