Blooming in the Spring

Chapter 17

TW: Descriptions of torture

Trapped. 

I'm surrounded by glass, a metal plate beneath my feet. At first, I think I must be going back into the arena but the plate is not pushing me upwards and there is only the sound of my own screams for help breaking the silence. I'm pounding desperately on the tube around me, the only way I've been able to tell that I'm enclosed because I can see nothing but pitch-black darkness.

I'm about to give up and curl up on my knees when there is a glimpse of light a few feet away and I think maybe someone has come to free me. I press my hand on the glass, reaching out for the light but it doesn't come--at least not toward me. 

No, instead I watch it grow until it illuminates a bloodied mess of a person lying on the floor. I furrow my brows and my screaming ceases, only because I'm so puzzled at the scene. It isn't until another, large and upright shadowy figure appears over the one on the floor that I understand what's going on. The bigger one, a guard I presume, kicks the person on the floor with such force that it evokes an animal sort of noise from him and I know immediately that it is Peeta lying there. 

"Stop!" I cry out and in an instant I'm back on my feet, banging away at the glass even though I know it's futile.

The light in the room continues to grow brighter until I can see all of him, all of Peeta, and my heart sinks and flips in my stomach when I see his face. His entire body is covered in purple and green bruises and red gashes of varying severity, some deep red and scarring and others fresh and still bleeding. And his eyes, so wide with fear, which only worsens when they meet mine. 

He's just barely begun to realize I'm here, only just started to form my name on his lips when another blow from the guard comes. I try to warn him but it's no use, one by one another kick, and another fist comes down on him. Peeta, the boy that I love, is being beaten to death before my very eyes. 

"Katniss!" he cries out, as two more guards shuffle into the room. Triple the beatings triple the pain. 

I am screaming so loud I can hardly breathe and the glass feels like it's closing in, suffocating me, and maybe it is because I'm suddenly very aware that it's so tight now that I can no longer drop to my knees. I can't even move my arms far enough to shield my eyes from the horrors taking place before me. 

"Please stop!" I beg. "You're killing him!"

Because they are, they are killing him. His body falls more and more lifeless with each blow, though his screams still cut deep. I'm about to pass out when they take out weapons that I can only barely make out as a sword and a long electric prod that I've heard they use on cattle in District 10. 

"Please," Peeta whimpers, and I know he's using the last bit of his energy to push himself away from them, cornered on the far side of the room. 

"You or her," one of the guards spits. "You choose."

At this, I'm striking the glass with animal ferocity, begging them to leave him alone and take me instead. Of course, this isn't what Peeta does. Because he loves me, he always has. To Peeta, it's always been me over him. The boy who took a beating from his own mother to feed me and a sword in the leg from Cato to buy me time to escape. And he takes it again now, the punches and shocks and more deep cuts from a sword and for a horrible moment, I think I even hear the crack of bones breaking. 

This goes on for what feels like a lifetime and I know my voice is nearly gone and I'm about to lose consciousness when the guards vanish and the glass lifts, leaving me stumbling forward off the metal plate and onto cool concrete slick with Peeta's blood. 

Even from here, I know he's barely alive. His breath is ragged, his muscles twitching and I'm afraid that maybe he's seizing. I use my last bit of energy to crawl toward him, staining my hands and clothes bright red.