A/N: Hi, hi, hi! AH! I got more reviews and lemme tell you, I thought up so many ideas just because of that little *spark* of a reward :D Thank you for your reviews!
To the Guest: I'm SO glad you're loving it so far! I actually have thought about putting it on Ao3 but I have zero idea how it works LOL and I mainly use FF. net because it has an app hahahaha, but I might take you up on that offer to post it ;)
To LAtoNE09: Cant stop reading on chapter 4!? You must be loving it! I'm so so glad :') Hope you continue to read on !
So, I am going to try my hardest to post one more chapter tomorrow, I live in Florida and I'm in direct path of Hurricane Milton :D thankfully I'm not on Tampa side, but if you're a reader from that area, my heart and thoughts go out to you. I really hope you all evacuated, and if not, I hope you're in a safe spot!
Your reviews and follows truly make a HUGE difference in my desire to write. I of course love this story being an RN now and I of COURSE have loved The Hunger Games since I read the book back in 2012, but getting those sweet comments just make it all so much better ! But yeah, since being in the hospital, a lot of what Peeta feels in this story is still 100% true to what I feel about things in general lol. I take patient's deaths hard sometimes, and I have felt that panicky feeling during school/work because of it, ESPECAILLY if they're young. (which is why Delly is a pediatric girl and I am not lool) I'm also the type to freeze and freak out during violent patient episodes, so it was kind of therapeutic to write out a successful "de-escalation" if you can even call it that. The patient in this chapter is actually a combination of 3 patient encounters I've had, lol. FUN!
Anyways, please let me know YOUR thoughts on this chapter and what you think of the opinions Peeta has - I'm genuinely interested and it might help me shape some future characters!
Sorry this was so long, lol, just love yapping to ya'll ;)
-MrsVela99
Its my third shift out of four, and if I'm being honest, I would rather watch paint dry than sit here. I still have the same younger guy, and hes still a 1:1, so being my only patient for the last four days has given me way too much time on my hands. He hasn't improved, but he hasn't gotten worse either. He's medically at a standstill which leaves me stuck in my thoughts. His heart monitor and the gentle sounds of air from his ventilator become white noise to me.
Looking at the clock and seeing it had only been 3 minutes since I last looked at it, I rolled my eyes and I take a pen from my pocket and start to doodle on the side of the papers I had on my desk. My pen was low on ink and every line came out choppy, thick in the beginning of the stroke and trailing off at the end unintentionally. I shake it hard to the side, hoping to get a bit more life out of it. I had been using this pen for months now and as nurses do, I got attached to it. I get more ink out of it, but notice now that it's not my pen that's the problem- its me.
I stop and squint at my hand. The faint tremor in my fingers catches my attention. To double check its not my eyes playing tricks on me, I hold out my hand in front of me and see the light shakes of the tips of my fingers. I tweak my lips to the side, weird. I usually have a steady hand, even in emergencies when the adrenaline kicks in. I stretch my fingers out and place them on the table in front of me. Leave it to a nurse to notice the slightest changes.
After boredom kicks in again, my doodle had gotten more intricate when my pen's ink finally runs out. I sigh and toss the now useless pen aside, no reason to keep it on me. I was sort of glad it did though. I was in the middle of drawing a pair of very familiar hands. A pair of hands that bought a sense of dread over me.
When I had returned after that morning with Katniss, she was already gone. I had known she would be, my head had warned me. She had left a note, a simple "I'm sorry" written in her blunt handwriting. That night, as I lay in bed it felt like a cruel joke. No matter how much I tossed and turned, the pillows clung to her scent – clean, woodsy, unmistakably hers. I did want to know what happened, why she would once again run off, but I couldn't get myself to make the walk over there. Our routine dinners together were now a thing of the past, but even then I don't think I would be able to sit and eat with her and Haymitch, pretending that our 'relationship' or whatever it was had taken one step up and 2 steps back once again.
Instead I haven't really been eating at all save for a few things of bread and juice. A never ending pit formed in place of my organs and anything that I needed, air, food, water, were all soaked up into this pit, never satisfying me. I grew tired of following her, of chasing after something I didn't break but always felt responsible for fixing. It was a cycle and I couldn't do it again. I couldn't get her out of my head - the sound of the way she said my name, her giggle, her moans, her soft snores, or the way she hummed when she cooked or cleaned.
This wasn't just a crush anymore. This was love. I was undeniably in love with Katniss Everdeen.
And she ripped my heart out and stomped on it.
My silence at work was mistaken for exhaustion, leading to several well-meaning but futile attempts to bring me back to my usual talkative self. Ryn offered me coffee, but the smell alone made my stomach turn, so I politely declined. Delly, as always, tried to fill the void with her endless chatter, but her words washed over me, barely registering. On the outside, I nodded, smiled, pretended to listen—anything to keep up appearances. But inside? Inside, I was crumbling. I couldn't even begin to explain why I felt the way I did, knowing full well that if I tried, I'd likely break down and cry over some...some girl.
But she wasn't just 'some girl.' She was a force of nature. Her chocolate-brown hair, always woven into a simple braid, was just long enough for me to tease her by tugging on it. Her eyes—those silver, stormy eyes—held me captive every time they met mine, tricking me into thinking I was staring at the moon itself. She moved with a quiet, swift grace, slipping in and out of rooms like a breath of wind. You'd barely notice her unless she wanted you to. And when she came back from hunting, there was this wildness about her, a rawness that reminded me she was untamed, unafraid. Every inch of her was beautiful, from the light flush of her cheeks after a long day outdoors to the fierce glint in her eyes when she was focused.
To me, she was the embodiment of perfection. But I'd never be able to tell her that. She never stayed long enough for me to even try.
The sharp beeping jolted me out of my daydream, and I couldn't help but loathe the sound. Lately, I understood what Cara's mother had been rambling on about—it never seemed to stop. The noise was coming from Cara's room, so I wandered over to Delly's patients and peeked inside. Cara was fast asleep, her delicate features soft against the pillow, her blue blanket snug beneath her chin. The beeping came from her IV pump, signaling it had finished. I pulled on a pair of gloves, silenced the machine, disposed of the used line, and flushed her IV. Then, I sat there, staring at her.
Just days ago, her family received the news. Cara wasn't going to make it to the end of the year. Despite her doctors' best efforts, her body was teetering on the edge of failure. She was running out of fight, and Delly was unraveling from the weight of it all. She begged us to keep pushing the chemo, even though it was slowly killing Cara. Part of me thought it was selfish—Delly clinging to hope, keeping her fragile little girl alive for her own peace of mind. But I understood. Cara should've had a life—longer, fuller—and that was stolen from her.
I crouched beside her bed, gently rubbing her smooth forehead with my thumb. Her scalp was bare now; she'd grown frustrated with the hair constantly shedding into her food, her sheets. I traced the ghost of her eyebrows, back and forth, trying to soothe her as she stirred, wincing. The pain hit her at night, waves of agony from the chemo and radiation. But lately, it seemed to linger, stretching into the day, robbing her of any respite. I bit my lip and sighed.
This isn't what a child should have to worry about—dying. After the Games were abolished, we all believed children would finally get the long lives they deserved. No more being driven to suicide or forced into the arena. But what we forgot was that death never really left. Human nature, sickness, accidents, drownings, cancer—they're still here, always hovering like a shadow. Even without the Games, there are still threats. And this one—a sick child slowly fading away—is something no rebellion, no arrow, no hero can fix. It's a fate no one can escape. It haunts me every day as I care for my patients, like watching a clock slowly ticking down to their final moment.
Sometimes, when I'm holding a patient's hand, it feels like I can see the timer above their head, counting down. It's a cruel thing, knowing the outcome before it happens, seeing death approaching in the form of disease or injury. In many ways, it's like I'm working alongside the Grim Reaper—standing in that delicate space between preserving life and guiding it toward its inevitable end.
Cara's eyes fluttered open slowly, her little orbs searching for mine. She didn't utter a word; I doubted she had the strength to form one. Instead, we shared a long, silent moment that felt heavier than any words could convey. Cara knew what was coming. Her body understood, too. The feeling of impending doom was a cruel companion for those nearing the end, creeping in like a shadow. As I gazed into her eyes—once bright and shimmering with excitement over bubbles, treats, or stories—I could see the unmistakable readiness to let go. The sparkle had faded, replaced by a dullness so unlike her that it sent a pang through my heart.
Delly appeared in the doorway, frozen for a moment as she witnessed our wordless exchange. I continued to caress Cara's head gently, reaching for her small hand, desperate to convey that it was okay to surrender. She had fought with such bravery, and now it was time for her to find the peace she so richly deserved. A single tear slipped down my cheek, and I felt Cara's gaze follow its path, her demeanor now much wiser and older than her true age.
Delly climbed into the bed behind Cara, wrapping her arms around her tightly, holding on as if she could somehow shield her from the inevitable. I could see the desperation in Delly's grip, the anguish of a heart unwilling to let go. This was going to shatter her; I wouldn't be surprised if the weight of this loss drove her to leave the profession altogether. With a heavy heart, I pressed a gentle kiss to both their foreheads, feeling the warmth of their foreheads against my lips—a bittersweet reminder of love and loss intertwined.
As I reluctantly stepped away, the weight of it all settled over me like an anchor pulling me into the depths of despair. At least this pain wasn't about Katniss. Chasity was busy checking on her patients, granting me a rare moment of silence.
My feet were propped up on the desk as I peered through the blinds at my patient, mentally preparing for the report I'd have to give later. That's when I felt small hands on my shoulders. Assuming it was Delly, I leaned into the touch comfortingly, wanting to offer her some grounding. But when I turned to see who it was, the familiar olive skin I'd grown to recognize came into view. I swung my legs down off the desk and spun around in my chair almost too quickly, and there stood Katniss, a bag slung over her shoulder filled with Tupperware, her soft smile breaking through the tension.
"Hi, Peeta. Ryn said you'd be over here," she said, nodding towards the charge nurse desk. My eyes flicked over to Ryn, silently cursing her in my mind. "I brought you lunch—or dinner, I guess, since it's getting close to your shift change."
In another world, one where Katniss and I were in a better place with one another, this would have been the most heartwarming gesture I'd ever received. But this was reality, and I was furious at her. I turned back to my computer and logged in, charting away on the vital signs visible from my patient's window.
"Thanks," I replied flatly, expecting her to leave the food on the desk and walk away. Instead, she came to my side, placing the bag on the desk and hovering over me, her presence an unwelcome reminder of everything that had happened. She was never one to read a room, and her stubbornness compelled her to fix things right then and there. I leaned away from her, returning my focus to the screen.
"Peeta, I need to apologize. I… I'm really sorry—"
"Yeah, I got that from your note," I shot back, challenging her.
She pressed her lips together and glanced around for any lingering ears, as if the walls might eavesdrop on our conversation.
"It's just… I didn't want you to think I was using you."
I laughed bitterly. "Katniss, that ship has already sailed. If you're here to justify yourself, you're just wasting your time, honestly." I stood up, rolling my eyes as I grabbed the meds I had pulled earlier for my patient. It was too early to give them, but I needed an excuse to walk away.
"Peeta, please just talk to me," she pleaded, grabbing my sleeve, but I shook her off.
"Talk? Are you serious? What makes you think I want to talk to you? Do you honestly believe I'd just sit here and hear you out so easily? That's a joke."
Her lips pressed together again, and I saw the tears welling in her eyes. A small tug at my heart began to form, and I could feel my empathy battling against my anger. Looking around to ensure no one could see us, I sighed and nodded toward the med area for her to follow me.
As I stood at the counter with her, she watched as I prepared the medications, pulling them into syringes and crushing pills into a fine powder to mix with liquid for the stomach tube—my patient couldn't swallow at the moment. My hands still had the strange tremble to them, so I fumbled a bit with them. I hoped she hadn't noticed. Once I finished, I set the supplies aside and washed my hands, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed, locking my gaze with hers.
"You've got five minutes. I want to get these done so I can finish my end-of-shift chores."
Katniss fiddled with the end of her braid, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I didn't call you to explain. I'm sorry all I did was leave a note saying I was sorry. I'm sorry for not telling you what I was even sorry for—"
"Alright, Katniss, I get it. You're sorry. Get to the point, please."
She huffed, turning her head to gather her thoughts before returning to me. "I had a nightmare that morning you woke up to answer the phone. I was already awake. I didn't want to wake you because you looked so peaceful, and I didn't want to start our day with you worrying about my nightmares. I don't want to have to rely on you, Peeta. I haven't had to rely on anyone since the war—hell, even before that. When I'm with you, I just… feel more vulnerable, and I hate it. I don't talk about my feelings; I never have, rarely even with my sister. But you… you just came back into my life after 13, and I feel like I can talk to you. I just won't let myself. I can't look weak. I can't feel weak. But when you woke up and told me I wouldn't be able to spend the day with you, I was actually annoyed. I guess I needed something to make the nightmare fade anyway, and I… well, you know what happened," she said, blushing furiously and hugging herself.
"Katniss, I thought we agreed on talking instead of running?" I sighed. Her eyes flashed from embarrassment to anger.
"I'm doing that right now, Peeta! Didn't you just hear a word I said?"
I scoffed, grabbing the meds on the counter. "Yeah, I did. And since you want to yell at me instead of answer my question, I'm going to go back to work now. Thanks for the food; leave it or take it, whatever you want. Ryn can show you out."
As I started to walk away, she practically yelled after me. "After you left, I felt… so guilty. I did exactly what I told you I wouldn't do. I used you to make myself feel better without your knowledge… and I'm sorry."
I turned to stare at her, my feelings conflicted. Here she was, pouring her heart out, revealing that I was one of her few sources of solace, yet I was still angry about being used again and her lashing out at my questions. I realized she was truly struggling with this—this was new territory for her, and I was being a stubborn ass. She looked down at her feet, waiting for my response. I heaved a sigh and wiped my hand over my face, prompting her to look up at me.
"Can… can I actually bring the food to your house? We can eat and… and talk," she croaked on the last word. I pondered her question, my guard still up, but my feelings for her began to chip away at it.
"Fine, here," I said, pulling out my house key. "Just try not to lose it, please."
Katniss took it gently, nodding as if to promise she'd protect it with her life. She grabbed the bag again and hesitated before leaving.
"Thank you. I'll see you back at hom—your house. I'll see you back at your house."
She turned to leave, planting a kiss on my cheek that burned with warmth. I stood still, unwilling to let her think she could pull this kind of nonsense and have me accept her apology just like that. I needed to be stronger about this. If I wasn't, she'd walk all over me, and I'd thank her for it.
By the end of my shift, everything exploded into chaos. On the far side of the unit, one of the patients lost it—like, completely unhinged. We're used to the yelling—confused patients, post-op patients, pain meds being delayed. It's nothing new. But this guy, a man in his 30s recovering from surgery on his leg, decided to go full-on berserk.
When the nurse told him his meds weren't in yet, he snapped. Out of nowhere, he pinned her against the wall and started kneeing her in the stomach, hard. It took a split second before we all rushed in, but by then, she was already gasping for air. I grabbed him from behind, yanking his arms back, but he fought like an animal. He twisted and kicked, trying to hit anything he could reach.
And then—wham. He kicked my prosthetic. My whole leg buckled, and I went down hard on my knee. Pain shot up my leg, white-hot and vicious, but there was no time to think about it.
"Ryn, grab her!" I shouted, pointing to the nurse who was still doubled over, barely catching her breath. I gritted my teeth through the pain, forcing myself back up just as the guy swung wildly at anyone near him. Ducking under his flailing fists, I lunged for his torso, locking my arms around his midsection. I hooked my leg behind his knees and yanked, sending him crashing backwards onto the floor. It was a move straight out of my brother's playbook, and I could practically hear him cheering me on from wherever he was.
Sure, I might get fired for this, but in the heat of the moment, I couldn't give a damn. We'd fix his injuries later.
Before I could even catch my breath, Delly screamed. He had me pinned now, flipping us both over with a sudden surge of strength. He straddled me, his weight crushing my chest, and started swinging. Fists flew, and all I could do was cover my face as best as I could while he pummeled me—arms, ribs, face. Each punch felt like it was cracking something new. My vision blurred as blood poured from my nose and my lip split open.
Suddenly, Brent came barreling in, tackling the guy off me. I gasped for air and stumbled to my feet, blood dripping onto the floor. With Brent holding his arms, I grabbed the guy's legs, and together we wrestled him back onto the bed. He thrashed like a wild animal, and for a second, I thought he might break free again, but then Delly came up behind us, syringe in hand. One quick stab into his thigh, and just like that, his movements slowed. His eyes fluttered closed as the sedative took hold.
Ryn rushed over, helping us strap him down. She glanced at me, taking in the blood and bruises covering my face.
"Peeta, why don't you go clean up?" she suggested, way too calm for what just went down.
I glanced at the patient—now limp and sleeping—then over at Delly. Her eyes were full of concern, which only annoyed me off more. I nodded, spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, and stormed past the group of nurses and staff who had gathered to watch.
"Oh, yeah, thanks for the fuckin' help, guys. Really top-notch work," I shot sarcastically as I limped away, scowling at every single one of them.
In the break room, I grabbed some tissues, plugging my nose and wiping my busted lip. My hands were now shaking in a ridiculous manner, worse from earlier and probably now due to my anger. My arms throbbed from the beating, and my leg—don't even get me started on that. My prosthetic was a mess, sore and out of place from the way I landed. But taking it off here wasn't an option.
I grabbed my bag and hobbled back to my desk. Layla was there waiting, logging into the computer and chewing on a bar from her bag. She looked up as I walked over, her expression shifting to pure horror.
"Holy shit, Peeta what happened!?" She said pulling the tissue out of my nose and observing the bruises forming on my face.
I brushed her hand aside, trying to not make a fuss about it and took the tissue back to plug my nose again. "I'm fine, anyways, okay John Doe, unknown date of birth. No developments during the day, they want to continue with CRRT, heres the latest numbers. Kinda was busy so I couldn't put them in for you, sorry. He is still unresponsive, refusing to open his eyes but they're reactive to light, systems all the same, his blood pressure wasn't the best today, ran kind of soft but he looks malnourished to all hell and with the dialysis that's expected. Dr. Thorn just said to titrate as needed with his meds and… yeah, that's it. Okay, I'm going home now," I said turning on my heel. Layla knew that I would only give such a terrible report if I was not having a good day. But the trooper she was, she always rolled with it. As I passed the charge desk, Ryn called out to me. I stopped in my tracks and closed my eyes.
"Yes, Ryn?" I said grabbing the bridge of my nose with my fingers and walking over.
"You're off tomorrow, I don't want busted ass nurses working on my floor, especially since you're limping. Don't try to tell me you're not," I stopped myself from arguing and sighed. Truthfully I was sort of relieved that I didn't have to come back tomorrow. I technically originally was going to work 3 days this week and I was called in, so this *was* my third day. Plus, the bonus pay from the call in day covered half of an extra shift.
"Sure, whatever. Goodnight, Ryn."
My limp grew worse as I walked out of the unit, and instead of the stairs I took the elevator. Going to press the button, I missed the first time due to my shakiness and I started to get a headache. Inside, I leaned against the wall as the elevator moved.
"I need a vacation," I mumbled as I watched the numbers climb down. It was true too. I needed to take a while to myself, maybe take up baking again. I could feel myself falling apart. I had thought about starting to paint again, too. In 13, when things were getting really hard, I started to paint memories of my family, the meadow, the braid that infiltrated my dreams. It helped when I was dissociating to keep me grounded. But once I joined the Medic team I had to give up my time for painting for seminars that Prim and I attended together.
As the elevator dinged, a decision crystallized in my mind: I would call Ryn later to discuss taking some time off. I had always done the opposite, asking for more shifts, more responsibility, but now I felt a flicker of hope that she might understand my need for a break.
When I finally climbed the stairs to my apartment, the pain radiating from my prosthetic reached an unbearable level, gnawing at my focus. I pushed open the door, greeted by a warm, mouthwatering aroma that enveloped me like a soft blanket. My brow furrowed in confusion, and I peeked around the corner to find Katniss standing in front of the stove. Oh yeah, I had forgotten she was coming over.
Clearing my throat, I caught her attention. She turned to face me, her skin glistening with sweat from the steam rising from the pot. Her braid hung loose, and the snug cami she wore accentuated her figure, drawing my eyes to the shorts that were unmistakably mine. Her initial joy at my arrival faded, replaced by concern as she took in my battered face.
"Peeta, oh my god, what happened to your face?" she exclaimed, rushing around the island to close the door I had left ajar and snatch my bag from my hands. "Peeta? Come on, talk to me! Who did this to you?" Her hands pressed against my cheeks, and I instinctively recoiled from her touch, yet deep inside, I felt a calmness wash over me at her concern.
I gazed into her eyes, the words I longed to say tangled in my throat. Instead of voicing my turmoil, I pressed my lips to hers, cradling her face in my hands. Her soft, warm lips ignited a fire within me, and I traced her slick jawline with my thumbs. Without breaking the kiss, I slipped off my shoes, then pressed her back against the wall, kissing her hungrily, our tongues dancing in a frantic rhythm. Her hands wrapped around my back, holding on like I was her lifeline.
I pulled away only when tears pricked at my eyes. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me for doing exactly what I had scolded her for earlier, but in that moment, the need for her presence overwhelmed everything else. I was still angry with her, but I couldn't imagine a better way to come home.
Katniss and I gasped for air, her gaze penetrating my soul. "Do you need a minute?" she asked softly.
I sighed, closing my eyes as I nodded. I kissed her once more, savoring the taste of her lips before retreating into my bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I took in the pristine space. The sheets smelled freshly washed, the laundry basket was empty, and it looked like she had vacuumed the carpet. My anger toward her loosened another notch, replaced by a swell of appreciation.
I stepped into the shower, letting the water wash away the remnants of the chaos I had faced. As I opened the drawers, I found my clothes folded neatly, and my heart skipped at the sight of her shirts tucked away beside mine. It felt intimate, a sign of something deeper than I had dared to hope. I pulled on a light blue t-shirt and joggers, then made my way back out to Katniss, a fragile smile creeping onto my lips.
She was back at the stove, deftly moving something in a sizzling pan while balancing on her tiptoes to peer into a pot on the other burner. I leaned against the kitchen island, watching her, my heart heavy with conflicting emotions. My face throbbed painfully, a bruise likely blossoming on my jaw and around my nose. It had stopped bleeding, but with every breath, I could feel the remnants of blood trickling down the back of my throat. My lip was on fire, especially after kissing Katniss with such fervor, and even the hot shower that had relaxed my arms hadn't eased the persistent ache.
I shifted my leg in the prosthetic, a wave of relief washing over my knee, and I let out an audible sigh. Katniss glanced over at me, her smile bright and genuine, momentarily cutting through the fog of pain.
"Feel like talking now?" she asked, stirring with an ease that seemed to contradict the tension in the air. But for some reason, her question sparked a swell of frustration within me that I struggled to swallow down.
I choked back a wave of nausea, the bitterness of vomit bubbling at the back of my throat. Talking about the hardships I faced at work came easier with someone who shared that burden, who understood the chaos and despair. But explaining it all to someone who couldn't grasp the weight of it felt like dragging a stone uphill. The words lodged thickly in my throat, and before I could gather my thoughts, she approached me, her hand resting gently over mine.
"Hey, if you aren't ready yet, that's completely okay. Just tell me—are you going to be okay?" Her thumb brushed over my knuckles, the tenderness of her touch both comforting and disarming. I nodded, forcing a small smile onto my lips, but deep down, I knew it was just a mask.
Her gaze flitted from my eyes to my lips, then back to the stove as she continued to cook. I felt the weight of her concern pressing down on me, and for a fleeting moment, I wanted to let it all spill out. But as the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of whatever she was making, I realized I needed to pull away from this—just for a moment.
The couch called to me, a refuge where I could gather my thoughts. I remembered my earlier decision to talk to Ryn about taking some vacation time. Maybe I should discuss it with Katniss first, to gauge where we stood. If things took a turn for the worse, I'd need the distraction of work, as unhealthy as it might be.
When I closed my eyes and sank deeper into the couch, flashes of faces surged through my mind, relentless and haunting. Cara's sweet, angelic face twisted in agony, morphing into a nightmarish reflection of my guilt. Delly's expression of concern replayed in a torturous loop, her worry echoing in the empty spaces of my heart. The ghosts of the patients I had coded over the last few months invaded my thoughts—eyes vacant and glazed as I remembered the sickening sound of breaking ribs beneath my hands, the dull thud of despair reverberating in my chest. Darius…
Then my visions spiraled into chaos. The blast from the Capitol erupted in my mind, flames licking at the sky as mutilated bodies sprawled across the streets. The screams, once piercing, faded into a chilling silence that felt more deafening than the cries of anguish. My parents trapped inside the bakery, consumed by fire, their lives extinguished along with my brothers and the legacy of dreams and ideas that had flourished within those walls for over a century. And then, Katniss—her body engulfed in flames, begging for release from the torment.
Panic surged through me, the tremors in my hands finally making sense. I had been unraveling all day without realizing it, and now this storm of memories was crashing down, tearing through the fragile barrier I had built. My breathing quickened, frantic and shallow, each inhale a desperate grasp for air that felt impossible to claim. I leaned my head into my hands, rocking back and forth as sobs erupted from the depths of my soul, the visions refusing to relent.
In an instant, Katniss was beside me, her arm wrapping around me, murmuring soothing words that only seemed to amplify my turmoil. Why wasn't it working?
Breathing became an agonizing chore, each inhale feeling like a betrayal. I choked on my sobs, gasping for breath as my vision blurred, the edges of reality melting away. No, please, no…
Dr. Aurelius's words pierced through the haze like a beacon of hope, urging me to remember the grounding technique. I continued to tremble in Katniss's embrace, rocking back and forth, struggling to form the words that would anchor me to the present.
"I can hear screams—no, not screams. I hear Katniss. I can feel Katniss's arms. I can smell dinner cooking. I can taste blood in my mouth. I can see the table…" My voice wavered, and I caught a glimpse of Katniss's concerned face, her brows furrowing in confusion at my fragmented thoughts.
"Peeta…?"
When I felt no release from the storm inside me, I pressed on.
"I can hear bubbling from the stove. I can feel the couch beneath me. I can smell Katniss—" A sudden warmth brushed against my lips, her mouth pressed against mine, a fleeting connection that sent a shock of clarity through the chaos. "I can taste… I can taste—damn it, I can see Katniss's feet! I can taste…"
Her lips found mine again, this time lingering just long enough for me to grasp a memory, a tether to reality. "I can taste cinnamon," I breathed, realizing she had been drinking tea with cinnamon.
My rocking slowed, and with it, my breaths transformed into long, deep inhales and exhales, each one a small rebellion against the chaos inside me. Gradually, the tightness in my body began to ease, like a vise releasing its cruel grip. I stayed hunched over, terrified of lifting my head and meeting Katniss's gaze, afraid I would find pity or terror mirrored in her eyes. But as the storm within me came to a halt, I took my first breath that truly filled my lungs, releasing it slowly through pursed lips, a whisper of relief.
Katniss placed her hand on my back, her fingers tracing circles and triangles that followed my breathing pattern. I focused intently on her movements, finding solace in the rhythm she created. Eventually, I managed to sit up, staring ahead with a numbness that enveloped me like a heavy fog.
"Peeta, what can I do to help you right now?" Her voice broke through the haze, gentle yet urgent. As she moved her tracing to my hand, I recognized the pattern she was following, a soothing gesture I had shared long ago. Dr. Aurelius must have taught her that. Embarrassment flooded me, the shame of having her witness one of my infamous panic attacks washing over me like cold water. Yet, amidst the embarrassment, I clung to one small victory: I hadn't dissociated this time.
Then, her hand cupped my cheek, guiding my face toward hers. The dam inside me broke, and sobs erupted from my chest, raw and unrestrained. She enveloped me in her warmth, pulling me into her chest with an intensity that felt like salvation.
"I'm here, Peeta. I'm here for you, always. You're going to be okay."
I gripped her fiercely, as if she were my only lifeline, and I was certain my hold would leave marks on her skin. But she didn't care; she was here, steady and unwavering.
As she resumed her tracing, the rhythm lulled me, and I felt sleep tugging at the edges of my consciousness. Just before I surrendered to the darkness, a soft voice floated into my ears, wrapping around me like a tender embrace. I felt the vibrations of her voice resonating through her chest, a melody that echoed the rhythm of her breath. She was singing for me.
"Deep in the Meadow,
Under the willow,
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow.
Lay down your head, and close your eyes,
And when they open, a sun will rise.
Here, it's safe,
Here, its warm.
Here the daisies guard you from every harm,
And here your dreams are sweet,
And tomorrow brings them true,
Here is the place,
Where I love you."
Fighting sleep, I sat up slightly and leaned in to kissed her gently. I then laid back down, her following me into a tight embrace on my couch. She tucked herself into the space between me and the cushions while still partially laying on top of me. Feeling her chest on mine, I tried to mimic her breathing pace. I wrap my arms around her as she kisses my lips again.
When we pull apart, she kisses my forehead, my eyes, my nose, my chin and my lips once more, and tousles my hair with a cheeky smile. I try to return it, and press my forehead to hers, letting sleep take me.
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