Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 33 - Hope

The doctor turns to her assistant, moving her hands away from my face. She gestures for me to press a damp cloth against my cheek as she moves towards the door. Against what I'm sure I'm supposed to do, I step off the bed and follow her into the hallway, with Peeta and Haymitch Trailing close behind. This time, they don't try to stop me.

The door opens to reveal not a group of armed Peacekeepers, but instead a slight figure of a girl. It takes a moment to register who she is— the mayor's daughter. Despite being too far away to hear anything, I watch intently as she hands a small box to the doctor before hurrying back down the street. The doctor opens the box to reveal half a dozen vials of clear liquid. I assume it's some sort of medicine because she's filling a syringe with the liquid before entering my father's room.

"What is that stuff?" I ask her as she returns with an empty syringe.

"It's from the Capitol. It's called morphling," she answers.

"I hadn't even spoken to her," I mutter to myself. "Why would she help us?"

"I'm not sure, but I wouldn't complain," Peeta shrugs nonchalantly. I'm not complaining, but I would like some answers. Instead, I keep my mouth shut and make my way into my father's room now that he's drifted off to sleep from the painkiller. Sitting on a small stool by his bed, I hold his hand. I've missed his touch. The comfort it brings me. The familiarity. The doctor eventually sends both Haymitch and Peeta home, leaving me alone with my unconscious father. I feel tears begin to well up in my eyes, wondering why they would do something so cruel to such a kind man. But I know the answer.

Me. It was all because of me that he was dragged to District 12 and whipped within an inch of his life. I am the reason behind all of his pain. It was my selfishness that won the Games and my selfishness that caused him to pay for it. Was it true that only the cruel and vain could win the Games? Why did I survive while the others died? I should've died like President Snow had wanted the moment I pulled out those berries. Why did I have to grab those stupid berries?

Was it really an act of rebellion? Even if I didn't intend it to be? No matter how fast I run or where I go, in the end, it won't change anything. People will still get hurt the way my father did today. District 12 may be different from my life back in 4 or in the arena, but one thing remains the same— at some point, I have to stop running and face whoever wants me dead. But finding the courage to do so is easier said than done.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, barely audible, leaning my head down on the table beside him.

A gentle hand shakes my shoulder and I startle awake. I must've dozed off, my cheek now stuck to the white cloth below. My face throbs painfully on both sides, but I can at least see better now that the swelling has gone down. The warm scent of fresh bread fills my nostrils and I turn to find Peeta looking down at me. "You should go to bed. I can take care of him."

Despite my exhaustion, I muster up a smile. I notice faint blue shadows beneath Peeta's eyes and it dawns on me that he may not have slept at all. He should be resting, not me.

"I already asked the doctor. There's a bed in the other room, she said you can rest there in the meantime," Peeta says. "Just get some rest, okay?" I nod weakly, my body exhausted and my mind numb. He helps me off the stool and leads me to the bed, tucking me under the covers. I try to thank him, but I'm asleep almost instantly. Fletcher enters my dreams. His eyes are filled with anger and blame as he chases me, his words echoing through my head. It's your fault. You're the reason I'm dead. My heart beats faster and harder with each step he takes towards me. He pulls a knife from his chest and hurls it at me. It pierces my cheek, leaving behind a jagged gash. You deserve to die. I fall to the ground and Fletcher pins me down. How could you just let me die? As he towers over me, his face begins to elongate into a snout, dark fur sprouting from his skin. His fingernails grow into long claws that dig into my skin. His eyes, however, are the only thing that don't change. He is the muttation form of himself, the wolflike monster from the arena. He lets out a long howl before he begins to lap up the blood pouring from my cheek. Each lick sends another wave of pain through my body and I scream out in terror. I wake up suddenly, drenched in sweat and trembling uncontrollably. I want Peeta to be here with me, but I can't keep asking this of him.