Do You Remember? A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Do You Remember?

I hope you guys like this chapter! My Boston chapters aren't the best, so please tell me what you thought when you're done! I put a lot of work into it and the first part of this chapter is something I've changed and gone over many times. It's one of my long chapters... enjoy!!!!

(Boston's POV)

I've lost it. It takes all the strength I have left to not scream as Jonas's arms wrap around her stomach as she crumples to the floor, clutching her insides. Her mouth drops open in shock and her eyes widen in terror and pain.
No. No no no. This isn't happening. She was supposed to go home. I feel rage course through my veins, adrenaline pumping me forward. But it comes too late. The searing pain in my side brings me to reality as the girl from One lodges my ax into my side. Blood starts to poor, but all I can think about is the fact that Jonas isn't going to make it out alive.

Anger overcomes the fear and the pain of the moment, and despite my position I lunge at Seal, knocking her to the ground and grabbing my ax from the ground. And I just start swinging. I don't know what I'm doing, but I do know that I'm successful when she drops painfully to the ground, blood pouring out out of the gash in her neck and pooling in a puddle around her. Holding her hands to her neck, doing her best to save what she knows she can't, convulsing in agony in the ground. Her state has me in shock at first, but then I realize the real problem. What's really important.

I set my ax at Jonas's feet and I have to practically drag myself to her side. A cannon booms, and I send a glance in Seal's direction. I'm just glad it didn't last a long time. "This isn't happening," I say in a hushed voice. "You were supposed to go home." She shakes her head and winces in pain.

"Can you tell me a story?" She asks, weakly. I nod, but I can't. I don't have any stories. But I have something better.

"Sure." I pause to think. "Do you remember your first day in the lumber yard? You couldn't even pick up the ax they gave you!" I try to laugh, but I can't. A smile appears on her face. I know it's real, but so is the pain in her eyes.
"Do you remember your seventh birthday? When dad brought home a surprise cake and you were so excited. The one with pink flowers surrounded by candy pearls." She nods and grimaces.

Slowly, Jonas pulls her hand away from her stomach. I analyze the gash, and it's so much more than that. This laceration is irreparable. She reaches into the pocket of her pants and pulls out a stuffy. A little dog that I got her when she was born. I didn't know she still had it. It must have been her token. It's covered in blood by the time she sets it in my hands, and I begin to cry again.

"I'm so sorry," I gasp through a mouthful of blood and tears. The cannon sounds and I try to keep crying, but all my tears are gone. I begin to hum a quiet tune, the song Jonas always sung when anyone was sad. Calming, soothing, one of her favorites. I can't believe she's gone. Really gone.

I do the first thing I can think of. One more thing for her. It isn't much, but the bush of lavender near by is just what I need. Just a little bit is all I take and I press it into her hands, locking her fingers around the flowers and gliding my free hand over her eyes, closing them. For a second, it actually looks like she's sleeping. Like she's in a paradise dream land and will wake up any second, bursting with excitement. I grab her hand, the one with the lavender, and grip it tightly. Lavender is her favorite. Was her favorite.

Gently, I rest my head on her chest, and my world goes black. I don't know if I pass out from anger or loss of blood (most likely the latter), or how long I'm out. All I know is that when I wake up, I'm not in the arena anymore as the sounds of beeping monitors bring me back to reality.
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A stabbing pain rattles my skull and I finally dare to open my eyes. The walls are a glistening white, smooth and bold. The room smells of fresh paint and medicine, and I suddenly realize where I am. My own little torture chamber. I'd rather be back in the arena than confined in a Capitol hospital room.