I Want What I Can't Have

They Don't Care

They hurt me. They hurt Peeta. They hurt Johanna. But they don't care. Today they took Peeta again after returning Johanna and he hadn't been back for day. My worry began to settle in as it ate at my stomach. At least something was eating in here. I hadn't been fed in four days now. My ribs were almost sticking out. I felt so so alone in the world. Horrible thought kept creeping into my head. I hate to say it but I think it won't be too long before the electrocution overcomes Jo's system and it gives up. Maybe that's what they're hoping. The sick bastards. Her breathing is weakening and we both know it. I lay of the bloodstained, once white tiles either crying or sleeping. Waiting for someone to save us. Making me jump the bolt clanked back. I was relived when Peeta walked in and was harshly thrown into his cell causing him to yelp in pain. But the relief didn't stay for long as tears spring to my eyes as I saw his condition. Chunks of his skin were missing and large gashes replaced them. Purple bruises decorated his face, arms and legs and he has lost so much weight in those few days.

"Peeta," I whispered, now sobbing.

He inched his body closer the bars that separated us, but I could see the immense pain it cause, "they're putting me on TV tomorrow. I'm going to warn them."

I reached a bony hand through the bars and began to stroke his hair, "that's good. But you should rest, you don't look okay."

"Snow had me in his office," he murmured, "said I had to be his voice against Katniss. The symbol against the rebels."

"Peeta you're in pain," I said softly, "sleep and then tell me after. If anything hurts horribly I can try and take a look. I warning you though I'm not a doctor."

"It's okay. Night Flaire," he whispered, his voice slipping away as his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

"Is he going to be okay?" Jo asked.

"I don't know," I said, "doesn't look it, there's so many untreated wounds."

"What do you think they did?" She wondered aloud.

"Whipped him, starved him, abused him," I muttered, "all sorts of horrible things that a nineteen year old shouldn't have to experience."

"Too right," she scoffed.

"Jo we can't keep living like this," I said.

"We don't exactly have a choice," she answered, "we speak out we're abused, we don't speak we're abused. There is no way to keep this up. We have to keep waiting for the rebels."

I hate to say it... but this wait feels like forever.

"Do you think they're coming back to torture me?" I asked her.

"You haven't been a while," she sighed, "maybe..."

"Or maybe they just forgot," I said.

She gave me a look and I grimaced. She was right, of all things, they weren't going to forget.

***
I sat for hours watching him sleep (not in a creepy way) occasionally talking to Jo or Enobaria now. I prayed the boy would be okay. He was too young, too pure and too innocent to go now. He couldn't go now and I wouldn't let that happen. Not only for Katniss and Haymitch but for me. The guilt that my body would obtain if he died would be unimaginable. Which is why I was so thankful when he reopened his eyes.

"Sit up slowly," I whispered.

He nodded, muttering a quick thank you as he propped his sore body up against the white tiled walls. He looked pale and all of a sudden he leaned over to one side and was violently sick on the floor. What hurt the most is I could do nothing. After he had finished, he had a short coughing fit before he closed his eyes again and leaned against the wall.

"I'm sorry," he said looking at me now.

"Peeta, don't worry, I'm not worried about that I'm worried about you," I murmured, "how are you feeling?"

"Slightly better," he smiled.

"Be honest," I said, "I can tell when you smile through pain. I used to do that."

"Everything hurts," he whispered to me.

"I know," I soothed, "but Katniss will get us soon."

Causing me to shut up was the dreaded sound of the body being unlatched. My heart jumped up and down in my chest. I watched as the two peacekeepers came into my cell to take me away. I looked at Peeta at the last second before the door was slammed and I was dragged of else where.

"Sit down," the peacekeeper instructed when we got to the room.

I sat down slowly. Then his face came on the screen. Finnick. I reached my hand out to touch him. My Finnick. The footage showed him as peacekeepers grabbed him and brought him here. But if he was here then why wasn't he with us?

"You're lying," I said, "you're lying and I know it."

"When was the plan formed?" The peacekeeper demanded, ignoring me.

"What plan?"

"Let's try this again," he breathed, "we don't want a repeat, do we? Now who was involved in the rebel plot."

"I'm telling you I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

The peacekeeper glanced at the other one, who gave a slight nod in response, before he turned back to me, "have it your way then," he said grimly as they both held me down and injected a liquid into my skin.

I immediately felt dizzy and numb. Everything was spinning and I had to lay of the floor for a bit. I started to get a slight headache behind my left eye as the peacekeepers shifted my body back into an up right position. In front of me stood... no. It couldn't be... but it was... but he had escaped. Why was Finnick here? Immediately I wanted to run towards him but my legs wouldn't let me. Instead they began to walk towards a table. My hands reached out and clutched three throwing knives.

"No...no. No. No. No. No. NO....NOOOOO," I screamed, "not Finnick. Anyone but Finnick."

"You chose this," the peacekeeper laughed.

"I'll tell you everything..." I murmured, but it was too late my hand had drawn back and positioned, the knife was thrown and he was dead. Then my vision went blank.

***
My body was stiff. My cheeks were damp with tears. My hair was greasy and unwashed. I woke up on the floor in the room. I had just killed Finnick. I had just killed him. Not only was I a murderer but I was a murderer of a boy I deeply loved. I didn't look up. I wouldn't look at the body. I couldn't bring myself to. He had died and it was my fault. He didn't get out of the arena and it was my fault. He never knew I loved him and it was my fault. I looked at the blood on the floor that once ran in his body. What had I done? What had I become? How long did this have to go on for? Slowly I looked up and a wave of shock came over me. The body of the person that I had just killed was not Finnick at all. It was another innocent. I stood up and wrapped my arms around the corpse.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "I never wanted to kill you."

The man was young, maybe only just eighteen. He had lots of muscle. Slowly, I traced my fingers along his arm until they reached a tattoo. It said 'District 7'. He was from Jo's home, maybe even her friend and if just killed him. I started to cry again as I looked at the dead body. Why was the world so cruel?

***
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