THG: Retrieval: 6: Uncomfortably Numb

[amichan]

 Tree branches try to grab me, tear at my clothing, razor sharp, slicing.

Slip down a hill, vines tangling me up, a snare hanging me upside down. Have to bend up to grab knife, cut myself free. Too late. Someone's coming.

“Oh, a pretty package! All tied up like it's a birthday.”

 

The air is a cloud of buzzing, horror, screams and yelps.

People running around in chaos.

I can't move to get them away from me.

I'm stuck. I'm stuck. I have to move.

 

Someone catches my hand.

“Oof. I'm so glad you've still got those shackles on. That would have got me right in the face.”

Lights are low. I think she has red hair, maybe brown. She's in to have me pee. The weird contraption they use so they can keep me in the bed, and then wash me down. What have they got planned that they need to bathe me?

The lights are turned up a little more as food is offered. My stomach is knotted in a ball but she persists I must eat. She tries to chit chat with me as though this will make me eat. I feel itchy but I can't move to scratch. She hums. I snap at her.

“Not very polite this morning, are we?” She chides, “Come on. You need to eat more. Dr Keller has a new medicine he wants to give you and it won't do to have an empty stomach or then you will throw up.”

“I care, why?”

“Plus, you're going to have a visitor later.”

“Dr. Keller?”

“Well, yes, but someone else too; but I'm not at liberty to say.”

“Thanks so much.”

She scoops another spoonful of the gray lumpy goop and puts it in front of my mouth. I reluctantly swallow it down. This stuff never tastes right but I don't know what it is, then she offers me water. The door opens and a man comes in.

“Good morning, Dr. Keller!” she says, cheerfully.

“Nurse Melda,” he answers, “How is our patient?”

“In a foul mood,” she says, “and I've been furnished with no explanation!” as though this is a travesty of epic proportion, “We're being difficult about eating too.”

“I see...” This Keller says, “Well, how much has he eaten?”

She shows him the bowl, flattening the contents with the spoon.

“That should be okay,” Keller says, “Unless we're willing to eat more. It's important for regaining your strength as well, Peeta. You've been through quite the ordeal.”

“Because you care,” I point out.

“I do, actually, believe it or not.”

“I don't.”

“You're making that quite clear today,” he sets something down, on the food cart, that he has been carrying, “You can go, Melda, just leave the things.”

She does so.

He busies himself with whatever it was, “Now, I hope that you'll try and improve your attitude when Miss Cartwright comes to see you later. Considering how things ended last time it's very gracious of her to agree to come back. You're lucky to have such a good friend who is able to be understanding and considerate of what you've gone through—to come back and want to help you.”

“Cartwright?”

“Yes,” he says, drawing liquid up into a syringe, “Delly Cartwright?”

I feel like I should know that name.

He opens something and wipes my arm with it despite my initial resistance, “This is the new medicine. We're going to try this to help your mood, and the flashbacks and things, yes? It should help you respond to the new therapies better.”

“Because you've been so satisfied with everything else it seems.”

Keller sighs, pulls my arm straight and injects me with his vaguely yellow liquid, “Alright. We'll let that work it's way into your system for a little while to check on your reaction and then we'll send in Miss Cartwright.”

 

Are my fingers still there? It looks like they are but I can't feel them. When I push my thumb and finger together there are little stars and explosions under the skin. The curtains are sliding down the wall on to the floor—this can't be right. It can't. It can't.

Let's not watch this.

I close my eyes. There are still so many colors swirling around. I'm falling through them, a pool into nothingness, so quiet.

 

“Peeta?” the voice is over the hill and far away, “Are you sure he's okay?”

“Yes. It's fine,” a man's voice.

I'm rocking on a boat. My head is floating as I open my eyes and turn. The man's hand on my shoulder. Two faces coming into focus, the man's: red and blonde. A blonde girl, her's concerned. The man's more passive.

“Peeta--” she says, relief.

“See,” the man says, “he was probably just napping. He didn't eat much breakfast,” their voices are coming to me through water, all goopy.

“That's silly of you,” she laughs, “You know you need to eat.”

“I'll leave you two to talk,” the man says—Keller? That's it, “There's the videos if you want,” he points to the window, “controls are on the cart here, and there's some food,” he whispers something to her and leaves.

She comes close and hugs my neck. Her breath makes my ear tingle. She sits back. I turn slowly to look at her. My head will fall off if I move too fast. She gives a small smile.

“I'm glad to see you again. I was worried I wouldn't be able to, but—but they say you've been much more even tempered lately.”

“Okay?”

She's fidgeting a bit, and we sit there. I can see the light rippling around the edge of the window that is not a window, maybe there are bubbles trapped beneath the surface of it. I can't see where they are though. Maybe it has something to do with the curtains.

“Ahh,” she says, “I'm sorry I'm not sure what to talk about. Is there anything you want to ask me about? I mean,” she takes a deep breath. She looks sort of worried when I turn back to her, “Dr Keller was telling me I should try to talk about things we did when we were kids but I keep feeling like that stuff is just sort of, I don't know...how am I supposed to know what's good to talk about? I'm not good at this but I want to help you. I'm worried about you. You went through so much.”

“Yeah...” What am I supposed to say to that? Keller did make this big deal about her coming in though, “Thank you for coming back.”

“It's okay,” she says, taking my hand. Hers is shaking a bit.

“No. I must have scared you.”

Her hand is still shaky as she tries to grip mine, “You still are to be honest,” she forces a smile and turns her chair so she's facing more towards me and is also pulled a lot closer to the bed, it scrapes across the floor sharply and she winces, “sorry,” then she takes my hand more fully with both of hers, “Peeta, how do you feel right now?”

I don't know how to answer that.

She sighs, “So, do you want to watch any of the videos he says he has?”

“No.”

“Me either,” she shakes her head, turning away towards to the cart and looking at something on there and pursing her lips, “They mostly look to be about the Hunger Games anyway and I really don't see how that would be helpful in any way. I remember how you talked about that stuff when you came home...”

“You do?”

“Yes,” she looks back at me, “Of co—yes, when Guwar or I weren't at work you would come visit with us because your Mo—because we were friends. We would do things together. Every once in a while we would come to your house but I think, never mind, but anyway. Some times we could get you to talk about things that happened. I...I know it made you uncomfortable, but at the same time you would say “can't keep it all bottled up”,” she gives one of those watery smiles from inside the bubble that's forming around her distorting her words, but when she breathes in it pops and things become clear again, “I think you didn't like telling us about things you had to do. Things that weren't shown—or things that we hadn't seen...”

“Oh.”

She makes a strange sigh, “Are you hungry?”

“No?”

“You don't sound so sure,” she brings a bowl around in front of her looking at it sort of sadly, “It's not the greatest, but it's okay,” she starts breaking whatever it is into smaller pieces, “and it is food.”

“What was your job?”

“What?” she seems surprised I spoke to her.

“You said when you and Guwar weren't at work—what were your jobs?”

“Oh, right. My father was a cobbler—we owned the shoe maker, like—like your parents had the bakery, so I would help him. Guwar's family we—were the smiths.” Her voice is going strange again, “They—they fixed things for the miners made new picks and things,” she sets the bowl down on the bed because her hands are trembling, “Repaired mu—mine carts. They'd—they'd make hinges for doors, pots—pots and pans.”

“Where are they?”

Her face is wet as she looks at me with an odd expression, “They—they didn't make it here either, Peeta.”

“Oh.”

She wipes her face with the edge of her sleeve, “Peeta—you're not okay, right now. You knew Guwar longer than you knew me!” as she stands up the bowl tips over and things spill, “Why—why aren't you—? Say something!”

“You knocked over the bread,” I point to it as the bowl clatters off the bed and onto the floor, rolling in a small trailing circle.

She gasps a little, but at the same time she turns to me, curls of hair bouncing around her face, “I know you went through a lot!” she says, “I can't even imagine, but you're just—this is—I think I preferred it when I thought you were going to kill me!” and she goes and hammers on the door with her fist.