Made of Ashes

Chapter 11

I tear the stethoscope out of my ears, throwing it somewhere at the foot of the bed. I feel grief, panic, and—most of all—sorrow rising in my throat, threatening to choke the very life out of me, snuffing out the final sliver of flickering hope in my chest.

No. No, no, no, no no.

"Maybe she's just—just sleeping or something." My voice cracks as I glance frantically between the doctor and Prim.

Dr. Stein shakes her head sadly and my chest caves in. "Katniss..." It's that voice again. The one to be used with a wounded animal. The same one Gale used to break the news about District 12. The gentle, soothing whisper before the killing blow. "I appreciate your hope. I don't think I've ever met someone who's fought quite as hard for their family as you, but this isn't something that can be fixed by strong will and a fiery spirit." She clasps her hands together and lets out a defeated sigh. "We probably won't have to do a surgical evacuation, as you're still early enough in your pregnancy where you should be able to miscarry the fetus on your own. I can give you medication to speed up the process, but it's entirely up to you if you want to use it. Most people do. It tends to... speed up the healing process—emotionally as well as physically."

"I—I don't... don't..." Words fail me as swirling, icy clouds of despair fill my lungs, my head, my throat, and weigh down my limbs.

Drowning. I'm drowning, I think.

"You don't have to answer me now. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours. We can talk then." She stands slowly and squeezes Prim's shoulder comfortingly. "I'll get your mother. Just... keep an eye on her, will you?"

Prim nods, tears still streaming silently down her face as Dr. Stein disappears to the first aid station.

I wait for my own tears to stain my cheeks, cloud my mind, but they don't come. Instead, I lay back and stare at the ceiling as another explosion rocks the bunker, sending dust flying and lights flickering.

I distantly feel my sister shift under the blankets with me, encompassing my body in her arms. She whispers words of what I think are supposed to be comfort, though I barely acknowledge them as my hearing dulls to a faint whining sound.

I had never understood why grief could have driven my mother to lay in her bed for months, while her young children wasted away to skin and bones before her eyes. Unmoving. Unfeeling. Alive, but not living. But this...

I'd expected pain. I know pain. Can live with pain. I never could have predicted that I'd feel so totally and utterly empty. Numb.

My mother arrives, out of breath and about three shades paler than usual, and rushes to my bedside. She takes my hand in hers and brings it to her lips. "I'm so sorry, Katniss."

I don't respond. I can't.

My mind has muddled into a desolate gray landscape, void of color, of life, only able to produce one clear thought:

It's my fault. All of it.

I'd always known I was selfish for loving Peeta. Known since the first arena that he loved me to a fault, that there was almost nothing I could do that would stop his heart from beating wholly for mine. That for whatever reason, he loved me unconditionally, so much so that he was willing to let me go. He was ready to accept my friendship in the place of the relationship that I know he so badly craved simply because he loved me. And maybe I could've accepted that. Allowed him time for those feelings to disappear. Saved him from the tragic mess that has become our lives. But I didn't. Because I'm greedy, so terribly greedy; I couldn't just let him be my friend, I had to make him my lover, my husband too. I had to show him I loved him. Ended up pregnant because of it.