You would have thought that after all the care she put into it, it would have improved. But it didn't.
Her face goes completely pale at the sight of my leg. Mine does too. The pus is gone, but the swelling has increased and the tight shiny skin is inflamed. That's not so bad… but the red streaks starting to crawl up my leg are. Blood poisoning.
"Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone," she says in an unsteady voice.
"I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," I say calmly. "Even if my mother wasn't a healer."
"You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the capital when we win."
That would be a great plan…if blood poisoning worked that way.
"Yes, that's a good plan," I say mostly for her benefit. I know that I won't make it. I always knew that one way or the other I wouldn't make it back alive.
"You have to eat," she says sounding like a scolding mother. "Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup."
"Don't light a fire," I say. "It's not worth it." I'm not worth it. Specially now.
"We'll see," she says. She grabs the pot and heads out.
"Ahh," I let a moan escape. The pain is so great that I'm impressed I've been able to talk to Katniss without screaming. But I can't let her see how much pain I'm in. She's already doing so much – has such a heavy burden to carry – if she knew how much pain I'm really in, it would just be that much worse for her. And I don't want her suffering with me. She might not show it, but I know she's a vulnerable person, and my pain would hurt her, too.
I take advantage of her absence and let myself crumble to pieces for just a moment… well almost; I can't exactly scream right now. Instead, I let a few tears of pain escape as I burry my face in my hands. I take a deep breath – which comes out sounding more like a gasp – trying to steady myself before Katniss returns.
Just in time, too; Katniss comes back sooner than I thought she would. I smile up at her, but she frowns in return. I guess my face wasn't as composed as I thought. She puts wet clothes in my forehead, but they warm up so fast they can't be doing any good.
"Do you want anything," she asks.
"No, thank you," I automatically answer but then something pops into my head. "Wait, yes. Tell me a story." I need to distract my mind from the pain.
"A story? What about?" she asks in a wary tone.
"Something happy. Tell me the happiest day you can remember."
She sighs in exasperation. I can tell she's racking her brain, searching for a happy memory.
"Did I ever tell you how I got prim's Goat?" she asks and a smile lights her face.
I shake my head and look at her expectantly. She remains silent for a minute; probably trying to figure out where to start.
So she told me how she had sold her mother's silver locket and then bought a mauled goat, which she then tied a ping ribbon on and then given it to her sister Prim. With a motherly smile on her face she described Prim's excitement when she saw the goat, and how she even cried from happiness. She also told me how her mother and Prim had worked over the mauled goat and how after all of Prim's dedicated care, the goat got better.
"They sound like you," I comment.
"Oh, no, Peeta. They work magic. That thing couldn't have died if it tried," she says and the pauses. It takes me a minute to understand what she could have made of her own words.
"Don't worry. I'm not trying," I joke. "Finish the story."
'Well, that's it. Only I remember that night, Prim insisted on sleeping with the goat on a blanket next to the fire. And just before they drifted off, the goat licked her cheek, like it was giving her a good night kiss or something," she says. "It was mad about her."
Kind of like me, I think, but keep these thoughts to myself.
"Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?" I wonder.
"I think so. Why?"
"I'm just trying to get a picture," I say. One that can take my mind off the pain. "I can see why that day made you happy." And of course, the happiest day of her life doesn't even have to do with her happiness, but her sister's.
"Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine," she says .
"Yes, of course I was referring to that," I say sarcastically, "not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping," I conclude drily.
"That goat has paid for itself," she says defensively. "Several time over."
"Well, it wouldn't dare do anything else after you saved its life," I say smiling. "I intend to do the same," I add more seriously.
"Really? What did you cost me again?" she asks teasingly.
"A lot of trouble. Don't worry. You'll get it all back," I say joking, but hoping that last part comes true.
"You're not making sense," she says as she tests my forehead with the back of her hand. She's silent for a moment. "You're a little cooler though," she finally says.
Lies.
The sound of the trumpet startles us both. Katniss rises to her feet and goes to stand by the mouth of the cave.
I listen silently as Claudius Templesmith announces that we're all invited to a feast.
"Now hold on," he adds quickly. "Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately. Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance." There's a faint static noise and then everything is silent.
I grip Katniss's shoulder – guessing her plan – before she can make a run for it. "No," I say firmly. "You're not risking your life for me."
"Who said I was?" she says indifferently.
"So, you're not going?" I ask unconvinced.
"Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid," she says as she helps me back into the sleeping bag. "I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there," she concludes.
More lies.
"You're such a bad liar, Katniss. I don't know how you've survived this long," I shake my head sadly. "I knew that goat would be a gold mine," I say in a high girlish voice. "You're a little cooler though," I continue to mimic her. "Of course, I'm not going." I shake my head again. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin."
Her face flushes in anger. "All right, I am going, and you can't stop me!"
"I can follow you," I say calmly, staring into her eyes so she knows I mean it. "At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure," I conclude.
"You won't get a hundred yards from here on that leg," she says confidently.
"Then I'll drag myself. You go and I'm going, too."
She doesn't look so sure anymore. She knows I'm not bluffing.
"What am I supposed to do?" she says frustrated. "Sit here and watch you die?"
"I won't die." Not right now anyway. "I promise. If you promise not to go." Because if she goes and doesn't make it back, then I'll die for sure – and notbecause there's not going to be anyone to look after me anymore.
"Then you have to do what I say," she says and there's a hint of something I don't recognize in her voice. "Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!" she snaps.
"Agreed. Is it ready?"
"Wait here," she says, and heads out.
When she brings the soup I eat it without complaining. I even scrape the pot to show my enthusiasm. I compliment her about the soup – though it wasn't anywhere close to my likings at all – and she stares at me like I've just said something crazy.
She gives me another doze of fever pills and heads out again.
When she comes back she's smiling and she has the pot in her hands again.
"I've brought you a treat," she announces cheerfully. "I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream."
I open my mouth for the first bite without hesitation. The berries are strangely overly sweet. "They're very sweet," I frown, though I enjoy the taste after the bland soup.
"Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever heard of them?" she says and pokes another spoonful in my mouth.
"No," I say puzzled. I've eaten many kids of berries before, and though I've never heard of these, there's something familiar about them. I chew slowly and the swallow. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?"
"Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," she says staring intently down at the pot. She gives me another spoonful.
"They're sweet as syrup," I say thoughtfully. And then the obvious hits me. "Syrup." Oh no. this is not good. Ohh, I did not see this coming! This is a hit below the belt. I try to spit it out, but before I can manage it, Katniss clamps her hand over my mouth and nose, forcing me to swallow the last spoonful. She let go of me and I stick my finger down my throat in a useless attempt to make myself vomit the sleep syrup.
But it's too late. My head is already getting foggy and my eyelids heavy. My body feels like melted rubber. I slouch against the cave wall and stare at her accusingly. My eyes close against my will, and just before unconsciousness completely engulfs me, I thought I heard her say "Who can't lie, Peeta?"
I bet the audience will get a kick out of that one, I think vaguely and then sink into oblivion.