Pure Torture: a Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 101

Katniss

"Whenever you're ready, Whenever you're ready, can we surrender?"
-Natalie Taylor

Around 2 months later, we're well into February. It's almost March, meaning I'm almost 6 months along. Three days after Peeta and I got to see each other in the hospital, they deemed me ready for discharge, but only if I agreed to minimal talking and no sudden movements of my neck. Peeta swore to hold me accountable. The bruises have long since gone away, and the only thing remaining is a bit of an ache when I wake up in the morning.

Luckily, we've both recovered smoothly and Peeta's working hard to never let what happened ever happen again.

In terms of the baby, we found out a few weeks ago that the baby was a boy. I spent the rest of the day teasing Peeta about my 'mother's intuition' the same way he did when we found out Willow was a girl. Peeta rolled his eyes and played along for a while out of pity for my pregnancy-riddled body. Swollen feet, heartburn, fatigue, having to pee every 10 minutes... The whole nine yards.

Of course, at almost 6 months pregnant, I'm well past starting to show. My bump seems to grow bigger by the day, causing rumor after rumor in the Capitol of another pregnancy. Speculation of due dates, fake information from shady sources, and gender guesses are everywhere.

So that's why, when Caesar Flickerman's manager called us to invite us to the Capitol for an interview on his stage, we had to accept. Willow, who's not so excited to have a little brother, was at least happy to get to "be a famous movie star" when she found out she would be sitting on the stage with us. I had an issue with her being on TV at first, but Willow's excitement was something I didn't have the heart to crush.

The train we're taking to the Capitol leaves in a few hours. Peeta and I have finished packing everything, and I even applied a bit of makeup to make myself look presentable for the inescapable cameras and paparazzi. I put some foundation and concealer on my neck, just in case any marks are still visible. If there's anything we don't need, it's for that to get out and into the hands of the public. Who knows what they would do with that sort of information.

When Peeta comes into the bathroom, he's surprised to find me applying makeup.
"What are you...?" He asks as I brush foundation all over my face and neck.
"For the cameras," I say.
"I never knew you to care much about looking nice for the cameras," he says.

"Well, Effie wouldn't approve of me stepping out into the spotlight without a bit of concealer and mascara and my eyebrows fixed up, and she's the one meeting us at the station when we get there," I reply.
"I can't argue with that," he says. "You look beautiful."

"Oh, stop," I say, having moved onto my mascara.
I look over and find Peeta staring at my neck and the foundation I put over it as a precaution against people who try to spy any detail they can to get a story out. I can tell he's trying not to be bothered by it, but his attempts are futile.

"Listen, it's just a precaution, okay? If anyone in the Capitol catches even just a little glimpse of a bruise, it would be the Games all over again. They'd go crazy, Peeta," I explain to him.
"Yeah," he says, nodding a bit.
"It's been almost two months, Peeta. Everything is going smoothly. We just don't need any bad press," I say to him, closing the tube of mascara.

"We don't need any press at all," he corrects me.
"Very true," I reply, starting to laugh a bit.

An hour or two later, we're all packed up and ready. Effie ordered a blacked out car to take us to the station in 12, which is weird since we normally just walk. I could get my arms around it, though, because it kept Willow out of the paparazzi's camera lenses. There aren't many people in Twelve who ever try to photograph us. Everyone here just looks at us like a normal family living in a normal house just like everyone else. Not entirely true, but I'm thankful for it. If people treated us according the the "fame" we have while we're here at home, I don't know what I'd do.