"You're not going to die," she says firmly. She sounds like she's trying to convince herself. I would follow along to make her feel good, but I know even she knows what the odds are right now.
"Says who?" I ask louder than before. My voice comes out ragged from both pain and the lack of its use.
"Says me." She sounds serious. "We're on the same team now, you know."
I open my eyes. "So I heard." That had been my first flicker of hope since the games started. "Nice of you to find what's left of me," I say sincerely, but I can deny that I'm only glad to see her before I die. Because I'm going to die. It doesn't matter that she's on my team now – there's no way that I'll make it. Sure, she can protect me from the other tributes, but I know my infected leg is going to cost me my life.
Katniss pulls out a water bottle and touches it to my lips so that I can drink from it. Oh, clean, tasty water. I take a long sip.
"Did Cato cut you?" she asks.
Oh yes he did. He signed my death in my leg with that knife. "Left leg. Up high."
"Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got." Trust me, you don't want to see, I think, but keep it to myself.
"Lean down a minute first. Need to tell you something," I say, and regret the words instantly. An idea just popped into my head, and as stupid as it is, I can't help myself. What's the harm in it? I try to convince myself. The worst she can do is say no. She leans down, her ear almost touching my lips. But I cower at the last second and twist my words so that they sound as just a joke. "Remember, we're madly in love," well, I am, "so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it." As many times you feel like it.
She jerks her head back and stares at me surprised, but then just laughs. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind."
Well, I gave it a try, I think resigned.
She seems confident as she tries to help me up, but I can see it in her face that her hopes crumble when she realizes I'm unable to move an inch on my own. She tries to drag me, and I try not to scream in pain, but a small moan escapes my lips without permission and I can see she understands. The water's about two feet away, but unless she can carry me, there's no way I'm getting anywhere closer to the water. I feel a sharp staggering pain in my leg and I grit my teeth so that no sound escapes my lips. But I can feel warm tears running down my face so it's no use.
"Look Peeta, I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?" She doesn't seem so confident anymore.
"Excellent," I answer. I can't stand up.
She crouches down beside me. "On tree, "she says. "One, two, three!" She rolls me over once, but as my leg presses against the ground I feel as though I'm being stabbed again, and a sharp cry of pain leaves my lips. We're at the edge of the stream at least.
"Okay, change of plans." She sounds panicked. "I'm not going to put you all the way in."
"No more rolling?" I asked relieved.
"That's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye in the woods for me, okay?" Well, that's as much as I'm able to do right now anyway. She stands over me, assessing my condition. She fills three bottles with water and scrapes some mud off me with her hands.
She unzips my jacket, unbuttons my shirt, and gently eases them off me. I hope no one's stalking us right now, because my attention is definitely off the woods for the moment. My heart is thudding against my ribs. I'm just human after all, and I can't control the impossible fantasies that are running through my head right now. My undershirt is plastered into my wounds and so she has to cut it away with her knife. She absently rests her hand on my chest as she cuts through the fabric. As casual and meaningless that simple touch is to her, it's enough to drive me insane.
I try to push my inappropriate thoughts away. This is so not the right time to let my wild thoughts distract me. Actually I shouldn't be having these thoughts at all. I can feel my face blushing and I'm glad it's still covered in mud.
She props me up against a boulder and washes away the dirt from my hair and skin. I try not to be overly aware of her soft hands rubbing against my skin. I have no problem concentrating while she digs the tracker jacker stingers out of my swollen lumps. I wince, but I'm relieved as soon as she applies I don't know what to my stings. She washes my jacket and my shirt and when she's done with that she then applies a cream to my burned chest. Her hands feel cold to my skin, but I know it's the fever. She digs something out of her bag and comes out with two nasty looking pills.
"Swallow these" she orders. I obediently swallow the medicine. "You must be hungry," she muses.
"Not really. It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days." And that it's definitely something to worry about.
She offers me some sort of meat, but just looking at it makes my stomach churn uncomfortably.
"Peeta, we need to get some food in you." She sounds like a scolding mother.
"It'll just come right back up," I complain like a stubborn child. But she does get me to eat a few bites of dried apple. "Thanks. I'm much better, really." I feel drowsy and I have to fight against my heavy eye-lids. "Can I sleep now, Katniss?" I beg.
"Soon," she promises. "I need to look at your leg first."
Uh - oh. This is not good. This is going to involve moving my leg and that's not good at all. I grimace, and grit my teeth together, trying to ready myself for the surely oncoming pain.
