Tuesday Morning
6 Days Before The Hunger Games
He was still unconscious, they told her.
No guesses as to when he'd wake up.
Liville couldn't eat the next morning. She laid in bed in utter despair.
School had been canceled. Everything had been canceled. Maybe the Hunger Games too. Almost every shop was closed, almost every Capitol citizen hid away, terrified of another terrorist attack.
Sejanus's parents were frantic downstairs. Mrs. Plinth couldn't stop coddling her son. He had barely been injured, but his mother acted as though he was half dead.
"My poor baby boy," she kept breathing over and over. "Oh-My poor Sejanus. How could they do this?"
Liville didn't leave her room until lunch, when Mrs. Plinth insisted she came down, to make sure she ate. And so that she could have her on-staff nurse look over her again.
"Do your lungs hurt?" Mrs. Plinth kept asking. "Can you breathe alright?"
Liville was checked over thoroughly in the living room after lunch. She sat on the couch as the nurse took all her vitals. Sejanus stood in the room, watching her being taken care of. He winced as her bandages were rewrapped, and he saw her injuries again.
Two burned and blistered hands, one bruised wrist. A large bandage placed over stitches on her head wound. A brace wrapped around her ankle, and cuts along her jawline.
He knew there were bruises on her knees and ankles. He had seen them, briefly, when she was at the hospital.
Sejanus hardly had anything, and he was guilty for it. A couple bruises. One scratch from when Liville tried to make him let go of her, when she didn't want to leave Coriolanus. Nothing more.
Sejanus had been deeply apologetic that he couldn't get to Liville sooner. He'd explained that the peacekeepers had dragged him out right away, that he had to fight to get back in to find her. She promised she wasn't upset with him, but...he couldn't be sure.
What he was sure of, however, was that she didn't seem to care about her own injuries. She just kept asking about...Coriolanus.
The nurse finished changing her bandages, and Mrs. Plinth began fretting over her again.
"Oh, my poor Liville," Mrs. Plinth whined as she placed tea next to the girl. She patted Liville's hair down, making sure she was covered by the blanket. "Four stitches on your forehead," Mrs. Plinth said with a hushed voice. "Oh, Liville, what kind of people are they?" She touched her cheek. "You could've been killed. Killed."
Liville was placed by the fire, and covered with another blanket. Not that she was cold. Just because Mrs. Plinth seemed to think that warmth was the most comforting thing possible.
"You'll be staying here until the games," Mrs. Plinth insisted. "If they even continue with them. There's no reason for you to leave this house. Either of you. Not yet. Who knows if those rebels have been caught. To hell with all of them. Oh-" Another comforting pat of her hair. "You could've been killed."
"Give her space, Ma," Sejanus told her.
"My goodness, I-I can't even breathe right now. Sejanus-" Mrs. Plinth placed her hands on both his cheeks. "My baby boy, what would I have done if something were to happen to you-"
"Ma, please," he breathed. "You don't have to treat me like I'm some child. I'm the one who got Liville out. And Coriolanus. I'm not fragile."
"Of course you are," his mother snapped at him.
