Hunger Games (DNF)

Part 1, Chapter 13: the blond from District 4

George POV.

I was in shock after the attack from the careers, my body almost forced a state of fear onto me. I had my eyes forced shut, barely paying attention to what was going on around me as I tried not to bleed to death.

The first thing I was aware of was that someone was standing over me, I didn’t know who and I didn’t want to know who either, as far as I was concerned they were going to kill me and I was just begging them to hurry up.

But they didn’t. I don’t know how long they stood there exactly but eventually they leaned down and lifted me up. My body shook as he did so but I didn’t resist, I figured that they must be a potential ally because otherwise they would have killed me then and there.

Whoever he was, he was being careful with me, one arm wrapped under my knees and one around my upper back, being careful to avoid my injuries. I allowed him to take me wherever and didn’t bother looking where, when a loud cannon in my ears caused me to bury my head into his chest as tears pricked my eyes but the other was unfazed.

Eventually he put me down onto the grass and the tension that I had felt in his arms dispersed but I still didn’t want to open my eyes, worrying that the person was waiting to get me to have one look at him before he killed me, so he could see the light drain from my eyes or something sick like that.

Clay POV.

George’s eyes stayed closed as I moved to start the fire, he curled himself up in a ball as his shaking slowed slightly. I started a fire swiftly with one of my matches, and as the flames danced and grew I began to put some of the fish onto long sticks before positioning above the fire to cook.

Then I turned to George, trembling, practically begging for death on the floor.
The brunette’s wounds were still bleeding and I knew that I needed to clean and bandage them up. I found a curved bowl-like rock and walked over to the water, scooping some up. Then, being careful not to spill anything, I carried the makeshift bowl back over to him and set it down on the ground beside me.

“George?” I crouched in front of him as I spoke.
He didn’t seem to have known who I was until I spoke, his large, round, brown eyes fluttered open from under his dark lashes and looked up at me.

“Clay?” he asked cautiously.
I gave him a smile, our eyes stared into each other's eyes for a few moments before mine trailed back down to the gushing wound in his shoulders.

“Did the career tributes do that?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the injury.
“Yeah. One got me with a sword in the shoulder and the leg,” he explained, his gaze following mine to his shoulder.

Being careful not to injure him further, my finger made its way under his shirt and felt around the outside of the wound. George whimpered in pain when it got too close so I pulled my finger away, wiping off the metallic smelling blood.

“Do you mind if I clean it for you?” I asked him, playing with the sleeve of my shirt as I watched him.
“Yeah… you, you can clean it. Just be careful…”
I nodded at his request and picked up my knife, cutting the fabric of my sleeve off to make a cloth. I bundled it up in the water and once it was soaked I lifted out the dripping cloth and squeezed the excess water out before moving my attention back to him.

“You’ll… uh- have to take off your shirt so I can clean it properly.” I pointed out awkwardly, refusing to meet his gaze. From the corner of my eye he gave a nod and began pulling off the red stained fabric but struggled to do it without irritating the stab wound which caused him to release a howl of pain.

“Here… let me help…” I put the cloth back into the water and grabbed the hem of his shirt, slowly and carefully pulling the fabric over his head. George's face was dusted red and I tried not to let my gaze wander as I threw the shirt to the side for me to clean later.