Ami-chan Writes

 I have been issued two sets of clothes and a two pairs of pants to wear at night and, of course, there's a dresser to keep them in. A nurse drops them off while Johanna and I are eating a roasted fish that she made somewhere on the surface and brought back down.

She tears pieces of flat bread and wraps it around chunks of fish and offers it to me. It's crispy and very rich in flavor compared to anything I've eaten in as long as I can remember. It's so much for a moment I feel my stomach might reject it. I go slowly and drink lots of water, still Johanna eats the at least twice as much as me. She advises me to save room because she has a small pouch of raspberries as well. They pop and taste so sweet in my mouth. I realize why the gruel was so odd to me. The Capitol would give us the salty paste and the gruel wasn't salty at all.

“So, tomorrow,” Johanna says, “I will be gone, right?”

“Right.” I feel like I should write this down.

“I was going to ask Finnick to come and work with you. I thought I would bring him down here before then though. So, I will be back. Finish the raspberries—if you can. Fruit is good for you.” She pats me on the head before she leaves.

I take one of the charcoal ended sticks and write on the wall by the dresser. I'm sure to see it in the morning when I get dressed.

Johanna in Twelve today. Finnick will be here.

Then I sit back on the bed and wait, eating a couple more raspberries.

Finnick. Annie's Finnick, Johanna had said she was held there with us in the Capitol but we hadn't known. I don't know what that really means though. Someone he cares about, I imagine. Finnick. Finnick.

He must have been in the 75^th games with us if they took someone he cares about and someone Johanna knows from before. She wouldn't be bringing him here if she didn't trust him. She wouldn't be bringing him here if she didn't trust him, I point out to myself again. If I repeat it maybe I'll listen and maybe I'll stay clear and present.

 

The door beeps and then nothing happens. It beeps again, then there's a rapping at the door. What are they waiting for? Oh. I get up and cross to the door and open it.

“There we go,” Johanna says, “You get to let people in. This is your room.”

There's a man with curly red blonde hair hanging back behind her a little, “Hey, Peeta,” he says giving a smile when he sees me studying him.

For a moment we're outside salt in the are and he's urgently showing me a gold bangle on his arm and urging me into water but then he's over me as I'm tingling, numb all over, light hurting my eyes.

Oh, good. She'd be useless if you were dead, you know. You have to be alive or we'll never get her through this. She's what's important. Come on then, up and at 'em.

“Blondie?” Johanna asks as I back away from the door towards the safety of the bed.

Is this how it's going to be every time I see someone? Sugar cubes and tridents and burning?

“Yeah, it was a good call,” I hear, “but again, did you see me not going along with it?”

“Blondie--” I feel hands on my hands and I pull away but they pull back, “Well, hey it went this way and not the other.” Johanna is in front of me. When did I get down on the ground? “Hey--” she says, “What did you see? What was happening to you?”

“I—I—burning. There was burning, and claws, holding, holding so she could...and, agh, it's all a jumble.”

She pulls my hands down away from my face, “It's okay,” and holds them together with one hand.

He wants to know all my secrets.

She runs her fingers over my hand after resting my own on my lap. I hear him crossing the room.

“Finnick's going to sit near you,” she says, “It's alright. You're safe. He's safe.”

Slowly, knees covered in teal fabric come into view.

“This is why I wanted to bring Finnick by before I left,” Johanna says, “I wasn't sure what you remembered of him, what they might have screwed around with...”

“You trust him.”

“Yes,” Johanna says, “I do. I told you in prison, remember. He wouldn't have hurt you. She wouldn't hurt you.”

My hands clench on my legs, “Yes, she would. She has.”

“Alright,” Johanna takes my hands, “but Finnick is safe.”

“I just want to help, like Johanna does. Ask me anything you want, okay?” he says. He offers a hand towards me but he doesn't touch me.

He wants to know all my secrets.

Dragging ourselves along the ground into the pool, burning being pulled out of our limbs into the water. The screaming can't be helped. It's almost worse than the fog was in the first place. Don't be a fool! If we go mad from thirst and turn on each other do you really think you'll be the one who survives? Has the spile arrived yet? Where's the spile? The monkeys...they'll get here and we'll be sunk—the poor morphling.

“The spile came in a parachute the first night of the games,” Finnick's voice sounds different than before, soft instead of harsh, “Monkeys came at us the next day, after the fog, after Mags...” when there's a hitch in his voice I look at him, searching his face for the blinding light, but everything is dim, faded, nothing hurts my eyes. I take his hand. It feels warm. The grip is gentle, no tenseness, no readiness to strike. Not right now. Keep him in sight.

He shakes my hand, “Good to see you again, Peeta.”

“Finnick,” I manage.

“Finnick and I caught the fish we just ate,” Johanna says.

“Thanks,” I tell him, “It was...” what's the word? “tasty.”

“You're welcome.”

I lean back against the edge of the bed frame. Silence stretches through the room but the noise in my head continues. I don't like the way my head feels or the way my thoughts are bouncing off each other.

“You think you and Finnick are going to be okay tomorrow?” Johanna asks.

I pull myself to my feet and go back to my note.

Finnick is safe.

I add to the bottom of it.

“Hopefully,” I say, bracing myself on the dresser, “Everything is so jumbled right now I might as well be doped up again.”

“Don't you dare say that!” Johanna snaps, “It took a long time for them to get everything all fucked up in your head so unfortunately it's going to take a while to straighten it back out.”

“Don't push yourself,” Finnick says, standing up.

“I don't know what to believe half the time,” I point out, turning back towards them, “sometimes I'm not even sure about you,” I tell Johanna, “and then I feel terrible.”

Johanna points to my left leg, “Did you master that all at once, or was it ups and downs?”

I'm not sure at first. Then it seems logical—what the answer would be. Bits and pieces come together, the thing with the stairs and the practice that we were talking about with Delly the other day, and the things I want to do with it now that don't seem to apply, differences in how you have to stand up from the floor, a cane, internal grumblings about ice and mud, and, “...no.”

“So, what makes you think this is going to be any different? Only instead of hurting and falling over, you're hurting and having things confused in your head.”

“Annie's said her head is her own worst enemy when she's been...lost,” Finnick says, “It's been five years for her, and it took months and months to make real good headway in the beginning so don't push yourself, like I said.”

Johanna comes to stand next to me, and carefully, gently puts a hand on my shoulder, “We'll let you get some rest, okay? Finnick will be here tomorrow morning, yes?”

“With bells on,” Finnick says.

Johanna gives him a look, but it's half mischievous.

“Bells is too much?” Finnick asks, “Should I just stick to ribbons?”
He's a peacock, “What about feathers?” I find myself asking.

“I'll have to see,” Finnick remarks, “Perhaps both—if you're lucky,” he winks as he and Johanna head towards the door.

I lean against the dresser and give him a nod, “Sure.”

 

The room is so empty now. I still have fish and raspberries left and but I think with it being smoked the fish should be okay until I'm hungry again, whenever that is. I wrap the raspberries back up in the fabric and the fish in the leaves Johanna had brought them in and thread the sticks back through to hold it together and put them at the back of the dresser.

I should actually shower. It's been a long time since I've been properly clean, I'm sure. I gather things and go into the bathroom. I have to prop the door open because I feel my heart pounding as I set my things down on the counter and then check for towels. I stand for a while leaning against the edge of the sink taking deep breaths. It's just a shower. Why am I so scared all of a sudden?

Thirteen is safe. This is not the Capitol. This is not the Capitol. This is NOT the Capitol.

“This is not the Capitol,” I tell my reflection before I pull off my shirt and then pants and instinctively sit down on the toilet to take off my leg. Right, this is not that leg. I was in water soaking out fog pain in this leg, wasn't I?

Alright.

I turn the water on and check the temperature. It's soon warm enough to climb in. Was that a noise? Thankfully I thought to prop the door open. No. No one is there.

This is not the Capitol. Thirteen is safe.

I start to wash myself. This is when I can really see scars: score marks on my chest, burns. I knew the bands on my wrists, of course, from the lengthy restraint, but deep gouges have healed on my side here...I put my hand to them.

You're not the only one who made new friends.

I can't catch myself when I slip, feeling her stabbing me with claws deep in my side. I wind up in the bottom of the shower. Snatches. Bone being pulled out of my leg, being stabbed into my chest—but there's no scar there. What are the rebels planning for eight now?

No. I'm in Thirteen. That was before. This is now. That is not happening. I scrabble for the railing and pull myself back up. Let's just get clean. Can't even enjoy a shower. What's wrong with me? I lean my forehead against the back wall for a moment. Get it together.

That feels familiar too. A train? An apartment?

I hit my fist against the wall. When will things start to make sense?

Don't push, they say, but they're not stuck in here with all this—this—this...

I wind up at the bottom of the shower again. I can feel the water hitting against my back. It fluxes between comforting, painful and terrifying and I fight the urge to hit my head repeatedly against the stall wall.

Maybe if the water pounds on me long enough I'll mush into pulp and I'll just wash away.

Was that a noise? No. Nothing. There's no one else in here. I need to stop this though. This is nonsense and stupidity. I pull myself up and slam the shower into off, dry quickly. I'm putting pants on when there is a noise: the door beeping. Now what?

Prim is there with the cart again, “Meal time and check up,” she says, “Though I'm told you probably have something tastier left in here still,” she wheels the thing in and shoves it into the corner as though it's a child in trouble, “How was the shower?” she asks.

“It was different.”

“I bet,” she says, “Well, if you don't mind sitting on the bed I have to record your vitals for the evening. Did you want me to leave you some sleep syrup?”

“No!” it's a snap before I really realize, “No.” I amend, “Sorry. No.”

“It's alright,” she says, “I'm sure I'd feel the same way. I just wanted to offer. If you change your mind some time in the night there's a button here,” she points behind the bed to a small metal panel, “push it and it'll tell the station in the main ward.”

“Okay.”

She checks my eyes, ears, mouth, breathing, heart rate and notes things down on a screen that she pulls up on the window and then shuts it down again, “Johanna wanted me to check if there's anything you might have remembered about that you wanted us to look for when we're in Twelve?”

I shake my head.

“Well, if you do...”

“Button?”

She nods, “I'm sorry I can't stay. There's a transport coming in from Two,” she takes the covered bowl off the cart and puts it on the table by my bed and then leaves, “I hope you get some rest.”

“Me too.”