Real - An Everlark Fanfiction

- Chapter Twenty Four -

I can't seem to pinpoint the source of how I feel. Maybe it's because I'm always lightheaded due to my injury. Maybe it's because my husband is sick in bed and won't be able to stand, let alone walk, for months. Maybe it's because Gale and I are finally on an equal playing field, not that it would matter. Whatever the reason may be, I can not stop throwing up.

Whenever I feel that familiar gurgling in my stomach and that terrible pounding in my head, I know that I need to get to a bathroom. Fast. The nearest one is conveniently located in our hospital room, but even with a solution this close, these are many close calls. I always try to close the door behind me, but most of my attempts fail, leaving Peeta helpless with a perfect view of my sickening condition. He tries to yells soothing words in my direction, but they can barely be heard over my constant coughing. Sometimes Madge stays with me to help, but I usually dismiss her after an hour or so. She has her own problems with her father being ill, and I wouldn't want to interfere. What I do want to do is be in bed comforting and keeping Peeta company, but the only safe location that I have offered to me is on the cold floor.

For the first couple of days, we ignore my issue. Peeta doesn't want to, but we do. When a nurse comes in to treat Peeta, whoever I'm with just lies and says I'm showing or washing my hands. I don't want to take any attention away from Peeta and his injury. I want him to heal as quickly as possible, and me bringing up a minor issue definitely wouldn't help with the speed of his recover. But when it gets to the point where I'm constantly apart from my husband's loving arms, we decide to seek help.

"Madge," I mumble between coughs, "Go get a nurse please. And tell Peeta."

Her warm fingers brush across my neck as she carefully drops my knotted hair that she was holding back for me. I haven't brushed it since the morning of my wedding. Five days can really tangle a lot.

"Of course," she says, standing up. I listen to her shoes rhythmically click on the hard floor until, eventually, the sound fades away and vanishes. The feeling of nausea has passed, temporarily of course, and I'm able to sit up normally. I glance out of the half closed door and find Peeta directly in my view. He's not looking my way. I follow his wide eyes to the front door, eagerly waiting for the nurse that will attempt to diagnose and cure me. He's so worried about me, but he shouldn't be. He should be worried about himself.

I look at the extra hospital bed and frown. I've never once considered using it. I've spent my four nights here either with Peeta, or with a thin blanket on the bathroom floor. The neatly made sheets on the vacant bed lye in the same position that they did days ago, and I can't help feeling bad for requesting and ignoring the unnecessary piece of furniture.

On the side table next to my bed, though, is what I do appreciate. Flowers. Beautiful dandelions. Apparently, Flynn and Annie picked a bouquet of them from the clearing before the ceremony started and were planning on presenting them to us during the reception. Considering what happened, Annie found it only appropriate to give the flowers to Peeta as a get well gift.

When she and Flynn visited us in the hospital a day after the incident, she brought with her the flowers and some lifesaving essentials from our house: clothing, toothbrushes, cheese buns - my favorite. I could stand at the time without fainting, and I thanked her with a hug as she handed the dandelions to Flynn, ordering him to deliver the gift across the room to Peeta. He quickly shook his head no and gave the flowers to me, trying his best to hide behind my legs.

It occurred to me that Flynn must have been terrified of Peeta, considering he was almost thrown on top of the small boy. Unfortunately, three year olds don't know the difference between falling and being pushed, and probably assumed Peeta performed his actions purposely.