The Girl On Fire (undergoing editing)

12. Truly Victorious

"Wake up! Can you hear me!? Can we have a doctor to patient 2157589, pronto!"

Where am I? It smells funny, and there's bright lights everywhere, I can barely open my eyes. I sit up slowly and look down. I'm in a funny gown, lying on a brick of a bed with monitors attached to me.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I wish they would stop. My head is pounding enough as it is. I pull the needles out of my arm and help myself to a band-aid on my 'bed'-side table.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepppppppppppp!

Its hectic everywhere. The beeping gets louder. There's people rushing in, rushing out.

beeping, louder. People in and out.

Beeping, people, beeping, people, beeping, people.

I can't breath. Soon, the only sound I hear is the harsh intake and outtake of my breath. Its fast.

Strangely, this comforts me. I focus on it. Breathing in. And out. In. Out.  This crazy, boringly uncomplicated pattern. 

But soon the voices penetrate. I allow them to.

"What were you thinking!?" I hear one shout. "Do you know how much damage you have caused!? We've all been pulled out of serious operations because everyone thought you were dying! 'the victor comes first' they all kept saying. My patient could be dead now!" He huffs and puffs and turns to walk away.

Victor? And then I understand. I was in the games. 2, 3 days ago? I can't remember. But it doesn't matter know.

"I didn't ask you to fuss over me! So I don't know why you're shouting at me. And I certainly don't know why getting angry about it! excuse me if I have had enough of that constant irritating thing! at least turn it on silent." He slowly turns around, composes himself quietly and takes a deep breath.

"Miss... 2157589, I am under strict instructions to make sure you walk out of this hospital the same way you walked into the arena; in one piece. Your mom paid me quite a lot of money. Not that I'm surprised, I mean, you're loaded!" What? My Mom doesn't care about me. She doesn't need to. I can take care of myself. I always have. I always will.

Weeks have gone by. Not one visit. I figured as much. I slowly start mend; physically, obviously. Nothing can fix the hole the games have left, that would take five lifetimes of therapy and a boatload of money. I'm thinking about this when Dr. Dre, the mean doctor that told me off for removing my needles, comes in. 

"These came for you, today." He throws a bouquet of flowers at the foot of my bed. "looks like you were wrong. Somebody out there does love you, miss." He sits down on the chair next to my bed.

"Look, loads of people have tried to see you. Most of them were reporters, but some were family; so they said, anyways. I denied them access. I thought it was the best, but now I'm not so sure. I just want you to know--" He placed]s his hand on mine. I move mine away. "--You are loved. You are cherished. You will never be alone.

"I've grown quite close to you these  past few months, miss. Quite close indeed." He smiles a dark, sly smile and leans in towards me, lips puckered, eyes closed. I move back abruptly.

"Woah!" I whistle "No. I don't like you, like that. And what do you mean 'these past months'? I've been here for three weeks?"

"No," He explains "You've been awake for three weeks. You've been in a coma for four months. Have you not read your file? We were going to pull the plug on you, a day later and you'd be lying in a casket. You are truly lucky." He smiles sheepishly and leaves me alone. I haven't been here for that long! I can't have been!  I would've; I should've known! Another thought occurs to me, too. I haven't eaten since I've been here. I long the taste of Capitol food. Just one more time. Plums and rice and pasta and tomatoes and cakes. Things I don't have a lot of. Things that make my mouth water. So why not? I press the service button above my head.