ACT II, CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR ❛ because you are full of grief ❜ content: drug withdrawal, vomiting/emetophobia, self-harm ideation, depression & ptsd (flashbacks), heavy angst.
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Lumo doesn't realize Madaket's serious until she starts tying her wrist to the towel rack with a scarf. He stands helplessly in the doorway to the bathroom.
"Let me stitch up your knuckles, at least." His voice is close to pleading. "You're getting blood everywhere."
He's right, but Madaket ignores him. With her teeth, she pulls the last knot as tight as she can around her left wrist. She yanks on the restraint hard to make sure she can't break free. The knot and towel rack stay put. The fingers in her left hand already tingle from lack of blood circulation—but that's nothing. Enough blood seeps from the split knuckles of her right hand to make up for the other's lack.
Suddenly realizing she hasn't responded, she tells him, "Fine. You can stitch it up. But I'm not moving from here."
Lumo has the good sense not to sigh as he leaves the bathroom in search of a first aid kit. Madaket rests her bleeding hand in her lap. Now that the adrenaline's starting to wear off, she registers her heartbeat throbbing across her split knuckles. Each pulse sends another gush of warm, sticky blood onto her clothes.
Distantly, as if seeing her own hand from far away, she clenches her fingers into a fist, watching the wound gape open like a gruesome mouth. Tears flood her eyes from the pain, and twice as much blood as before drips to the tile in a red stream. Reluctantly, she relaxes her hand.
Lumo returns shortly thereafter—neglecting to mention the much larger pool of blood between them—and wordlessly sets to work on Madaket's knuckles with a sterile needle and thread. She stares straight ahead, imagining she is sitting atop a tall building instead, where cool gusts of summer wind dry the tears off her cheeks. Where she can hear pigeons cooing and the hum of traffic far below. Soon, she hardly feels the needle dipping in and out of her skin.
Of course, Lumo has to ruin it by speaking.
"We don't have to go to the Tribute Parade party tonight," he says once he ties off the last stitch. Madaket keeps her eyes closed, trying to ignore him. "Why don't we order dinner in the apartment? You won't have to deal with Luxa or the tributes."
She sighs. He doesn't understand. And she's too exhausted to put everything into words.
So, she says, "I can't be around people right now. Not even you. I'm dangerous."
She hears him exhale, some shuffling as he sits down across from her. An octave passes before he says, "I'm not scared of you."
Madaket opens her eyes, but stares fixedly at the ceiling, listening.
