DAN POV
I don't know why I am here. I can't remember how I got here. All I know is that I am watching a replay of the Games now, and that according to the rest of the world, Charlotte and I are dead. This isn't true, though, I know that much. I know that I am alive. I am not quite as sure about Charlotte.
District 13 is a weird place. I feel confined here, but also strangely safe. The Capitol can't reach me here. I will be okay.
The Capitol can reach Charlotte, though. They already have. There are rumors among the people in 13 that she is either dead or would be better off dead, meaning that they are torturing her.
I have been here about a week, and with nobody to talk to except for a therapist and a few of 13's leaders, I just keep myself updated on the Games. They ended three days ago. Some kid from District Four won, not that I'm surprised. As I see the TV screen now, I replay that moment over and over. We escaped the Arena. We escaped the Games. We did not escape the Capitol.
"Daniel, you are needed in the hospital wing," a soldier says, ushering me out of the room. Ah, the hospital wing. I'm familiar with it down here. This is where I first arrived. They made sure to fix my back and cut out my tracker completely, and also re-hydrate me. I have come down here every day since, meeting with an assigned therapist who always asks me the same things every day.
"How are you feeling?" "Have you had any nightmares regarding what happened?" "Do you have any information about Charlotte that would help us find her?"
They ask me these questions every damn day and I always have to tell them the same thing. "I'm feeling okay." "Of course I have nightmares." "I wish I knew about Charlotte."
This time, though, I can tell straight away that my therapist has something different in mind for today.
"Hello Daniel, it's nice to see you. Please, sit down," she tells me.
"What is the TV here for?" I ask.
"I'll get to that in a second. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine."
"Any more nightmares?"
"Yes."
"Same one?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Normally, she would ask me about Charlotte again. This time, she turns on the TV, and says, "I'm going to replay the end of your Games, and you tell me how it makes you feel."
I nod.
She begins the replay at the point when we hear the announcement about the trackers. She pauses it after Charlotte suggests we keep heading toward the edge.
"Are you feeling okay, or does this unsettle you?" she asks, a concentrated look on her face.
"I'm alright."
She then skips to the point when I suggested we blow up the fence. She pauses it after Charlotte agrees.
"How about this?"
"I hate it. I wish she didn't agree. I wish that I had just gotten her the antidote and then died like I was supposed to."
She scribbles this down in her notes, then plays the part where Charlotte and I run out of the Arena.
"What about this one?"
"I should have kept pulling her along. I should have made us go faster. We would've made it."
Writing all this down and shutting off the TV, my therapist says, "Given your nightmares and what you feel about this, I can only conclude that you have a form of PTSD. I'm gonna start you on a regimen of sleep syrup to get you through the nights...also, no more watching the Games. All they do is upset you."
Tears invade my vision. "You should know that I won't be back to normal unless I know what happened to Charlotte."
"We know. We have been trying to get her out, but it will take at least two more weeks to get remotely close to getting her back," the therapist says.
"You've been plotting a rescue mission and you haven't told me?" I ask.
"Yes. I was withholding the information until I was able to give you a proper diagnosis-"
"I don't care! Do you have any idea how good of a thing hope can be? If you had told me that last week, I would have been better off than I am now," I yell.
"Daniel, calm down," she responds.
"I will when you tell me what you know about what they are doing to her," I plead.
"I'm not cleared to give you that info-"
"Tell me anyway! I need to know what they are doing to her!"
"Daniel! Calm down!"
That's the last thing I remember before feeling a needle and then going dark again.
Charlotte POV
How long has it been? How long have I been here? It feels like an eternity. I have lost at least fifteen pounds. My hair is now cut short. My hands are constantly shaking.
I am alone in my room - it is the same one in which I stayed before the Games - and I cannot find comfort no matter how much I toss and turn on this bed. There are shackles around my arms, and I wear nothing but a crude hospital gown.
I can hear her coming now, the same Avox that always comes during midday, to give me a little bit of food and just enough vitamins to keep me alive. I used to enjoy the food, but now I am so sick that whatever I consume always finds its way back out and onto the floor. The Avox always cleans up my messes, but not even she can manage to get out the smell of lingering vomit.
I tell myself every day that I won't throw it up this time, that I have very limited chances to eat. I start out small, swallowing my supplements and then chasing them down with water. Today the Avox has brought half of a cheese sandwich and a cup of broth. I take the cheese sandwich and dip it in the broth, hoping to kill two birds with one stone and finish the meal before the Avox's time with me runs out.
Just when I had thought I had succeeded in finishing a meal and keeping it down, it all comes back up, this time onto the bed. With sorry and empty eyes, the Avox cleans it and then leaves the room.
Now it's time for the hard part.
Ten minutes after the Avox leaves, I am introduced, yet again, to a few peacekeeper-turned-torturers. Today, the peacekeepers tell me they are trying something different. One of them pulls out a syringe full of morphling, and the other shoves a powdery-white substance under my nose, telling me to inhale it all. I obey out of fear, and then the peacekeeper injects me with the morphling.
I see a TV being brought into the room just as I feel myself slipping.
