MOVING ON

Chapter 3- Carefully Helping

Chapter 3- Carefully Helping

             I awaken, shivering and cold, still surrounding by primrose, still in the pouring rain. I hear the heavy tread of his artificial limb heading towards me, and I scrunch up into a ball protectively. The footsteps stop. I uncover my head and see him staring down at me, soaked just as I am. I let out a small whimper and tears roll down my face. He scoops me up in his arms and carries me back to Victor’s Village. Somewhere along the way, I start coughing and sneezing and he gives a big, exasperated sigh.

            He opens my front door, takes off his muddy shoes as well as mine, and continues to carry me until we get to the bathroom that connects to my room. He sets me down on the floor and begins taking off my shirt.

            “Peeta, don’t, I’ll do it,” I say, not wanting him to rid me of what little privacy I have left. I start trying to take off my shirt, but find my muscles rigid and sore.

            “Katniss just let me help, please?” Peeta looks at me pleadingly; I gave a sigh and nod my head. I put my arms up and he tugs at my sleeves until my shirt is off. Then he proceeds to take off my pants, socks, and the tank top I was wearing under my t-shirt. The next task is getting off my undergarments, which is most likely going to make feel even more violated than I already do.

            “Katniss, are you-“ Peeta starts to ask me something, presumably if I’m OK with him taking off my undergarments, but I cut him off.

            “Just do it, Peeta,” I say, then close my eyes and roll over onto my stomach so he can reach the hook of my bra and not see my breasts. I feel the wet thing pulled off of me and then the same thing happens with my underwear. Peeta hands me clean undergarments and the silken robe from my closet. He helps me into them and then carries me over to my bed, where I once again begin coughing and sneezing. I catch a glimpse of the clock and see that it’s only four in the afternoon; my day is going incredibly slow.

            Peeta sits on the bed next to me, “Katniss, are you OK if I leave?” He asks me gently.

            “No, don’t leave, stay here,” I say pathetically, “I don’t want to be alone.”

            All he says in response is “OK,” then he sits down in the armchair next to my bed. At some point, when I’m halfway between being asleep and awake, he comes over to the bed and sits down again. I guess he thinks I’m asleep, since he begins gently caressing parts of my face, gently running his fingers across the creases, brushing them against my eyelashes. He’s seems to be compelled by my eyes the most. He lingers on them for a while, seemingly fascinated. Then his fingers stop, on a burn scar on the bridge of my nose. His fingers become twitchy, unstable, he doesn’t take his fingers off the scar for a while, and when he does, he goes back to sit in the armchair. After a while, I drift off.

            I wake up in the middle of my sleep, as I usually do, screaming as Prim gets blown to bits for what must be the hundredth time since the war ended. I see Peeta’s still resting in the armchair; he looks like he had been reading the book I had left on my nightstand last night. But stopped when he saw- and heard- me awaken. I curl up in a ball and cry, he walks over and sits by my side, rubs my back and comforts me. I don’t remember falling asleep again, but I guess I do, since the next time I open my eyes, Peeta is back in the armchair, and the sun is peeking through the cracks in my blinds.

            “Peeta? Peeta are you awake?” I harshly whisper from my spot on the bed.

            He mumbles something unintelligible, and then sits up, opens his eyes and repeats himself. “Yes I’m awake,” He says, looking entirely groggy.