A/N: Hello guys! I'm not gonna say anything since last chapter was a bit of a shock. Just dive right into it!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.
"Do you have a number for his parents?"
I look to Mr Abernathy, who shakes his head solemnly. We sit in the waiting room while the Doctor sees to Peeta alone. My mum checked in on me earlier, concern written all over her, but couldn't stay long because she had other obligations. Nurse Paylor stays with us now, a clipboard on her lap as she fills in Peeta's details.
"His parents have always been very private people. We couldn't even get them to attend a Parent Teacher Meeting, let alone give us their home number," says Mr Abernathy.
"If you get my mum, she could call to the bakery on her way home when her shift ends," I say. I'm distracted. I'm so worried about Peeta I can barely think straight. My eyes keep returning to the door in which he's being treated behind. The whole ride here, Peeta remained unconscious. Sometimes I questioned if he was even breathing. I look at Paylor desperately. "How is he? Will he be okay?"
"You have to remain calm," Paylor tells me.
"Oh, trust me, I'm being very, very calm," I say as measured as I can manage. "If I were acting how I truly felt right now, you wouldn't be able to contain me."
"Has Mr Mellark ever showed symptoms to suggest that he's been unwell?" asks Nurse Paylor.
Mr Abernathy looks to me. "I don't know the boy that well," he admits. "Katniss, have you noticed anything?"
I chew on my lip anxiously. Nurse Paylor waits patiently, pen poised over the clipboard, ready to take note of anything I say. "Can you help him?" I ask her
"I can do my best," Paylor replies. "We have to know what's wrong first, though."
I lean forward, and so does Paylor. Abernathy sits back, almost as if he knows that what I'm about to say is exclusive information I'm not keen on everyone knowing. "Peeta's sick," I tell Nurse Paylor. "He's anorexic. I don't know how long he's been this way but I think it's why he had the heart attack. He didn't want me to tell anyone but there's no hiding it now. You guys probably would have guessed it once you seen him anyway, right?"
Nurse Paylor nods sympathetically. "I understand that you were trying to protect him," she says. "We can help him now. All he needs is support from those around him, especially when it gets tough."
"I'll do that," I say firmly. "I will."
"You really should have told someone," Mr Abernathy says.
"And betray him?" I whirl around and glare at him. "All Peeta gets from people is shit. Maybe I wanted to be one he actually trusts for once. Besides, who could I tell? You can't force someone to eat. I know you're a good teacher, Abernathy, but you're not that good. I've been trying to help him as much as I can and you know what? It's hard. It's goddamn hard. I just wanted him to listen but trying to tell Peeta that's not fat is as easy as trying to tell Glimmer that Gale Hawthorne is going to break her heart. It's not going to get through. And you know whose fault it is? Ours. My fault, the student body's fault, the school's fault."
Mr Abernathy rubs his hand over his face tiredly. "I can't wait to retire and get the fuck away from that school."
I thought I'd be alarmed hearing my math teacher curse but, actually, it quite fits the situation. "It's not you," I mutter. "It's Snow. If he'd just crushed the stupid food chain initiative before it started, everything wouldn't be as bad as it is now."
The door opens and the Doctor comes out. I'd stand up if I could but I can't. Abernathy and Paylor do, however, and all I can do is straighten up. "Is he okay?" I ask before anyone else can. "Will he live? He won't die, will he? Tell me he won't die?"
"Peeta won't die," the Doctor assures me. It feels like a weight has lifted off my chest and I exhale in relief. "He is, however, severely undernourished. It's a wonder he has managed to function as long as he has. He has a very low white blood cell count and his heart rate is abnormally slow. He's sustained two broken ribs from the fall at the time the attack occurred and there seems to be a lot of bruising around the body, not from the fall, but as a side effect to being so underweight."
"Was it a heart attack?" asks Abernathy.
The Doctor nods. "Sometimes undernourishment can cause severe heart problems due to hypertension, especially when it is intentional starvation. All of this has just been building up and building up until Peeta's system couldn't take the pressure and it gave out."
I rub my temples to try to ease the pain that's beginning to grow there. "Will you be able to help him?" I ask.
"Yes," the Doctor confirms. "I will do everything that I can."
"Can I see him? Is he awake?" I ask.
"He's awake," the Doctor confirms. "But I'd suggest only one of you going in. I don't want Peeta to get alarmed or self-conscious over what's happened to him."
"It's best if it's Katniss, I think," says Nurse Paylor. "Mr Mellark knows that Katniss is aware of his illness. I don't think finding out that someone else knows will help him right now."
"I agree," says Abernathy. My math teacher holds his hand out to me and helps me struggle to my feet. He gives my hand a squeeze and says, "Good luck, sweetheart."
The Doctor holds the door open for me as I enter. My crutches squeak against the abnormally clean floor and each new screech is like a hammer to my brain. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until I release it when the door is shut behind me. The Doctor hasn't come in with me. I'm alone with Peeta.
Blue eyes swivel around to land on me. Peeta looks so small, lying in the hospital bed with the oxygen mask over his mouth and patches attached to his frail body. There's a catheter in his hand with a couple of wires also coming out of his arms, leading to various machines that continuously beep. One wire is even protruding from his chest, disappearing into his a huge bandage on his ribcage. His whole body seems to heave with every breath he takes, like every single one of them is a struggle.
"Hey," I croak, my voice strained and quiet. It's like my voice triggers something in Peeta's mind and he squeezes his eyes shut tight. It only takes me a second to realize he's crying. "Don't cry, please," I beg, throwing myself into the seat by his bedside and gripping his arm tight. "It's okay. You're safe here. They're going to help you."
Peeta shakes his head silently.
"Yes," I insist. "They're going to make you better." I know why he's upset. He thinks they're going to trick him into eating. Eating, in his mind, is what will make him fat. So it will seem like I'm lying to him, saying that they're going to help him. Eating isn't help, in his head. Eating is the exact opposite of help.
"Please just look at yourself Peeta," I beg. "You're not well. We're all just trying to help you. You shouldn't listen to what those assholes in school say about you. You're fine the way you are. Just not like this."
"What happened?" Peeta asks me quietly. His voice is quickened and his question sounds more like a gasp than anything else. It makes me feel ill that even speaking is a struggle now.
"Didn't the doctor tell you?"
He shakes his head again.
I wonder why the doctor didn't tell him. Maybe there's a reason for it. Should I tell him? Is it my place to tell him? I glance nervously at Peeta, who's watching me intently. He trusts me to tell him as it is because that's all I've done my entire life. I feel an impulse to touch his hand but I'm scared that I'll tug on one of his wires. This small fact makes me feel like there's a thick divide between us both. Like I'll never be able to touch him again.
"You had a heart attack," I tell him. Is there a gentle way of putting something like that? I reach out to try but quickly retract my hand again. I can't touch him. I don't have the right to do that. "You have hypertension or whatever. Can't you see what this is? Your body is telling you that you're going too far."
"Or," Peeta pauses and took a deep breath, "not far enough."
My chest constricts painfully and I close my eyes briefly. There has to be something I can say. Something I can do. "Are you going to let them help you?" I ask.
"I don't need help," says Peeta.
"Yes you do," I insist. "They're not going to let you go until you're healthy enough to go. Or at least until they're confident that you're going to make a change."
Peeta pulls his oxygen mask off his face and struggles to sit up. A 'don't' dies on my lips as despite what I say, he's not going to listen to me. "They can't keep me here," he says. He's pulling the patches off his body and I don't know how to stop him.
"Peeta, calm down, just stop a minute and think"-
"I'm taking care of myself just fine. I don't need help from anyone else," he mutters, almost like he's talking to himself.
"Peeta"- I begin. I try to stop him from pulling off the patches but twists away from me.
"Katniss, you don't understand. I'm never going to be okay. I'm not staying in this hospital forever!" Peeta says, almost hysterically. How do you calm someone down when they're having a panic attack?
"Just slow down a minute. Stop and think about what you're doing." Is there any paper bags around here?
Peeta rips his catheter out of his hand, wincing at the pain it causes, and gets off the bed. Instantly, he crumbles underneath his own weight. "Peeta!" I yelp. I lurch forward and catch him. It's disturbing how it easy it is for me to hold him in my arms. "Oh my god, oh my god, are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's just my r-ribs," Peeta winces, struggling to stand up. I help him prop himself up against the bed. He touches his side and hisses in pain. I wonder if he could feel the actual broken rib. Is that sort of thing possible?
"Lie down again Peeta and try to calm down," I tell him.
"I can't stay here, Katniss," says Peeta. He's begging me to understand and I wish I could. "She'll kill me. I need to get out of here."
"Slowdown, who will kill you?" I ask. He tries to get up again but I press my hands against his chest to keep him sitting.
"My mother! She'll . . . she'll . . . oh my god . . . this isn't good, this isn't good at all . . ." Peeta runs his bony fingers through his hair, his hands trembling violently. "I'm a dead man already Katniss, can't you see that?"
"Peeta, you're not . . ." I trail off, knowing that it's no use. "Your mother won't kill you. It's not your fault you had a heart attack. She'll understand . . ."
Peeta stares at me like I'm mad. "You don't know her," he said, his voice firm as a rock.
How bad could this woman be that Peeta is convinced that she'll kill him when she finds out he's in hospital for a heart attack? She already beats him-and probably his brothers-for things that are beyond their control. Surely she wouldn't be that cruel? What sort of human being is she?
"You're right, I don't," I answer. I reach across his bed and gently press the red button that calls for a doctor. Peeta is going need help getting hooked back up. He doesn't stop me from doing this and just stares at my thumb against the button glumly. "But what I do know is that mother or no mother you'd be a fool not to let these people help you."
"What if I am a fool?" Peeta challenges.
"You and I both know that you're not."
Peeta tries to respond but instead he gasps. Taking off his oxygen mask has begun to take its toll. I pick the mask up off the bed and help him put it back on. He takes a few minutes to regain his breathing and I wait patiently, studying the way his forehead creases with effort and his jaw clenches in pain. Everything he does is fascinating, even when he's ill.
"I'm scared, Katniss," Peeta finally says. His voice is so quiet I almost don't hear him. However, what he says is so poignant, it's hard for me to misunderstand.
"I am too," I reply, threading my fingers through his and squeezing his hand tight. "Whatever happens, I'm with you, okay?"
Nurse Paylor enters the room, face flustered and panting slightly. Mr Abernathy looms behind her, clearly worried by why she had to rush in here so suddenly. "Mr Mellark, why are you out of bed?" she asks in concern.
I ignore her and focus on Peeta. "Are you going to let them help you?"
Peeta uses whatever strength he has left to squeeze my hand back. And, with unsure finality, he gives me a solidary nod.
A/N: Glad that Peeta's seeking help? Yes? :-)
Important note: Remember I posted a sample chapter for a story called 'Kindred' in April? Well, the response to it was fabulous and I wrote more chapters like a steam engine. Regular updating for Kindred commenced last Friday and it will be updated every Friday for the foreseeable future. It would help a lot if you guys checked it out and gave me your thoughts on it. I'll give you the summary:
"Her name is Willow. Take her. I don't want her." After the rebellion, Katniss barely goes outside. She depends on Greasy Sae to look after her and can't interact with anyone else, not even Peeta. Then a baby is left on her doorstep. With no-one to look after it but herself and Peeta, the responsibility of caring for a child might just be what brings them together again.
You guys are the most awesome readers and it would mean a lot to me if you checked it out. Thank you!