edward k. d3. fin.

His mother drew the curtains, bathing the room in sunlight.

"Mom, please! It's summer, I want to hang out with my friends!"

"You're still getting over your sickness, sweetie."

She took his temperature for the third time that morning. One degree above normal; dangerously close to a fever. Or so she said.

A young boy with frantic eyes stared longingly out the window. His temperature meant he would be stranded inside the house all day. But I don't feel sick. The blankets wrapped around his short stature did make him feel feverish, as did the summer sunlight pouring through the window, yet his mom insisted he was developing the flu. She would obsess over him for the rest of the day, feeding him whatever medications she felt were necessary.

Meanwhile, all of his friends were playing outside.

Eddie didn't remember much of his father. What he did remember was how he felt afterward. Coughing fits, burning fevers, chills, hardly able to catch his own breath - he developed an awful case of bronchitis at age five. This convinced his mom that he was a fragile child. He was vulnerable and needed protection at all costs, even if that protection wasn't actually working. Even if it nearly ruined his social life.

He should've counted himself lucky that he did have friends. Outside of his home, Eddie was a completely different personality. Being trapped inside often meant a lot of pent up energy. He talked way faster than a normal kid should, swore like a sailor at any given opportunity, and spent way too much time obsessing over whether things were dangerous or not. His mom's anxiety rubbed off on him, making him paranoid about activities that most kids would think of as fun.

"What the fuck? I'm not going up there! That's a fucking death trap!"

"It's just a treehouse, Eddie! It's cool!"

"It's too high! What if I fall? I could break something and my mom will FREAK OUT--"

It always took a lot of persuasion for Eddie to step out of his comfort zone. A treehouse was fun for others but to him, it meant falling or splinters or rusty nails that could stab him and give him tetanus -

It was a miracle his friends put up with him for so long.

His asthma didn't make life easy either. He needed an inhaler with him at all times, and sometimes that inhaler ended up at the bottom of a pond because some kids at school thought it was hilarious to pick on the weird hypochondriac - as if he didn't have enough problems already. Fighting back was easier said than done; if he talked shit they would only get pissed and punch him in the face. Avoiding injury was top priority, especially because of his mom's reactions. She would either march up to the school and embarrass him, or blame it on his friends and keep him locked inside the house. Both options were shit, so he opted to take the bullying like a champ and hope they would eventually go away.

At least he had his best friend to comfort him. Richie could be an absolute dickhead, but he was loyal. He actually cared about his well-being and didn't treat his asthma like a crock of shit.

The older he grew, the more he questioned his mom's paranoia. Why was he taking all of this medicine? He never felt sick, but he was convinced he would be safer if he did everything she said. One week he tested that theory, and began to flush his medications rather than taking them. When nothing happened, it pissed him off.

Problem was, a confrontation with his mom wouldn't fix anything. He ended up grounded, forced to sneak out like a problem child to see his friends. The best way to calm her down was to take his medications in front of her in the morning. The rest of the day, however, was out of the fucking question. He would find anywhere to toss his pills - the lake, the trash, a ditch, who cares. But sometimes he still found himself taking them - out of guilt, perhaps. Sometimes it even brought him comfort. Somehow it still made him feel safer, and he hated that.

She was even worse around Reaping time. Her anxiety was contagious, and every year he walked up to the crowd feeling nauseous and sweaty. He was her "baby" - he couldn't be Reaped, absolutely not! Eddie knew he wouldn't last in the Games either, which only made everything worse.

Last Reaping he had an asthma attack. Super awkward, but his best friend had been there to give him his inhaler and calm him down.

"Are you okay?"

"No...I'm not...fucking....okay..!"

He ended up being okay.

His life was a fucking mess, he realized that. But it could be worse, right? He could have cancer, or something.

And he had his friends. Loyal friends who always had his back.

What more could a guy ask for?