Broken (Peeta Mellark Fanfiction)

Chapter 1 - Recovery

Hello everyone, this story and these characters were made by Suzanne Collins, not me. The events and most of the dialogue is from Mockingjay. If you haven't seen or read my other story Hijacked then go check it out if you're interested. Please favorite this story and/or leave a nice comment if you enjoy, thanks!

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I can still hear the screams.

They never end, they leave a permanent ring that echoes in my ears and every second I have to remind myself that they aren't real.

But they were.

I can still smell the blood, that ugly metallic scent that hangs in the air. The scent that I know means a new kill, everywhere around me.

Surrounding death.

I can still feel the hopelessness. Not only for myself, but for the innocent people trapped around me. The innocence that wasn't acknowledged or thought of for one second when they died. I don't dare try to think of the maze of confusion that is my mind.

My eyes burn, I can never shut them. I can't handle the darkness. Haunted thoughts come by as fast as a blink.

My skin is still cold, the chill from the moist air in that cell never left it. I always look down at my hands and realize that they'd been shaking without me knowing. I try to focus on the pace of my breathing while the memories of past experiences are still fresh. They were smart enough to bring me into an empty white room with only a hospital bed to occupy it. I never checked, but I know that the door is locked. My wrists and ankles are tied up in fabricated chains that are connected to the sides of the bed. I'm strapped down onto the mattress, my waist, wrists, and ankles are tied down tightly. It's just like when I was fished out of the arena, just like the weeks I spent in an underground hell. Trapped.

I don't pay attention to the time anymore, what's the point? After hours of attempted rest, doctors come in to give me medication that soothes my turbulent emotions and heals my recent wounds. I can still feel the rage and confusion somewhere deep inside me, it's like a raging animal trapped in a cage, ready to devour everything and anything. The doctors and nurses are always trying to help me, or so they say. Most of the time I focus my eyes away from any movement and I try to think back at what memories could've been tampered with while trying to ignore the horrifying ones. But it's hard. Those seem to be the ones I remember the most. Human interaction is the last thing I want.

"Peeta?"

My eyes flicker to the left, one of the nurses, I believe her name is Claire, stands by the bed a couple feet away. She sounds friendly.

No, she could be tricking me with some fake voice and a fake smile, just because I'm so desperate for safety doesn't mean I should trust so easily. Don't look at her, anything could remind me of something from that prison. No risks, no trust.

"Peeta, are you alright?" She asks, concerned. I can find no trace of any threat in her tone.

My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

"Yeah."

She walks closer, and I turn my head away even more.

"Do you need to talk about it?" She asks slowly, as if I were a child.

I can hear her kneel by the bed and feel her searching for my eyes. I get a slight glimpse of her blonde hair and dull nurse uniform.

"No." I answer clearly.

She moves just a little closer, obviously ignoring my answer.

"We can help you Peeta. It'll all be easier if you let us help you."