"I do. I need you."
The words haunt my dreams, my waking hours, my every moment. It's a constant struggle to refocus my mind on something that won't set the whisper to shrieking, though I lose the battle more often than I did in the past few days. The tremble has returned to my hands and the splintery feeling in my mind is worse. Delly leaves in tears almost every time she visits.
But, through all the raging chaos, I can follow the thought that is sparking all the fury. She isn't a superhuman being developed in a lab to visit destruction on the world. Every time I look at that closely, it sends me spiraling. But the crashing importance of this idea drives me toward it over and over until I'm gasping on the bed, throat raw from screaming and head throbbing from burst blood vessels. Finally, in the quiet left behind because I've howled my voice away and my muscles have become jelly, I'm able to find a space to think about it clearly.
Yet another thing I believed to be true has been shown to be a lie. She is not a demon, he was not trying to betray me. Nothing I know as real can be trusted. My mind has broken into scattered pieces I can no longer rely upon to navigate me through these dangerous waters.
You have to find your way back. You have to remember what's real. My cell in the Capitol floats before my eyes, the assistant to Lichten crouched before me, desperate and hushed. It was him, he was the one who tried to warn me. But he was the one who was doing it to me. It makes no sense, that can't be right. The whisper chants gleefully as I struggle to comprehend.
Back in the Capitol, Lichten was keeping me submissive with something that drained my ability to think clearly, to process what was happening. At the same time, he was dosing me steadily with tracker jacker venom and intentionally altering my memories so I no longer know which really happened and which were planted in my mind by the Capitol. I have no way of telling which is which. Nothing I think is true can be trusted as real. A black hole opens in my stomach and I feel myself teeter for just a moment before plunging endlessly back through the darkness, falling without hope of ever landing. falling falling falling falling
The weight of despair is crushing. I stare listlessly at the pocked ceiling as the whisper hisses a joyful echo unendingly through the silence. stranger killer madman prey I can't even find the strength to fear it any longer. My family is lost, my home is gone, I can't even be trusted to leave this room without hurting someone. What good can I be possibly be? My fingers pick restlessly at the blanket, the heavy sadness settling over me as I consider my life stretching out in front of me, bleak and sparse. Nothing but a burden to others.
The next time Delly visits, I can barely find the energy to hold a conversation. My focus keeps drifting and I just want to sleep, close my eyes and slip away from the gray world. Her voice shreds to silence and I turn my head back from my contemplation of the windowless wall. Her deep blue gaze holds such depths of worry and sadness that I instantly curse myself for my selfishness.
"Delly, I'm so sorry," I apologize wretchedly. I've made it even worse, I reprimand myself. "What were you saying about the generator?"
"It doesn't matter," she demurs. "Are you doing OK? You seem – I don't know. You seem better in some ways, but worse in others."
"No, Delly, I'm better. I'm so much better. Thanks to you," I watch her intently. I want her to know how much her care has meant to me. "If it weren't for you, who knows if I'd even still be here. Look at me," I demand, forcing a cheerful lift to my voice. "No screaming, no drugs. I even fed myself pudding yesterday," I declare with a wink.
Instead of cheering her up, my words bring tears springing to her eyes. "Oh, Peeta," she chokes.
My false optimism drains out of me. She is too bright, and too good of a friend not to see what's going on. I shrug despondently. "I just feel so lost," I tell her, my voice low and halting. "I don't know what's real around me, and, worst of all," I look away, my eyes riveted to the humming machines, "I don't know what's real about me."
She nods tearfully. "I can't imagine," she whispers. After a moment, she pulls her hand back from reaching for me. "Do you want me to tell you about yourself?" she offers.
I shake my head. "It just – it just makes it worse," I scratch out. "Because it's not true anymore. It's not who I am anymore."
Delly's trembling lips grip together. She sits straighter and fixes me with a blazing blue glare. "Peeta Mellark, don't you dare," she grits. "Don't you dare try and take my friend from me when I know he's in there. I know it's hard for you to face, but I see you every day. I see your despair at being a burden to others, because you want nothing more than to help everyone you know. I see you cringe from your fits because you want to be the strong man your brother was." I try to cut in, but she plows over me, her voice ringing through the room. "I see you fight to comfort me, even when you are so broken and so hurt, because you are the kind man your father raised." A hiccupping sob shreds her voice and her eyes fall. "I see all the people who knew you, mourning your illness, because everyone you ever met loved you for the gentle, joyful, magnetic person you were then, and who is still in there fighting to get back to them. Don't you dare give up on him. Don't you dare take him from us."
I stare mutely as she wrings her hands in her lap, a watery sniffle echoing in the heavy silence. The whisper rages in the quiet liar lost imposter fraud but I fight it back, reaching for the memory of my father and the gentle pride that would shine from his eyes when he looked at me. How can I let him down like this? I can't give up this fight, no matter how long and hard the fight has been so far. I don't know which things are true, but that doesn't mean nothing is true. I can be stronger, I can make my father and Delly proud again.
"Delly," and she lifts her eyes to mine, hopelessness and misery awash in sparkling tears. "I'm so sorry. Will you help me?"
Like the sun breaking from behind stormclouds, her smile beams out through the room and the darkness immediately seems lighter. Impulsively, she reaches out a hand and clasps my clenched fist, the first human contact since I was captured that didn't demand something of me. A shudder runs up my arm, but it's a warm buzz and I feel it creep into my blood and fizz into the shadowy corners of my heart. For the first time in months, I feel hope.
The next day, Dr. Aurelius is peering at me from the end of the bed. He almost vibrates with good intention and, with my commitment to Delly ringing in my ears, I greet him politely. He may be able to offer some help, and I clearly am not making progress on my own.
"Good morning, Peeta, good morning," he smiles. "Such growth, such good news. Such strength! You are on a positive road, Peeta, you are making headway!" My smile feels a little stiff, but I channel my mother and keep it pinned in place. "We are so excited," he continues, his exuberance bubbling through his mellow voice. "We would like to try a new therapy today."
"No more drugs," I say automatically. I already can't find myself in my mind, I don't want to keep fuzzing the lines and making it even harder.
The corners of his mouth droop almost comically and he deflates before my eyes. "I hear what you're saying, and I respect it," he begins, a wheedling tone creeping in. "I want you to remember you are perfectly safe here. Perfectly safe. This new idea was proposed by a young medic and it really does sound like a good one. I really would like for you to consider it."
He looks so earnest, so hopeful, I have a hard time clinging to my resolve. "Tell me about it," I say resignedly, and he lights up with delight.
"Well," he leans forward eagerly, "we know the Capitol used tracker jacker venom to alter your natural memories to become threatening and fearful." I nod, but my focus is on quieting the whisper as it begins to ramp up. "So the idea was proposed," he goes on, "that perhaps we could alter them back." He has my full attention all of a sudden.
"Is that possible? I thought you said that was impossible?"
"Well, we don't know a lot about it," he admits. "But the new idea is to dose you with a relaxing drug, perhaps morphling, and, in your relaxed state, recall a memory that has become fearful and see if we can counter the effects."
I consider this plan. Could it work? I have no idea, but I do know it can't possibly get worse. I'm in the unfortunate position of having nothing to lose. The whisper is furious liar traitor don't trust tricks traps and that more than anything convinces me.
"Let's try it," I say wearily.
Aurelius is like a kid with a new toy, his excitement is palpable. Jumpsuits file in immediately and begin setting up equipment, laying out supplies, and wheeling in a screen with a case of tapes. I watch all of this with mounting apprehension as the whisper rages and screams for blood. Just as I feel I'm about to lose my grip, Dr. Aurelius turns to me with his earnestness and desire to help radiating from him in waves. He keeps his hand low, beneath the edge of the bed so I can't see it, but I know he holds a syringe and it makes my teeth clench.
"Now Peeta," he says in his calm, measured voice. "Remember, you are perfectly safe. We are all here to help you. Are you quite all right with this?"
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I keep my eyes from the mirror, not wanting to think about who might be behind it.
"Then let's begin." He steps to the side and the screen pops to life. The picture is dark, two figures are huddled close together, talking. Light fights its way in through a small opening and I see that it's a cave. My breath catches and I clench my teeth against the scream that begins in the back of my throat.
"Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim's goat?" The familiar voice reaches from the screen, through my chest and squeezes its icy grip around my heart. And then, a cold needle in my arm and my muscles, coiled and ready to explode, suddenly relax and a hazy glow works its way through my blood.
The whisper, screaming madness that echoes and splinters in my mind, can't find any traction in my tranquil limbs and lazy contemplation as they try to pull the fury down and smother it. I feel like two armies are waging war in my head and I keep switching sides. A series of images begins to flicker behind my eyes, a slideshow of events I can't identify as fantasy or reality. Katniss laying cold rags on my head as I shiver with fever in the cave. Katniss clawing at the bandages, ripping them away while I scream, and smearing the blood over her cheeks in triumph. Her eyes glowing with pride as she tells of her mother and sister nursing the sick goat back to health. The warring images continue against the background of her voice, telling the story of bringing the goat to her sister so long ago.
With a juddering stagger, my mind slips under the waterline of my control. I drift, frozen and senseless as the conflict rages behind my eyes. I hear my heartbeat as a slow, thunderous throb in the distance. I can feel my eyelashes slog through the air as they drag sluggishly up and down my unmoored rolling eyeballs.
Decades later, I make out a long, low wailing in the distance. It creeps closer, a deep squealing call that repeats itself endlessly, pulling at me, dragging at me, forcing me to acknowledge it until it grabs my attention and digs claws in deep.
"Peeta?"
I roll my eyes over to see Dr. Aurelius, perched anxiously at my side and watching me fearfully. I stare at him blankly while relief floods across his face. Unable to find my balance, my mind feels like a sea creature rising slowly from the depths to heave itself onto the shore. Images and voices spark and echo as they fade into the distance, I can't quite grasp them or make any sense of them.
"Peeta, can you hear me?"
A swarm of jumpsuits, eyes alight with fervent anxiety, crowd around the bed as I flounder toward awareness. They breathe their heavy anticipation into the air around me as they await some monumental awareness or sharp observation. I draw a ragged breath and they lean forward eagerly to catch my whisper, pens poised over clipboards.
"Dr. Aurelius," my voice is scratchy and dry. "Was the goat wearing a pink ribbon?"