Part One
Chapter Three
People always assume that Peeta and I were the first to connect, and I suppose that if you were to get technical, you'd be right. After all, we met first. But what people forget is that it was Gale who brought Peeta and I together. The two of them were inseparable, with Gale seeking me out once Peeta pointed me out.
Any other time in my life I'd find his persistence to be annoying, but it wasn't like I had friends at my disposal at a new school in a new town. Gale trailed me like a puppy, asking me what kind of music I liked, what my favorite sport was, what my favorite subject was and what my parents did for a living. That last question cemented us for good, with Gale losing his father in a construction accident a year before I lost my dad. There was no need for tears or "I'm sorry" or awkwardness. Solidarity was enough.
I might have wondered for a moment if Gale liked me beyond his goofy, brotherly affections, but that moment came and went like a blink once Peeta was in the picture. Confident but introspective, Peeta oozed dependability and I craved that like a drug. Everything about him was charming and sweet and he quietly whittled his way into my daily life with a side hug, a treat from the bakery or a kind smile. It was as simple as the day he took my hand and never quite let go. He looked like he won the lottery and I felt like I was staring into the sun.
Gale paused for an instant and then we picked up where we left off, now a group of three. I quickly learned that Peeta's life was a complex one.
Mellark's is a family business, so naturally he'd been working there since he was just a kid…not exactly the safest daycare option, but certainly the most cost-effective. His father taught him everything he knew, patiently explaining why overmixing led to a tough dough. Why baking soda and baking powder weren't substitutes for one another. Why brown sugar had to be packed when measured and why you should always sift flour. How to expertly crack eggs with one hand. Folding in versus mixing in. Dry herbs versus fresh herbs.
I can't figure out boxed brownie mix, so it's all Greek to me.
Mr. Mellark is the first to tell customers that, in fact, his son is a better baker than he is. He's taught Peeta every recipe he knows, but Peeta's also had a lot of motivation to prove his worth in the Mellark family. Peeta once explained to me that, unlike cooking, baking requires focus and exact measurements to yield a perfect product. Adding in too much of any one thing skews those ratios and messes up the chemical reactions, which means failure. Fear of failure is an excellent motivator, so after a few (expensive) botched attempts, you decide it's best just not to fuck up.
When I first started dating Peeta, I only saw the self-assured guy who could do no wrong. Later I learned that someone's indifference and resentment could cut as easily as a knife. Peeta's scars ran deep.
…
"Katniss?" I feel like the voice is calling to me from under the water. "Katniss? Wake up. The doctor's here."
I snap awake and realize where I am, quickly walking to the hallway where a short man with glasses looks at us with a mixture of professionalism, calculation, resolve and dread. He looks completely out of his element, much like I feel.
"I'm Dr. Beetee, the attending surgeon. Peeta is out of surgery and in the ICU. His condition is considered critical at this point."
Gale puts his arm around my shoulder. Okay. Critical is better than extremely critical. It's better than grave condition.
"Peeta suffered injuries to his left side, resulting in significant blood loss. He is now maintaining blood pressure, which is a good sign, but his internal injuries are not insignificant." The doctor shifts uncomfortably.
"And his leg?"
He clears his throat. "I'm sorry to say that we were unable to save it. The damage was too great, and the risk of infection or subsequent injury too high. It was amputated above the knee. At this point, Peeta's leg is the least concerning of his injuries."
The Mellarks start asking more questions about the recovery process (the next 24-48 hours will be critical) and when they can see their son. I step back into the empty hospital room and lean my forehead against the window, my breath fogging up the glass.
"Katniss?" I turn toward the voice and see my mother, her disheveled scrubs betraying the fact that she most likely woke up after a quick break. "I came as soon as I was paged."
I let my mom hold me as she whispers words of encouragement in my ear. She checked Peeta's chart and his vitals seem to be holding—in what condition, she doesn't say.
"When will I see him?"
"He'll probably be transferred to a room sometime tomorrow, once they have a better feel for how his body is healing. The hospital only allows visitors one at a time in the ICU, but the Mellarks are heading up…would you like to see him?"
I walk to the elevator bank with my mom, waiting for the up arrow to illuminate. The steps into the car are some of the hardest I've had to take, but my sense of obligation to Peeta—obligation!—keeps me going. We congregate outside of room 705 and Rye offers to let me go in next, so I wait anxiously and wonder what I'll see when I go in.
What I see, or whom I see, is not my Peeta. Swollen, bruised and touched with dried blood, a boy with blonde hair lays before me, hooked up to more monitors and tubes than I can possibly imagine what they're for. There's a buzz of white noise, punctuated by persistent beeps of the heart monitor. I stand a few feet away from the bed, simply looking at his broken form in the dimmed light. The blanket's drape suggests what is—or isn't—below.
"He can probably sense you're here, you know." Gale leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed. Not much escapes him. "Let him know you're here."
I simply stand there, looking at Peeta.
I wouldn't know where to touch. I wouldn't know what to say, anyway.
A nurse comes in to check vitals and I use the diversion as an excuse to leave, brushing past Gale and joining the group outside. There seems to be an eerie calm—everyone is relieved that there is news, that Peeta is on the other side of the wall in whatever condition he is.
Another attendant ushers us to a private waiting room where we can digest what's happened and drink enough coffee to keep us awake into autumn. Throughout the rest of the night and early morning, we're updated on Peeta's condition and are eventually rejoined by Prim, Madge and Annie. I'm asked if I want to see Peeta again but offer to let someone else have a turn, which earns a look between Gale and Madge that I don't miss. A chaplain quietly leads us in prayer.
Omnipotent and eternal God, the everlasting Salvation of those who believe, hear us on behalf of Thy sick servant Peeta, for whom we beg the aid of Thy pitying mercy, that, with his bodily health restored, he may give thanks to Thee in Thy church. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.7
Annie sits on one side of me and Prim on the other, quietly offering me food as the morning light shines in. Someone starts talking about what rehabilitation will be like and I tune out, struggling to reconcile the fact that I've never been one to plan the big picture of my life in advance, let alone help plan a life that now includes a seriously injured fiancée. How is this happening so fast? Jesus, try thinking about someone other than yourself, Katniss.
"Katniss?"
"Hmm?" I look around, trying to find who called my name.
"Katniss, my name is Effie Trinket. Would you mind coming with me, dear?"
I get up without question and walk with Effie down the hallway and out of the ICU, simply strolling without an obvious destination. The woman's scrubs could probably induce seizures in some small sampling of the human population and she obviously subscribes to the "there is no such thing as too many accessories" train of thought. She mentions that she's a social worker here at the hospital, and that she had been filled in on Peeta's prognosis. Effie wants to know how I'm holding up.
"Fine. I'm fine. Peeta will pull through like he always does. I know he will."
"It sounds like he is very resilient. You two are engaged to be married?"
I narrow my eyes a bit. How does she know? She looks down at my left hand and sees the chip of a diamond and gold band that's been circling my ring finger for so long that I don't even feel it's presence anymore. My right hand grabs at my left, confirming her suspicions and I answer. "We've been together for eight years, engaged for one."
"Do you have a date in mind?"
I know she's trying to be polite. Soothing, even. But I can't answer and just swallow.
"Life will change, Katniss. Peeta's recovery will be a long one, but there will be life again. It may be a different vision than what you originally had, but it will be there."
My mouth feels like it's filled with cotton. "I didn't have a vision." What the fuck did I just say?! I can't look at her.
There is a long silence between us as we stand near a group of windows, the morning sun shining as though nothing bad could possibly ever happen. Outside, a city full of people are ordering lattes, reading the Cap Times8 and starting another workday. Almost everyone out there is oblivious.
"That's okay, too, you know."
I nod, not willing to take my eyes off of the scene outside.
"Katniss, I would like to make myself available to you, should you need to talk to someone." I tense. "It's just an offer, not an order."
"Thank you." I take her card and pocket it. "I should probably be getting back."
We spend hours in the waiting room, going to the cafeteria in shifts, walking the halls aimlessly and talking quietly. Some go home to shower. But Mr. Mellark, Gale and I stay, waiting waiting waiting. Mr. Mellark cries off and on and Gale tries to keep him occupied, insisting that Peeta will pull through just fine. His vitals haven't faltered, and the doctors are pleased with his progress. It's just a matter of time before he wakes up.
Eventually he does.
Chapter Three Notes
7. Traditional Catholic prayer for healing.
8. Cap Times. Capitol Times, one of the major, mainstream papers in Madison. Pretty liberal.