I Bet On Losing Dogs. | EVERLARK

Chapter One.

Inspired by Mitski's song; I Bet On Losing Dogs.
Please listen to this masterpiece (above) for the true experience!

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

I bet on losing dogs
I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place
By the ring.

My fingers tap a nonsensical pattern on the side of the window, I'm sure I'm irritating every stuck-up doctor in this room but I don't care, they can't shout at or chastise the girl with the bruises around her neck. The girl who, no doubt, looks more like a thin ghost of a person than a sixteen-year-old.

"Why isn't he waking up?" Haymitch asks. It's still a shock to see him sober, to see his coal, Seam eyes unclouded. Sober Haymitch is sharp, and not quite as willing to mock me as drunk Haymitch is, and I'm starting to get really sick of the way his eyes keep darting to me from across the room. I don't want his sympathy.

"He will wake up any moment now. It's just taking longer since we had to increase the dosage of the relaxer after his last episode," the doctor answers, not once looking up from his clipboard, scratching at his stubble as he writes down some more medical mumbo-jumbo.

I'm not supposed to be here, there's no doubt that several people would freak out if they knew that Haymitch had lied about Coin authorising this visit.

But I needed to see him again, maybe because I thought that the rabid dog that had greeted me with it's hands around my neck had just been all a bad dream, and my sunshine boy, the boy who smelt like bread and looked like summer, was going to be in here, ready to mock me for falling for this horrendous new prank.

Got you good, didn't I sweetheart? He would say, and he would grin at me and I would scowl at him, just like it was supposed to be.

But as I watch him through the one-sided glass, I realise just how naive a hope that was, there was no prank, there is no sunshine boy anymore. There is just this... thing. Even in his sleep, he looks different, gaunt and somehow still angry as he lies on his back, shackles tight at his sides.

It's been over a week since he had choked me, but the bruises are still here. And the feeling of his clammy hands squeezing the life out of me lingers on my skin. I suddenly forgot why I had requested this at all, why would I want to see that thing? This isn't my Peeta.

"Haymitch I think this is a—" 

My sentence is interrupted by a flurry of activity as Peeta wakes up, sitting up abruptly in the bed, his wails louder than I have ever heard them to be.

"Let me out! She's going to kill you all!" the rabid dog screams, banging its wrists on the shackles. It's strange, I think to myself. For something to look exactly like my beautiful Peeta, but be so utterly different.

"I think he's talking about you sweetheart," Haymitch quips dryly, stepping out of the way so that a doctor can open the door to calm Peeta.

I don't have it within me to bother with a snide remark back, my eyes fixated on how the doctor approaches him like he's a wild horse to be tamed, her arms raised in defence as she shushes him, her crackly voice sounding through the speakers in the room.

"It's okay Peeta, everything's okay," the doctor soothes, pressing a finger to Peeta's wrist. She's holding a syringe behind her back, just in case the rabid dog bites.

"Nothings okay if she's here. Katniss is going to hurt us, the Capitol sent her to hurt us!"

His voice is like venom, spitting out the words. His blue eyes are dark, unhinged. His voice, something that could spin out stories like silk — is now used only to tell everybody what he thinks of me, and I can't stand it.