Losing Your Memory - Everlark

chapter six

All I feel is sadness, doom, and terror. I'm not conscious, and I'm aware of that - I've heard it being referred to as lucid dreaming, but I wouldn't self diagnosis myself. The feeling I'm experiencing as I sleep, is something like loss and grief and misery tangled up into the same horror.

And then, slowly, my surroundings come into focus. I can hear things, like the soft beeping of my heart monitor, so slow it seems as though it's begging to stop. And the soft voices, one of them familiar, and one of them strange and unrecognizable.

When I peel open my eyes, everything is fuzzy until I blink away the sleep completely. I feel dizzy to the point of nausea, and a sharp migraine seems to have consumed me, but what matters, what hurts the most, is the deep, gaping hole in my heart.

All I know is that Peeta doesn't know who I am. That's the last thing I remember before I was pulled away by the morphling, and that's enough to damage me completely.

I find that the voices are coming from Haymitch and a doctor, who wears a white cloak, which matches the white walls and the white sheets and white gown I wear. It's all so bright it makes my head hurt even more.

"Haymitch," I croak softly. The room falls silent and both Haymitch and the doctor look at me expectantly, as if they think I'm going to have a breakdown. I might.

"Hey," Haymitch says smoothly. It's so rarely that he sounds so comforting and at ease, but I know he's only doing it for my sake. He's not drunk, but still, he does wreak violently of the wretched poison. "You're in the hospital."

"Duh, Haymitch," I mumble. "Where's Peeta?"

"Let's get you some water," Haymitch offers. "And some food, too. You need to regain your strength."

"Where's Peeta?" I ask, more urgently this time.

Haymitch purses his lips. "He's here."

"Is he awake?"

"Yes, but-"

I need no further instruction or explanation. I begin clawing viciously at the wires I'm hooked up to, trying to free myself. I need to see him, I need to know that he's okay, that he was simply delusional before and that he does remember me.

He has to remember me.

Haymitch pins me down with all his strength, which is far greater than mine. "Katniss, no. You need to know a few things before you see him."

Taken back by this, I stop fighting, and look at Haymitch with the deepest worry erupting from inside me. "Like what?"

Haymitch releases me and sighs prolongingly. He buries his hands in his face for a second and then suddenly looks up.

"Haymitch, what?" I clench my teeth.

Haymitch takes my hand in his and squeezes it. "He's lost his memory, Katniss."

My heart sinks into my stomach and obliterates where it lands, tying knots out of my intestines and tugging on them every time I try to speak. What does this mean? Is he brain dead? Or had he just forgotten some things?

"The doctors call it Amnesia," Haymitch says. "He may never remember the things he's forgotten, but if he does, it's going to take time."

"Does he remember me?" I ask.

Haymitch shakes his head sympathetically. "He doesn't remember you, or me, or his family. He doesn't even know what the Hunger Games are."

"So . . . so that's it?" I squeak. "He's just . . . gone?" Slowly, I begin to weep, as Haymitch has no answer for me. I can't center my focus on any single thing. Everything is so distorted and incomprehensible. The only thing I feel is grief. Because how could he have forgotten? How could he not remember me? He loved me. He was one of the few people who really, truly loved me. And now it's just gone.