Chapter 11

White.

This is all I see.

I am in a white room, no walls. The room is indefinite, stretching into infinity, giving me no context as to where I am. This uncertainty is frightening; I can't remember how I got here.

All I know is that I've never felt more alone.

The room is silent.

It's so silent, in fact, I can hear my own blood pumping in my ears. The sound is horrible, and the louder it gets, the dizzier I feel.

It gets to be unbearable, making me cry out in anguish and put my hands over my ears.

"Ahhhh!" I fall to my knees, resting my forehead on the ground, wishing the sound of flowing blood would leave me.

"Katniss!" I freeze. I look up, removing my hands from my ears.

Did someone just say my name, or am I hallucinating?

I listen closely, waiting for the sound again. I'm about to demote it to me hearing things when my ears pick it up again.

"Katniss!" It's soft, far off in the distance, but panic laced nonetheless. I don't recognize the voice, and right now I don't know if I can trust it.

I hear it again, and try to localize the sound. I can't tell which direction it's coming from, it feels like it's all around me, but unreachable at the same time. I stand, trying to find the source, but there's no one in sight. All I see is a never-ending stream of white.

"Katniss!" I hear it again, a little louder this time, and whip my head around.

It came from my left. It definitely came from the left.

I start fast walking down that way, hoping I can find the person calling my name.

"Katniss!" I hear again, much louder and much closer. "I'm here!" I shout, breaking into a run.

I hear it again and again, getting louder and more intense with each step o take forward.

"I'm here! I'm here!" I chant, tears spilling onto my cheeks.

I can tell it's a girl's voice, probably a young girl. I know I've heard it before, but I don't remember whom it belongs to.

"Katniss, please wake up!" I hear the voice scream, feeling like the sound is right on top of me.

"I'm coming!" I yell back. "I'm coming!" I'm sprinting as fast as I can when everything around me that was white turns to black. I stop, scared at what is happening. I look around frantically for an explanation. I can see ahead of me, there is a light, like a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

I start running towards it, trying to get away from the black. More and more tears come and it feels like my lungs are going to burst wide open.

"Clear!" I hear a deep mans' voice shout.

"I'm here! I'm here!" I sob.

"Clear!" I hear again. The light at the end of the tunnel is getting closer, becoming brighter and brighter as I run. I force my legs to go faster, I want nothing more than to reach the light. I don't know why, but I feel like I will be safe if I do.

"Clear!" I hear again, but this time I feel something in my chest. It feels like I just stuck my finger in an electrical outlet. This forces me to go faster, to run harder, despite to sobs that are racking my body.

"I'm coming!" I croak out. The light is just out of reach, a few more yards and I should be there.

"We got a pulse!" I hear the voice say.

In that moment I run into the light. It is so blindingly bright I try to look away, but there is nowhere else to look. My body feels like it is in free-fall, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

"She's stabilizing…" I hear. I wonder what the voice is talking about, but don't have time to think about it before everything goes black.

I hear voices around me. I can't tell what they're saying; they sound muffled, like someone is trying to talk to me through a windowpane. My body feels like an icicle, like I've been laying in the snow for days. My limbs are numb and useless. I try to open my eyes, but the lids won't budge. I attempt to move a foot, or a finger, but it feels like my body is paralyzed. I can't find the energy to do anything, so I succumb to the darkness behind my eyes and give up.

The next time I come into consciousness, I don't hear any voices. It feels like someone is holding my hand, but I still can't move my fingers. My body feels stiff as a board, still cold, and at this point I'm getting very frustrated.

Why can't I just open my fucking eyes?

I feel exhausted, like I can't muster up enough energy to do anything. But I feel anything but rested.

When I open my eyes, the first thing I notice is the brightness of the room. Even though I've only opened them a centimeter, I can see the sunlight streaming through a window on the wall.

Where am I?

I can still feel someone holding my hand, and with all my strength force my head to turn so I can see who it is. As I look, I recognize the head of hair resting on the bed next to my legs.

My dad's face is relaxed with sleep, no expressions evident. My vision is still a little blurry, so I command my body to move, to at least do something other than lay here. I twitch my fingers, my dad's larger hand encasing mine, making it warm. This doesn't seem to do anything, so I try it again but with more force. This time it's enough to cause him to stir, and when he opens his eyes I see relief instantly flood his grey irises.

"Katniss!" he says as his head shoots up, looking at me with a shocked expression on his face.

"Dad?" I croak out, my throat so dry it feels like the worst sore throat I could ever have. "Where am I?" I ask softly.

His mouth gapes open like a fish, not answering me. He stands up quickly and runs to the door, making me feel alone.

"Wait!" I screech. I think he shouts to someone in the hallway, and before I know it a doctor and a nurse come rushing into the room. My dad stands back as the doctor moves closer, shining a light in my eyes.

"Katniss, can you hear me?" he asks. I nod my head, my eyes hurting from the light. He puts the light into his breast pocket and pulls his stethoscope from around his neck and places the cold metal onto my chest above my heart, listening carefully. Satisfied, he removes the device and hangs it back around his neck, and then takes two fingers on each hand, placing them on my throat. His fingers are like ice as he starts pressing and massaging different parts of my neck, a look of concentration on his face.

What is he doing?

He pulls back and gives me a small smile, handing me some water from the bedside table. I sip it slowly, the water burning my throat like lava.

"Katniss, do you know why you're here?" A strange sense of Déjà vu hits me all of the sudden. I don't know why I'm here this time, but I remember having a similar conversation with a doctor when I came to the hospital after Cato raped me.

Oh, that's why I'm here. I remember now.

Cato. Cinna. Haymitch. Newspapers. The bonfire. The beach. Clove. The woods. The deer. My lake. The water.

The sky.

The birds.

Freedom.

All of the sudden I am so inexplicably angry I'm in the hospital right now. This was not supposed to happen. I'm supposed to be gone, never to be seen again. That's what I wanted more than anything and now I'll never get another opportunity.

The doctor takes my silence as a no and continues. "You're father found you at the lake and brought you here as soon as he could. We treated you for extreme hypothermia and blood loss, but because of the combination of the two, your heart did stop beating, but for how long we're not sure. We had to defibrillate you, and thankfully your body responded, leaving you in your current stabilized condition. You may feel cold still, a common side effect of exposure to hypothermia. Do you have any questions?"

I look down at my feet, seething with anger.

Of course my dad found me. The one fucking person who knows I could have gone to the lake, and he just had to check it.

Why did my dad have to rescue me? Why couldn't he just let me die? Now he's fucked everything up.

Once again, the doctor takes my silence as a no and goes on. "We will have to keep you here for a few days, maybe a week, to monitor your condition. Because your heart stopped, there is a good chance that as blood flows back to your heart you could go into cardiac arrest. Also, due to the circumstances, your parents have decided it would be best if you talked to one of our resident psychiatrists about why you're here-"

The cold, unemotional tone with which he speaks to me makes me snap. Like it's every day someone who wants to be dead is brought in, and he's a God among men for bringing them back. Before I know what I'm saying, I cut him off, my anger bubbling over.

"Oh, is that what they think? Well, guess what! I don't give a fuck, I'm not talking to any fucking shrinks anymore. I'm done."

"Katniss," my father begins softly, "Please, listen to the doctor baby-"

"AND YOU!" I scream at him. "I HATE YOU! I hate you more than I've ever hated anyone in my life."

I can see the hurt expression on his face, but I don't care at all at this point.

"Why didn't you just let me die?" I shriek. "That's what I fucking wanted. Why can't you people get that through your heads? I want to die! I can't take it anymore! You have no idea what it's like! I was finally happy, and now you've taken that away from me!"

I can feel the hot, hateful tears burning my cold cheeks.

I look my dad dead in the eye, and with the most unforgiving, cold voice I can, say "I will NEVER forgive you for what you've done. Never."

I feel my body start to convulse with anger as I try to get out of the bed so I can go after my dad. All I want to do is claw his eyes out right now. I make a move to stand up before anyone can stop me, but as soon as my feet touch the ground, my legs give out and I collapse.

The doctor calls for backup as he and the nurse try to help me back to bed. I lunge myself at my father, trying to make him feel the pain I'm feeling right now. I see tears streaming down his face, but I am so mad at what he's done to me I couldn't care less.

I lunge at him again, and it takes a third person to hold me back. They force me back into the bed, wrestling my arms and legs into the soft restraints. I'm flailing around wildly, trying to kick them off, when I look down and for the first time see my forearms and thighs covered in gauze and bandages. This distracts me for a moment, and the doctors see their opportunity to restrain me.

Even though the cuffs hold me down, I still kick and shout, screaming expletives at the doctors and my dad as loud as I can. I feel like one of those possessed people in horror movies, but I can't stop. I see a nurse come over with a syringe and before I can get another hateful work out, she injects me with the sedative. I instantly feel my eyes droop and my limbs go weak, the coldness in my body returning.

The last thing I see before I close my eyes is my dad standing off to the side, crying. And all I can think is how much I hate him in this moment for saving me when I didn't want to be saved.

I'll never forgive him.

The next time I awake, I can still feel the restraints around my limbs.

They must have never taken them off I think bitterly.

I look around and thank the lord my dad is gone.

I never want to see his face again.

I don't know who I am more mad at: my dad, for fucking everything up and finding me; or myself, because I was banking on the fact no one, not even him, would think to check to see if I was at the lake. I sit in my bed for a few hours, thinking about how things went from so perfect to so horrible in a matter of hours. Tears start rolling down my cheeks involuntarily.

I was finally happy. I was finally at peace.

Why couldn't I get what I want, just this one time?

Soon after, one of the psychiatrists in the hospital comes to talk to me, but I don't listen to a word she says. I don't give her any answers either; I don't know this person and I'm sure as fuck not going to tell her anything about how I wish I was dead right now.

I wish Cinna were here. At least I know him.

The shrink leaves and I'm left alone with my hateful thoughts again. The doctor comes in at some point to check my vitals or some shit like that.

Jesus Christ, can't these people ever just leave me alone?

He asks me if I want to see my family, and I tell him no. I don't want to see them. Not even Prim. In fact I would be happy if I never saw them again, which is what I would have gotten if my dad hadn't intervened.

I hate him, and I hate them.

The days that follow my stay in the hospital follow in a similar fashion. At the end of the first week, once the doctor declares that I should be free from having a relapse and going into cardiac arrest, they transfer me to the psychiatric wing, so they can give my room to someone else who needs it.

Oh goody, now I get to live with the other crazies for God knows how long.

They don't even let me try to walk to my new room or put me in a wheel chair; they simply push my still-restrained body on my original bed through the hospital, dragging my saline IV behind me.

Others in the hospital give me funny looks, but I don't fucking care.

They can all go to Hell.

I'm put into a smaller room this time, and then I am finally left alone for a little bit. Before I know it though, the same psychiatrist comes back to try to get me to "open up" to her and "tell her how I feel."

Bitch, how do you think I feel? I'm alive, but not by my own will.

The second week in the hospital progresses even slower than the first one; I still refuse to see my family, and when the doctor tells me some of my friends are here, I refuse to see them too.

Maybe if I push everyone away, they will actually start treating me like I'm dead. Yeah, that's a good plan. I could get away with this after all…

Unfortunately, I can feel my traitorous body responding to the medical care I'm being given; I'm not cold anymore, and I can feel my muscles getting stronger by the day. They have me stand and do physical therapy in my room, taking away all sharp objects and even going as far as to have a nurse in the corner of the room holding a sedative, watching me, waiting to intervene if I try to kill myself again.

God forbid I actually succeed this time.

The second Friday I'm in the hospital, I wake up from a night of dreams where I am running away from a figure (a monster or something, I don't know), and just as I feel like I'm about to get away, it pounces on me, jolting me out of my sleep. I can only help but think these new nightmares are the result of my failed attempt to get away from the thing holding me back.

Tiredly, I look over and see one of my nurses arranging a plastic container of some type of flower next to my bed.

I think I recognize the flowers, and then it hits me. Dandelions.

I open my mouth hesitantly and ask with a slight edge to my voice, "Who are those from?" She looks over at me, noticing I'm awake.

"I'm not sure," she says, "They were dropped off at the front desk this morning. But whoever brought them left a card. Would you like to read it?" I think for a moment, deciding if I care enough about some stupid flowers to find out who gave them to me. I shrug, making up my mind. "Sure, whatever."

She smiles at me and hands me a folded piece of paper lying on the table next to the flowers. They finally uncuffed my wrists, and I figured I probably shouldn't test fate to try anything because I really hate being restrained. I wait for her to leave the room before I open the card, taking in the slightly slanted handwriting.

Dear Katniss,

I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but I'm really glad you're okay. I can't pretend to know what you're going through, I can only imagine. But I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking about you, everyday and every night. I hope I can see you soon, I really miss you. Just please know that I'm keeping you in my thoughts and prayers and that you're not alone in this. You're going to get through this Katniss, I know you will. And when you do we'll all be here waiting for you. I hope you like the flowers.

Love, Peeta.

P.S. I hope I can still take you out on that date I promised you when you come home.

I sit there stunned at this letter Peeta wrote me.

He misses me? He actually wants to see me again, after everything he knows?

No, he just sent these flowers and this note as a pity gift, he doesn't really care. And how can he still want to go on a date with me after I've been labeled the 'girl who cried rape' and tried to kill myself?

I shake my head at the ridiculousness of his letter, looking down to read it again.

And again.

And again.

Every time I read it, it becomes less suspicious in my eyes and more genuine. I've accused Peeta once for lying when he wasn't, and I don't think I have it in me to do it again.

Then I feel it.

It only stays for a second, but I feel it in my chest.

It's an emotion I though at this point my body was incapable of producing, given all the hate and anger of the past two weeks. It feels like small spark, spreading from my chest to the rest of the body. And the only thing in the past two weeks that has given me this feeling has been this letter.

This letter has given me the one thing I need if I want to ever get out of this hospital.

The flowers and letter Peeta has sent me have given me hope.

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