Broken Wings

Chapter 23

The next week is spent in my house with the only company being Sae and occasionally Haymitch. When Sae comes in the morning, she makes me breakfast and cleans the parts of the house I can't because of my limb limitations. When she leaves, I spend my time reading books or drawing. Since that night in my room Peeta hasn't made an appearance so I guess the book isn't going to be continued between the two of us, but still want to finish it. So, I am trying to practice drawing so I can continue on my own. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't proud of them. They are just simple pictures, like a descending parachute, and they can't hold a candle up to one of Peeta's creations, but they are passable none the less. Just not quite the quality the book is used to, so I keep trying.

Considering my hate of being trapped indoors I have to say my week so far has been peaceful. At first it was hard, I would jump at any noise thinking it might be Peeta but after day three I realised that the chances were very slim, so I decided to ignore the ache inside. Even now as I sit on my couch with a pencil, sketch pad and a warm tea steaming close by I can't deny the sadness within me. I have had the constant feeling of remorse for the last few years, but with Peeta officially gone the past threatens to choke me. My nightmares are worse now and I know I scream my head off every night, but either he doesn't hear me, or he doesn't care anymore. Peeta and I are worse than we were when he got back, at least he willingly came every morning. Even if he didn't speak, he still turned up. But dwelling on it doesn't help the feeling get any better. Peeta is gone now, at least for the time being.

I shake my head to rid me of my thoughts and look down at my picture. It's of or at-least it's the beginning of a boy standing alert under a small roof by a back door, staring out into the rain with two bread loaves under his one arm. I can see what I'm trying to put on paper so clearly, but it's just not working. The rain looks more like a mess of graphite drawn over a figure of a boy, but the figure is emotionless. I scrunch up the drawing and throw it across the room before climbing up the stairs to go shower. Maybe that will clear my head. The doctors gave me a plastic cast which helps a lot since showering helps me cope some days. When I called my mom about the injuries, she said that the doctor's advice is excellent and that I should follow it completely, this unfortunately defeats my hopes of her telling me that bed rest is over the top. I defy the bed rest as much as I can which entails hoping everywhere, but I usually try only use the stairs twice a day since they are very tolling to climb on one foot. But it is about right now, both Sae and the sun are long gone so it's about time I got ready for bed.

The shower works a little, after about half an hour, and I dress and brush my teeth. After relieving myself I rewrap my foot in the bandage the way Sae showed me how and head into the bedroom. Buttercup has beaten me to it tonight which is strange since he likes to drag out his days with Peeta. Maybe Peeta doesn't even want to share a cat with me anymore, even if the decision was never ours and we don't really have contact. Upon seeing me Buttercup stretches and lays on my lap curling up for sleep. I wish it was that simple, get comfortable and sleep, but for me it is a constant debate weather sleep is worth it. Tonight, I decide to evade sleep because I had a nap before, and my thought still hurts from last night. With the light of my bedside lamp, I read a book about a boy named David who is on a mission to Denmark. But I have to put the book down every now and then because his constant battle against his notions of human behaviour are too dark for someone like me. so, after a while I swap it out for another old children's book about a pig who befriends a spider. The book is stupid in a sweet way, which I suppose is good for young children, where the dark of the world should be kept away until it is necessary. By the time I reach about half-way through the pig book and a quarter-way through David's story I can't escape the hands of sleep any longer. The clock next to my bed reads about one in the morning when I position myself for sleep and moving the cat into my embrace. Maybe he'll act as a guard against the nightmares as affectively as Peeta used to.