DRESS, coriolanus snow

07, white walls, white sheets.

DRESS
( twenty stitches in a hospital room )
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THE HARSH WHITE lights greeted her as she stirred in the bed, the back of her head throbbing, her eyes opening slowly. She groaned in pain as she sat upright, faced by the worried faces of her parents. Her mother immediately rushed to her side, sitting beside her in the uncomfortable hospital bed, stroking her hair carefully and planting a kiss to the side of her head.

"Oh, my darling," her mother consoled. Her father remained standing in front of her bed, not being one to show affection. But she could see the worry in his eyes, the dark under-eye bags hinting they must've been up all night. "I was so worried! God, I thought you'd never wake up."

"What's that supposed to mean? I — how long have I been out? And Wovey, how about her? And Coriolanus?" she asked.

"Slow down there, blondie," A nickname her father had given her when she was a child, "You. . . you've been out for days, you were in a bad coma. Doctor Ross said there was a fifty percent chance you wouldn't wake up. The bombing. . . it was a rebel bombing, so I'm not too sure how your tributes doing."

She nodded carefully, "How about Coriolanus?"

Her mother gave her a puzzling look, "Coriolanus? As in Coriolanus Snow?"

"Yeah," She watched as her parents exchanged looks, a look of confusion entering her own face. "Why?"

"Oh — no, it's nothing. Just, why are you so worried about him right now?" her mother questioned, before realization took over her. "Oh — wait — he's your. . .?"

"No! Mom — no. It's not like that. We're just friends, I hope," she denied. "Don't give me that look."

"I'm not giving you any look," her dad surrendered yet she could still feel the judgement.

"If you must know, some sort of stand fell on me during the bombing, and he . . ." she trailed off, trying to find the right words, "saved me? He got the thing off my back and shouted for the medics to help. We were further in the arena, it probably would've taken the medics longer than they did if he hadn't shouted as loud and as much as he did."

"Well, alright then," her mother stood from the bed, "I'll go call the doctors."

As her mother exited the room, leaving her father and her alone, he spoke up, saying words she'd never thought he'd hear.

"You know, if you do like him — you should go for it. You're a Vanderbilt, after all. Just be careful, blondie," her father advised. She wanted to puke her guts out.

"Ew, no. It will never be like that," she reassured. Her father nodded, but didn't seem too convinced.

"Well, the next time you see him, thank him for me. I know I'm not around much — or at all, but I still love you Charlotte. Even if I don't show it. Just know that."

"I will, and I love you too, dad. You're my hero," she smiled tenderly.

By that time, her mother had reentered her room, looking more calm and collected. Charlotte allowed the doctors to run a few more tests on her, and was more than happy that she'd make a steady recovery. The scar would heal in a few years' time, but she'd have to eat some medication to help during the initial stages.

"Thank you, Doctor, for everything," her mother smiled, clutching her hands together. Her father rubbed the side of her shoulder in a side hug, giving the doctor a handshake. Charlotte looked at her parents, so wonderfully in love, and she mentally hoped for a love like theirs, one day.