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The Silence of the Woods
The atmosphere in the lecture hall was no longer academic; it was ghoulish. It had been exactly seven days since Peeta Mellark had collapsed at the foot of Professor Arnot’s desk, and the vacuum left by his absence had been filled with a toxic mixture of pity, speculation, and outright lies.
Katniss sat in her usual seat, her spine a rigid line of tension. She didn't have her notebook out. She didn't have a pen. She sat with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket, her fingers white-knuckled as she squeezed the smooth river stone Prim had given her. Every whisper that drifted up from the rows below felt like a serrated blade scraping against her nerves.
"I heard it’s stage four," a girl with a high-pitched voice whispered three rows down. "My cousin works in admissions, and she said he’s not even coming back for the spring semester. They say his body is literally shutting down because of the prosthetic—like, the cancer started in the bone and just travelled."
"That’s not how it works, Clove," a boy replied, though his tone was equally hungry for drama. "But did you see his hair? When it fell out on the floor? It was like a horror movie. I heard he’s been hiding it for weeks. He probably knew he was dying and just wanted to get one last look at everyone."
"I bet that’s why Katniss Everdeen is always with him," the girl giggled, a sharp, ugly sound. "She’s like his personal grim reaper. She looks like she’s attending a funeral every day anyway."
Katniss felt the heat rise from her chest to her throat, a searing, volcanic anger that threatened to choke her. She had spent the last week in a cycle of hospital chairs, lukewarm coffee, and the soul-crushing sight of Peeta shivering under cooling blankets. She had watched him vomit until he had nothing left to give, and she had held his hand while he apologized to a mother who wasn't there for being "broken."
And these people—these healthy, vibrant, shallow people—were treating his life like a tabloid headline.
The professor hadn't arrived yet. The room was a low hum of gossip.
"I heard his mom is actually glad," another voice joined in. "Someone from his hometown said the Mellarks are cursed. First the leg, now this. It’s like nature is trying to finish the job."
Katniss stood up.
The screech of her chair across the linoleum floor was like a gunshot. The row of students nearest to her jumped, their heads snapping around. Katniss didn't just look at them; she hunted them with her eyes. Her grey gaze was cold, lethal, and shimmering with a raw violence that made the air in the room suddenly feel very thin.
"Do you want to know how it works?" Katniss asked. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried to every corner of the hall, cutting through the murmurs like a scythe.
The girl named Clove blanched, her mouth hanging open. "What?"
"You want to talk about how his body is shutting down?" Katniss took a step down the stairs, her movements predatory. "You want to talk about his hair? About his mother?"
She reached the row where the group was sitting and leaned over the back of the seat. The boy who had been joking about the 'grim reaper' tried to look away, but Katniss leaned closer, forcing him to look at the fury in her eyes.
"Peeta Mellark has more courage in his prosthetic pinky toe than all of you have in your entire, pathetic bodies," she spat. "He walked into this room last week because he refused to let a disease define him. He collapsed because he was fighting to be here, to be part of a world that clearly doesn't deserve him."
The room was deathly silent now. Even the students in the very back had stopped rustling their papers.
"If I hear one more word out of any of you—one more 'rumor,' one more joke about his family, or one more pathetic attempt to turn his pain into your entertainment—I will make sure you regret it," Katniss said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low vibrato. "I don't care about the student code of conduct. I don't care about being expelled. I will find you, and I will make you as miserable as you are trying to make him."
She straightened up, her gaze sweeping the entire room. "He is not a story. He is a person. And he is coming back. Until then, keep his name out of your mouths."
She didn't wait for a response. She didn't wait for Professor Arnot to walk in. She grabbed her bag and walked out of the hall, the heavy doors swinging shut behind her with a definitive, echoing thud.
The walk to the hospital was a blur. The anger stayed with her, a hot coal in her stomach that kept the autumn chill at bay. By the time she reached the oncology ward, she was breathing hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. She stopped at the nurse’s station, forced herself to take three deep breaths, and went through the now-familiar ritual of scrubbing, masking, and gowning.
Room 412 was quiet. The blinds were partially open today, allowing a sliver of pale afternoon sun to cut across the floor.
Peeta was awake. He was propped up on several pillows, looking slightly more present than he had forty-eight hours ago. His head was bare now—the remaining patches of blond hair had been shaved off by a kind nurse two days prior. Without the curls, his features looked even more delicate, his blue eyes appearing massive in his thin face.
"You're early," he said, his voice a dry whisper. He tried to reach for the water pitcher on his bedside table, but his hand shook.
Katniss was there in a second, pouring the water and holding the straw to his lips. "I walked out of Arnot’s lecture. I couldn't listen to them anymore."
Peeta took a small sip and leaned back, his chest heaving slightly from the effort. "Them? The students?"
"They’re idiots, Peeta. They don't know anything." She sat down in the chair, her hand instinctively finding his.
Peeta looked at her for a long moment, a sad, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "They were talking about me, weren't they? Speculating on the 'bakery boy’s' expiration date?"
Katniss looked down at their joined hands. "I shut them up. I think I might have terrified half the sophomore class."
Peeta let out a soft, wheezing chuckle. "I have no doubt. You always did have a way of looking like you were about to start a revolution just because someone breathed wrong."
"I just hate them," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I hate that they get to sit there and complain about mid-terms and bad coffee while you’re in here fighting for every breath. It’s not fair."
"Fair isn't really a word that applies to oncology wards, Katniss," Peeta said gently. He squeezed her hand, his grip a little firmer than yesterday. "But you can't carry the anger for me. It’ll eat you up faster than the chemo is eating me."
"I don't care," she said stubbornly. "I have enough room for it."
They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the rhythmic hum of the IV pump. Peeta seemed to be studying the way the light hit the wall.
"Katniss?"
"Yeah?"
"Did my mom call?"
The question felt like a punch to the gut. Katniss swallowed hard. "No, Peeta. Not since I’ve been here."
He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping. "Good. I mean, I didn't expect her to. But part of me... part of me wondered if a recurrence was 'resource-draining' enough to make her care. I guess not."
"You don't need her," Katniss said fiercely. "You have Delly, who is currently trying to bake a cake that 'tastes like a hug.' You have Madge, who is currently threatening the registrar’s office with legal action. And you have me."
Peeta looked up at her, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes made her breath hitch. "Why are you still here, Katniss? Truly. The doctors say this is going to get worse before it gets better. I’m going to lose more weight. I’m going to be sick constantly. I’m not exactly the guy you met at the bakery."
Katniss stood up and moved to the edge of the bed. She didn't care about the gown or the mask; she leaned down and pressed her forehead against his.
"I didn't fall for the guy at the bakery," she whispered. "I fell for the boy who looked at me and saw someone worth knowing. I fell for the person who makes me feel like I don't have to hide. You think I’m here out of some kind of obligation? I’m here because being anywhere else feels like being underwater."
Peeta’s eyes filled with tears. He reached up, his fingers trembling as they touched the edge of her mask. "I wish you could see me without all this. Without the tubes. Without the yellow skin."
"I see you," she insisted. "I see exactly who you are. You're Peeta Mellark. You're a painter, a baker, and the person who is going to take me to the lake one day. Everything else is just... noise."
He closed his eyes, a single tear escaping and tracking down his temple. "The lake. Tell me about the birds again? The mockingjays?"
Katniss began to speak, her voice low and melodic. She told him about the way the birds would mimic her father’s singing. She told him about the wild strawberries that grew near the ruins of the cabin, and how the water felt like silk against your skin in the middle of July. She spoke until his breathing slowed, until the tension left his shoulders and he drifted into a peaceful sleep.
When she finally pulled away, she saw a nurse standing in the doorway, watching them with a soft expression.
"He’s lucky to have you," the nurse whispered.
"No," Katniss said, looking back at Peeta’s sleeping face. "I’m the lucky one."
She stayed until the sun went down, until the room was filled with shadows. When she finally left, she didn't feel the anger anymore. She felt a quiet, cold determination.
On her way out of the hospital, she passed a small gift shop. She stopped and bought a sketchbook and a set of high-quality charcoal pencils. Peeta’s hands might be shaky now, but they wouldn't be forever. He needed a place to put the colors he saw in his head.
When she returned to the dorm, the atmosphere was different. Madge and Delly were sitting at the kitchen table, but they weren't studying. They were looking at a small pile of cards.
"What are those?" Katniss asked, dropping her bag.
"They're from the class," Delly said, her voice small. "After you left... apparently, you really rattled them, Katniss. A group of students came by the dorm. They felt terrible. They brought these for Peeta."
Katniss picked up one of the cards. It was a simple 'Get Well' card, but inside, it was covered in signatures. *'We're rooting for you, Peeta,'* one note read. *'The lecture hall isn't the same without your jokes,'* said another.
Even the girl, Clove, had written something: *'I’m sorry for being an idiot. Please come back so Everdeen stops looking like she’s going to kill us.'*
Katniss felt a lump form in her throat. She set the card back down. "I didn't do it for the cards."
"We know," Madge said, standing up and putting a hand on Katniss’s shoulder. "But he needs to know the world hasn't forgotten him. He needs to know he’s missed."
"He knows," Katniss said. "I tell him every day."
"How was he today?" Prim asked, appearing from the hallway. She looked at Katniss with those wide, observant eyes that saw too much.
"He’s tired, Prim. But he’s there. He’s still Peeta."
Prim nodded solemnly. "I made him something. It’s a sachet of dried lavender and mint. It helps with the hospital smell. Will you take it tomorrow?"
"I will."
That night, Katniss lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The silence of the dorm was heavy, but it wasn't the sterile, suffocating silence of the hospital. It was the silence of a house waiting for someone to come home.
She thought about the lake. She thought about the yellow primroses. And she thought about the boy who had survived a monster of a mother and a round of cancer once before. He was a survivor, just like her. He was made of dandelion gold and resilient spirit.
She pulled out her phone and sent a short text, knowing he wouldn't see it until morning.
*Katniss: I bought you a sketchbook. Start thinking about what you want to draw first. I’m thinking the lake.*
She closed her eyes and, for the first time in a week, she didn't see the monitors or the IV bags. She saw a boy with a charcoal pencil in his hand, sitting on a wooden porch, laughing as a mockingjay mimicked his whistle.
She held onto that image until she fell asleep, the river stone tucked safely under her pillow, a solid piece of the earth to keep her grounded while the world tried to float away.