Blood drips down my hands, but I can't feel any pain anymore. I scream, throwing another empty liquor bottle at the wall. It shatters and the glass scatters out all over the floor and onto my feet, making them bleed too. I grab the only unbroken bottle off the floor and throw that one too, screaming profanities at the empty room. My screams turns to sobs as I sink down onto the floor, losing the last bit of anger left in me. My knees dig into the broken glass, causing more even more cuts to form, but I don't care enough to get up. I curl up in a ball with my arms wrapped around my head screaming until my voice runs out. Then I hear the door open. I look up, startled and confused, only to see Peeta standing in the doorway. Shit. I forgot he usually comes over today. He wasn't supposed to see me like this. I still haven't taken off my dress since my last trip to the Capitol and what's left of my makeup must be dripping all over my face. I must look terrifying. He approaches me carefully, but he doesn't say anything. He pauses when he gets to me and looks down into my eyes, seeming to be deep in thought for a moment. Then he scoops me up like a baby and carries me upstairs without hardly any exertion. I don't resist, even if I wanted to, there's no energy left in me anymore. He sits me down on the edge of the bathtub and begins digging through my cabinets. He comes back with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, tweezers, bandages, and a wash cloth. He kneels down in front of me and begins pulling the little pieces of glass stuck in my cuts out with the tweezers. He finishes my feet and moves onto my knees, as tears continuously stream down my face. The only noises in the room are the sound of glass clinking as it falls into the metal trash can and my sharp intakes of breath as I try to stop my hysterical sobbing from escalating. I can't feel any physical pain anymore. The alcohol numbed my entire body, but he must think he's hurting me though, because he tries to be even more gentle than he already was as he pulls the rest of the glass out of my knees, then my thighs and hands. He finally gets all the tiny bits of glass out and pours some rubbing alcohol onto the washcloth he found. He begins gently dabbing it onto each of the cuts on my feet, repeating the process twice just to be sure. Then he bandages them as well to keep the cuts from getting dirty or bleeding onto anything else. He starts on my knees and does the entire process again, still without saying a word. When he gets to my thighs I wince a little. The effects of the alcohol have worn off some now, not enough for it to really hurt me but it stings a little as he puts the alcohol onto one of my bigger cuts. He notices my discomfort and tries to avoid touching any of the other cuts too directly. The ones on my thighs creep all the way up to the edge of my dress. His hand barely nudges my dress up as he cleans one of my cuts and under different circumstances I probably would have blushed. This is all so embarrassing. I look pathetic, covered in cuts and dirt and makeup, wearing one of the sluttiest dresses the capitol has to offer, drunk off my ass, with tears streaming down my face. I glance down at him, as he unwraps another bandage to put on me. I know he can see up my dress from this angle, but if he notices, he doesn't show it. He's got the same look in his face from earlier, like he's deep in thought.
My tears finally run out as he starts working on cleaning the cuts on my hands, but now my nose is all stuffy. I sniff over and over, trying to clear my nose. He reaches over and grabs a tissue off the counter and holds it up to my nose. I grab it with my free hand and blow my nose. Blood trickles out of my hand and onto the tissue from the pressure of holding it on my nose. He sighs, taking the used tissue from me and throwing it in the trash. "I could've done that for you." He pauses. "I could've done so much more for you." He looks sad. I know immediately he's talking about when he threw that bread to me so many years ago. I was starving and he saved my life. He took a beating for me from his mother to give me that bread. "If I had none of this would have happened." I frown, he shouldn't be blaming himself. "Stop. Stop trying to blame yourself none of this is your fault." The anger in my voice startles even myself. I glance up quickly. I know I'm saying too much, but I don't care. He nods, and doesn't push me any further. I know he's smart enough to understand that this is a dangerous conversation to be having. His fingers skim over one of my bruises as he turns my hand over to get the other side and his eyes flicker up to me for just a second, but he doesn't comment on it. He finishes the rest of my bandages quickly and puts all the supplies back in the cabinet. He picks me up again and carries me back down the stairs, making sure not to touch any of my bandages areas.
When he sets me down on the couch, his hand brushes against my side and I wince. He immediately yanks his hand away, shocked. He looks closer at me, with that same deep in thought expression on his face as earlier. Then his eyes freeze on my neck. He pushes my hair back, away from my neck, and gasps, seeing the deep blue bruises on my neck. He sits down next to me and stares at me again, his eyes sweep over me, checking for other bruises. When he seems to be finished, he picks up my hand. Gently, he turns it over to look at my wrist. His fingers gently skim over the dull bruises on my wrist. "What did they do to you, Katniss?" My eyes start to fill up with tears again at the pain in his voice. I shake my head, tears starting to spill over. "It was horrible." I lean my head on his chest, unable to find the strength to hold myself up anymore. I wanna tell him everything, but I know I can't we're not alone here. How can I find the words to explain this to him? To make him understand how violated I feel? How terrified I am to have to go back and do this all over again? He doesn't ask anymore questions, he just holds me as I cry. He runs his fingers gently through my hair, untangling all the knots and clumps of blood. He keeps going even after my hair is free of tangles and I realize he's trying to comfort me. Whatever he's doing, it's working. My tears stop flowing eventually and I start to get sleepy. The gentle pulling motion of his hands in my hair soothes me, until eventually he has to stop because I can barely keep my eyes open. He helps me readjust into a laying down position and tucks a pillow under my head. Then he covers me up with a blanket and tucks me in. I watch as he sweeps up all the broken glass off the floor, and throws it in the trash. He cleans the rest of my mess in silence, scrubbing the blood off the floor, and moving partially intact empty liquor bottles into the trash. He even cleans up the spot where I vomited late last night in the kitchen. The full heaviness of my exhaustion hits me and I start to slip even further under as he starts to walk out, but I fight it, listening to his footsteps as he walks further and further away from me. He leaves without a word, and my exhaustion takes over immediately.
A/N: sorry it's been a while I've been working on my other fanfiction.
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Come Away To The Water
Fanfiction"Come away little lamb Come away to the water." She's drawn to his light like a moth to a flame and he's intrigued by her darkness. {WARNING: contains substance abuse, non-consensual sexual acts, and other dark topics}
