Pregnant In the Quell

Chapter Four

His face shows millions of emotions. I can't tell how he feels about it. He stares down at the ground, shaking his head slowly. I can't sense if he is mad or disappointed.

"What are we going to do?" I sob.

Peeta stands up silently and helps me up too. He takes my hand and wraps a towel around my quivering, hysterical body. He seems mad. He probably is.

"I–I don't know, Katniss." He finally replies. "We just have to talk about it tomorrow. You need rest." He walks me to his bedroom, his hand on my back. He hands me a t-shirt and I slip it on as he lays down in bed.

I lay next to him and stare up at the ceiling. My cuts begin to burn, and some open up and bleed.

I ignore it.

"How much alcohol have you consumed since we.." His voice trails off. It's shaken, almost scared.

"I don't know." I whisper defensively as I turn and face the other wall. 

I hear him begin to cry. I don't comfort him. I know he doesn't want me to see how upset he is.

I can't seem to go to sleep. I can't stop thinking. I have a pounding headache. My cutes are bleeding through the fabric of my shirt, and they burn like hell.

I can't believe how much alcohol I've consumed. Ive probably killed my child already. But I'm going into the games, and nothing will change that.

I get up every twenty minutes or so to throw up. I don't know if it's because of the pregnancy or just because I'm distressed. Peeta has been in the same position for hours. I wonder if he is sleeping or still upset.

I try to force myself to sleep, but I just can't. Any time my eyelids get heavy, I'm automatically woken by the thought of going into the games pregnant.

I creep out of bed and down the steps. I pour myself a glass of milk and sit on the couch.

My head is spinning. I suddenly start to feel terrible about Peeta. I wish he had told me how he felt.

In all of the sorrow, I somehow drift off to sleep.

***

I awake to the breeze of the slightly ajar window. Peeta is sitting in the kitchen, emotionless. I look at his face and he looks beaten down. There are tear stains covering his cheeks.

I get up and prop myself next to him.

"Why'd you sleep down here?" He says, his gaze not leaving the kitchen table. He can't even look it me. I've really fucked up.

"I got up to get a glass of milk. I couldn't sleep. I sat on the couch but I must have fallen asleep."

"Did you drink?" he replies, finally looking at me, rolling his eyes slightly.

I don't know what happens. It feels as if anger and sadness is filling me and I let myself cry. No sobs escape, just the steady flow of tears. He must not realize, because he continues to focus on his glass of water.

"I'm going to go say goodbye to–" He cuts himself off when he sees me crying. He stands up and wraps his arms around me.

"Peeta, I'm so sorry. I can't believe all of this is happening. This is my fault. Don't hate me," I plead.

Peeta pulls away from out emergence and grabs my shoulders. "Don't you say that. Do not say that this is your fault at all. It takes two people to make a baby, Katniss. If anything, I should've been more careful."