Three in the Morning

Bound

Katniss

A fragile knocking on the door stirs me from slumber. I feel like I've been asleep for an eternity.

"Hey, Katniss. I brought cheese buns," says a wary voice.

"Peeta?" I ask.

"It's Gale," he says, and he sounds hurt.

"Oh. Thank you," I tell him, and my own voice comes out scratchy and weak.

I try to adjust my position to talk to him as he sits down on the bed, but the slightest movement sends pain coursing all throughout my body.

"Where am I, Gale? Why does everything hurt so bad?"

"Katniss, you were in a car accident," he clarifies, and my breathing quickens. "Don't you remember?"

I rack my brain searching for any recollection of what he's telling me, but to no avail. The effect of the sterile white room puts me in a panic, and I want desperately out of this bed that binds me, but I find my right arm stuck in a hard cast and become aware of a that my left is hooked up to a machine through a bunch of thin tubes, and of a mask over my mouth and nose.

I feel my eyes growing wild. That's the only part of my body I can move without painful consequences. My eyes are soon wet and I'm not completely sure why.

"Settle down, Katniss, you're alright," Gale coaxes.

"I can't breathe!"

"That machine says you're breathing just fine, are you sure?"

I'm breathing, but my chest feels constricted and suffocated.

"When can I go home?" I ask, feeling a little defeated by the situation.

"I don't know."

"What did I crash into? Who was I in the car with? Am I okay? Is-" I have so many questions. Remembering nothing makes me feel powerless.

"Settle down, you're alright," Gale tries to comfort me, but I don't think I could be comforted by anyone right now. "You hit another car head on driving . . . Prim somewhere."

He refuses to meet my eyes.

A nurse wearing pink scrubs enters the room and sets a tray of food, Jell-o and a cup of peach slices, down on the table beside my bed.

"Eat this as soon as you feel up to it," she instructs. I pay no attention to her.

"Why hasn't Prim come to see me, Gale?"

"I don't . . . know if I should-"

"Answer me! Where is she? Tell me she's okay!" I yell, the pain in my chest growing unbearable.

"Excuse me, sir, I think it would be best if you'd refrain from being in the room for just a little while longer. Katniss' oxygen saturation in her blood isn't incredible right now, and agitating her like this is provoking a shortness of breath that's not helping the situation. I'll let you know when it's safe to come back in," the nurse explains with her hand on Gale's shoulder.

Gale won't leave my side without a fight, I know him too well.

But to my dismay, he stands, his composure seeming relieved, and leaves the room without meeting my eyes no matter how hard I find myself silently willing him to.

Peeta's cheese buns by the window are a comforting presence. It's nice to have something familiar in the room besides my mother fast asleep in a chair.

Surveying the rest of the small room, I notice some scrawny blue wildflowers in a glass of water on the piece of furniture under the television. A soap opera murmurs from the cheap TV, and I think the noise of it is the reason I have a headache right now.

That nurse is still bustling around and fiddling with the medical equipment, so I ask her to turn it off for me before breaking into a coughing fit.

"Oh, sweetie, lie back down. Here, I'll give you another pillow," she says, and I'm immobilized flat on my back once again- with the television still on.

************

After a while of excruciating boredom from being able to do nothing but staring at the white ceiling and listening to people arguing in Spanish over the TV, I hear my mother yawn and wake up.

Seeing that the nurse has walked out, I prop myself up on one elbow to face her as best as I can. It hurts a lot.

My mother's eyes are swollen and red, but they have alertness to them, something I can't remember the last time I've seen. It doesn't any longer appear as though there's an unseen barrier between she and reality.

"Mom?" I call.

"You're awake," she notices.

"I've been awake. You've been sleeping."

"I suppose. Do you need anything?" she says tentatively.

"I need to know what's wrong with me. And where Prim is. Was she hurt at all?"

She picks up her chair, carries it over to beside the bed, and sits. She takes one of my hands in both of hers. The gesture feels all too incredibly unfamiliar, like she's my only mother again for the first time in years.

My heart sinks. My eyes well up with tears for what I fear is impending.

"She's gone, isn't she?" I croak.

My mother nods.

My vision blurs with hot tears. My mother sobs audibly, and I can feel wetness hitting my arm. I don't know whose tears they are. Probably both of ours.