Drabble Prompt: Hope.
My first drabble!
I haven't heard from him in almost two months. I'm not exactly sure where he is. He wouldn't, or couldn't, tell me where he was going when he left. I'm really not even sure if he knew where he was going.
It's nights like tonight that I worry the most. The house is eerily quiet. So, I'm awake at 3am, lying in our bed. When this happens, I try to replay my favorite moments over and over to try and get back to sleep. I flip through the pictures on my phone, one of us at Prim's wedding to Rory. Peeta looked so goddamn handsome in his tuxedo. Then, after he took me against the door of the coat room, we snuck back out to the reception like nothing happened. Another one of us at the cabin by the lake, when we would stay up late and wake up early and take naps throughout the day. We love being up there, laying in the hammock on the porch during the hottest parts of the day. Swimming in the lake at sunset, making love during the middle of the night on the boat dock.
But now, I'm here and he's there- somewhere. He says this is the last time. That, when this is over, he's coming home for good. That this will be out of his system and we can finally settle down. Get married and maybe have a baby. He begged me before and I should have said yes.
He doesn't, or can't call. It's been 7 weeks since I got his last letter. None of the other wives have heard anything either. The only thing that fuels my hope, is that no one has shown up at my door to tell me otherwise.
I get through the days thinking about what will happen instead of what could happen. I day dream about picnics in the meadow, him repainting our house, vacationing on the beach with Annie and Finnick. Hoping for a simple wedding and baby cribs. Nights are the hardest. At night, I don't focus on the fact that my tears have smeared some of the words on the last letter he sent me or that I can't fully remember the way his lips feel on my neck. Instead, I touch myself thinking that it's him. I focus on the last time we were together, 13 months ago. He had 24 hours to prepare after we found out he was leaving. He laid me on the kitchen table during breakfast, after he got the call. After he made me chant and moan his name- begging me to keep my eyes focused on him, he fell over my body while he was still inside me. We both cried before he carried me upstairs.
Thinking back, I wish I hadn't been on the pill. But I thought we had time and I was scared. What if I don't get him back and I missed the chance that I had to have a piece of him forever? No. Not now. That was the last morning that I took my pills. At first it was because of the depression that I fell into, but months passed and several packs missed. It was hope for his return that I threw them all away. It was hope for our future and our future babies and our life together that made me switch from birth control to prenatal pills. If he comes home- no, when he comes home. I'll be ready to give him what he wants, what he needs from me.
What the fuck was I thinking back then? Why was I always so goddamned selfish? I should have said yes. I should have known that he knew what was best for us. I should have trusted him and he wouldn't have ever re-enlisted.
So, I wait and I hope. I keep the house clean and the bills paid. I run every morning and I keep myself busy teaching archery on base. Every night before bed, I say a prayer for his safely. For his return. For our future together.