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My stomach twitches painfully as I make my way towards class.
Hunger pains.
Growing up poor and malnourished it’s nothing I’m not used to, despite this, it feels different today; worse.
Through the years I’ve come to learn of days where no matter how much food I consume, it’s not enough. Today however feels like the opposite.
Despite the pain I can’t seem to even make myself eat.
It crosses my mind that I may actually be ill, I could ask my mother, but something tells me despite her helping our neighbours with issues of this sort, she won’t be able to snap out of it enough for me.
It’s been this way for years.
I’ve just about made it to my next class when this group of town boys come running through the hallway, laughing and loudly talking as they do. As they pass me the leader of the group happens to bump my arm in their haste, in turn knocking the stack of books and papers in my arms to the ground.
I huff out my annoyance, before awkwardly leaning over to pick them up.
As I do I hear a nearby group of girls giggle, also from the town, I roll my eyes but don’t pay them any attention.
Still as I enter my next classroom, I hear them continue on their laughter and gossiping, a part of me confused as to why they were all so obsessed over such a small incident.
Anyway, I’m not here to make friends.
Finding my seat I burry my head down in my book, preparing myself for the lesson while I try to drown out the pain that is still coursing through my abdomen.
—
At the end of class, my classmates around me hastily pack up their books to leave for lunch period.
I take my time however, my stomach is still hurting badly and I’m not really feeling like food, despite a precious packed lunch in my bag ready for me.
As I’m finally making my way towards the door, I notice that besides the teacher there’s only one person left in the room with me.
Peeta.
Just looking at him is enough to bring me back to that day; the debt I owe him.
We make eye contact for a brief moment, before he looks away. He doesn’t go to leave though.
“Can I help you?” I ask unsurely.
A tinge of red comes to his cheeks and it appears he contemplates saying something back in response. Before he shakes his head and hastily leaves.
For a moment I stand still. Simply watching as he disappears into the crowd of the hallway.
“Katniss” I turn as my teacher calls out to me.
“You might want to go to the bathroom honey” she follows up quickly, sharing a knowing look I don’t quite understand.
Despite the suggestion being a bit odd I do as she says, I mean I was planning on going there anyway, as the pain in my abdomen was doing weird things.
Everything starts off normally, and I do my business practically on autopilot as I try to relieve the pain.
But then I see it. Blood. In a place I’d never expect to find it.
My breathing starts to quicken as I take it in.
The pain, the blood. Oh. My god. I’m dying.
Though I don’t quite know how or what is happening to me, I know that blood can not be a good sign, and paired with the pain and nauseas feelings I have, it all works together to form some fatal illness.
What do I do?
—
The next few minutes after that pass by like a blur.
Numbly I try to stop the bleeding with the only thing I can think of that’s in my reach.
In the end, I end up stuffing quite a bit of toilet paper down my underwear. It’s not comfortable in any way but I’m hopeful this will at least save me leaking down the hallways, causing further embarrassment.
I exit the stall and wash my hands as if nothing's wrong, before walking back out into the hallway where I find myself leaning against the adjacent wall, mind still racing with thoughts.
Did I try to go home, run to the woods maybe for a few more selfish minutes of self-indulgence.
Asking for help felt foreign here, dying was not a thing they could fix; I knew this.
Despite this, the schools nurse just so happens to walk by me at the right time to notice my discomfort and distress, asking softly as she approaches “you alright dear?”
“Um, uhh—” I feel at a loss for words, unsure whether I should confide in her or feign good health.
My unsureness seems to tell her what she needs to know however, as she offers, “why don’t you come with me to my office, have a quick check over before your next class”
“Okay” I nod hesitantly, following behind her.
—
Later, I find myself sitting alone at one of the lunch tables outside.
My lunch box is open in front of me but I still can’t work up the appetite for anything. Probably better to save it for later then anyway, or I could give it to Prim, she could always use more meat on her bones.
My mind is still reeling from earlier anyway.
I don’t know how I worked up the courage to admit my struggle to the nurse, but I was rewarded more or less with the knowledge that what was happening was normal, and I was not as I thought earlier dying.
The product she gave me feels weird in my underwear, almost like I was wearing a diaper. Though I guess it is better than my toilet paper trick from earlier.
As I’m sitting, stewing in my thoughts, a cough comes from just above me.
A little startled by it I look up to find, Peeta Mellark, just as awkwardly watching me as he did earlier, if not maybe even more.
Coming to my senses a little more I realise he’s holding out a jacket to me.
I shoot him a confused look, silently asking him to elaborate on why he’s giving this to me.
“For your waist” he says.
When I don’t catch on to whatever this means he continues softly.
“You have a stain on the back of your pants” he explains, awkwardness edged deep in his words.
“Oh” I quickly stammer in reply, I guess that makes a bit more sense as to why everyone’s been giggling as I walk by today.
“I um—” I try to think of something to say in response, perhaps to explain how I didn’t know, but it all feels too complicated to whittle down into one little sentence. So instead I gulp nervously, before mumbling a quiet “thank you”
He nods curtly, brushing a hand over his wild blonde curls before turning and awkwardly exiting our brief conversation.
I’m about to call out to him again, thinking about asking him more questions on the topic, like how he knew about this stuff when even I didn’t, but I stop myself last second, too embarrassed to share even more knowledge of my inexperience on the topic.
Instead I do something I don’t think I’ll ever admit to anybody; I pull the jacket up to my nose, inhaling the scent of bread and something I can’t quite name but feels uniquely Peeta.
Hesitantly I go to wrap the object around my waist, wishing I didn’t have to ruin the gift in this way.
Who knows, maybe the scent will linger even after I’ve used it, all I know is I don’t want to return it anytime soon.