Die for You | Catching Fire

chapter forty-seven

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chapter forty-seven
NOT HERS

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tw:
mention of torture, mention of abuse, violence, ptsd - mockingjay is heavy :(

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Sage knows he saw it. Not just because of the cool air gently brushing against the exposed, scarred flesh, but because of the look in his eye and the way his chest has frozen in place. She thinks about averting her gaze from his completely, ducking away to hide, before clearing her throat carefully. When Sage glances up at him, she can see he's trying to pull himself out of his own shock and rage, and he blinks the faint wet shine of his eye away.

"Do you know when I'll see Dr. Metis?" Sage asks lightly.

Ptolemus straightens to force his stare away from her brand. He attempts to mirror her own lightness, but his voice is caught in his throat. "No, I'm..." He shakes his head when his eyes want to fall back to it. The rage gnaws at him in sharp and stinging bites that almost cause him to grimace, so he tries to speak through it instead. "I'm not sure." He's going to choke. "Do you want me to check?"

Sage nods and squeezes his hand. "Thank you, Tolly."

He struggles to pull himself out of the warring emotions surging his body. Muscle memory helps him to lean down and press a kiss to her head. Just when he pulls away, he doesn't think he can bear to, that furious and scarlet mark in her skin plaguing his vision. He can only imagine the pain produced from such a mark as he clutches her cheek and kisses her temple a little longer. "I'll be right back, alright?"

A sad smile tugs at her lips at the faint tremor of his voice. "Don't rush. I think I'll be a while."

"Don't worry." The nurse starts to wheel Sage toward the bathing tubs and showers. "I'll take good care of her."

Ptolemus can't move for a long time. All he can do is allow his stare to trail her figure faithfully like a shadow until they turn the corner and she's out of sight. Even then, he's stuck, chest heaving while dozens of emotions billow up in him. They're thick and dark like plumes of black smoke, and he wonders if he'll explode. When his knuckles twitch at his sides, he realizes he's only seconds away from doing so, so he uses the momentum to propel himself out of Sage's hospital room.

Dr. Metis. He's supposed to ask when she'll see Dr. Metis.

He staggers through the doorway, lungs choking from all the mounting pressure with strides choppy and long. Ptolemus tries to concentrate on his task as he maneuvers through the hospital wing, but that mark on her skin is tattooed into his retinas. Furious and red and blistering and -

Dr. Metis. He's supposed to ask when she'll see Dr. Metis.

This hallway is excruciatingly long. More doctors and nurses patrol them, continuously moving in and out of various hospital rooms. One of the rolling gurneys makes this metallic screech, and he winces, something even more harrowing bursting from Sage's vocal chords in his mind. It paints a perfect picture as red and glaring as the brand itself. Them holding her down, the hot iron seething, skin crackling and her screaming -

Ptolemus gags, and something stings his eyes, hot and festering. He can't see, the hallway is spinning, and he stumbles through it as he uses the heel of his palm to push the tears back into his eye. The billowing smoke has condensed in his throat, burning and burning and making it impossible to take in air. Third degree. That burn is a third degree. Irreparable, marking her body forever and claiming it as -