No Games Left to Play

24: Recovering

It's been 32 weeks, a little over seven months, since that horrible day full of physical and emotional pain. It was one of the most devastating days of my life. To be told you were going to have a son, but not... it's torture.

Today would have been the day.

It took a while to get over the loss, but having Peeta by my side made it possible. We leaned on each other. Let each other cry. And then one day we were stronger. Day by day, the pain became less and less. We haven't forgotten about our son. I know I think about him everyday. What he'd look like. Whether he would cry a lot, or if he would be a happy infant. Would the labor have been hard, but he be worth it all in the end? Some days all I can do is think so much that I'll get an awful headache.

Peeta wanted to name him— we haven't agreed on anything yet— and we made him a grave next to Prim and my father.

It was four, almost five, months before we finally make love again. I was too terrified of getting pregnant again, to even think about more than just sitting and laying beside Peeta. It took weeks before I felt comfortable to do anything but hug him and hold his hand. I'd have a miniature panic attack every time he snuggled up just a little too close to me.

One morning, I was awake when he left for the bakery and I kissed him goodbye like it had always been a habit. In that first, quick, kiss— the first one we shared since that disastrous day— something overtook me and I just kept kissing him repeatedly. I guess I just missed his lips. I missed the way they tasted, how they felt pressed against mine. I missed being that close with him. For a while that's all we did... kiss. I could tell he was itching to have things progress to the next step, and although he had the time that morning, he respected my feelings and didn't make a move. He didn't want to pressure me in to doing something I wasn't quite ready for.

Months later, this hunger came over me while watching Peeta paint. I was supposed to be reading a book, but I couldn't stop watching the way his bicep would round out when he'd pull the paintbrush across the canvas. The way his back flexed with every stroke. I sat there, slack-jawed and drooling, as my eyes slowly traveled down to his butt. I was taking in every single ounce of Peeta when he caught me gawking at him. One thing lead to another and all I can remember is the heat. It comes in flashes. My first really vivid memory of our first sexual encounter after the loss was worrying about protection.

I didn't have Dr. Aurelius send me more birth control. After the way it had betrayed me, I didn't want to use it ever again. How was I supposed to take that pill knowing it could result in the same trauma I just experienced only a few months ago. Luckily, Peeta still had a few condoms left in his bedside table's drawer. When he reached in to grab one, we had this unspoken agreement that this would be how we would prevent any future pregnancies. It drove me mad seeing him rip the foil packet open with his teeth. Something about it was just so sensual and animalistic.

After having sex happened the one time, it just kept happening. I couldn't get enough. I turned into one of those hungry bears. You know, the ones that you see in cartoons that are starving and everything they look at transforms into a juicy piece of meet with steamy lines of deliciousness coming off of it? Peeta was always my piece of juicy meet and I was always hungry.

It was helping me heal, at least that is what I told myself to justify just how often we were being intimate. I wanted to believe that I could cover up my feelings with sex, but that just wasn't the case. I craved Peeta because I loved him. I wanted to be close with him because I thought it was the best way for me to show him my love. The way I fell under his touch, the way we held each other's naked bodies, it was truly magic. It was love. It felt perfect. However, nothing is perfect. At least not forever.