Thanks for choosing my story! I have become obsessed with Everlark recently and became inspired to write this.
I'm probably just going to wing it the entire way so let's hope this goes well!
I observed myself up and down in the mirror, drinking back the naked image. The image not being as attractive as I wished it would be. I start with the top of my head. The common dark hair of the Seam sprouts out of it. Mangled, as usual- it looks like I haven't brushed it for days. The wind from the open window blows my stringy hair into my face as I breathe in the scent of my new vanilla shampoo.
I move on to my eyes and eyebrows. Average, could use a plucking here and there, but I'm satisfied by what I find.
I look over at the timer- two minutes left.
My lips and nose are just as plain as they were the day before but my cheeks surrounding them have begun to swell- most likely from all the cheese buns I've been eating from Peeta's bakery and the constant hunting. At least I hope.
I skim past my torso, trying to ignore what's there and look at my feet, which have swellled up just as my face has. I chuckle slightly at the sight of the pedicure Peeta tried to give me today. Let's just say that he may be terrific at decorating intricate cakes but when it comes to painting toenails, he's clumsier than a bull in a china shop.
My legs could use a shaving but why bother when the weather is so cold? It's not like they'll be exposed anyway. Peeta will be the only when to see and feel them, but when has he ever cared?
I take a deep breath try to remain calm. Just thinking of him touching me sets me over the edge. My hormones have been so sporadic lately. I glance at the timer again and see that I have one more minute before my assumptions are confirmed.
When I can finally muster up the courage to examine my stomach- the area I have been dreading to see- I see the soft bump that has grown. Barely noticeable and easy to hide but very much there. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. It's probably from the cheese buns.
The self reassurance doesn't make me feel any better.
Then the timer goes off.
I can't take my eyes of the little clock I set just three minutes ago with nervous fingers. Staring at it, I hope that it will give me just a little more time. More time to lie to myself, more time to hide the truth. More time for the sake of more time.
Making sure the bathroom door is locked I pull out the plastic stick from the sink drawer. I don't want anyone with me when I find out.
Sitting down at the edge of the tub, I try to prolong the reveal as long as possible. What if it came out positive? What if I'm carrying his child?
Just like ripping off a bandage, I flip over the test.
Two little pink lines.
Two little lines that have the ability to destroy me.
A loud crack comes from behind my head as searing pain spreads across my forehead and spine. I never even noticed that I began to fall backwards until I heard that sound. Even then I was still frozen. The blood sliding toward the tub drain didn't stir me, nor did the frantic banging on the door. Closing my eyes I prayed that this sleep would take me, or bring me to a reality that wasn't this.
The bathroom door springs open just as the darkness envelopes me.
The comfort of the bed is just too strong for me to leave. I roll over and expect to feel Peeta laying next to me fast asleep like every morning but instead I find an empty pillow.
"Peeta?" My voice is soft and hoarse, it's unlikely that he heard anything at all.
The rush of blood to my head when I swing my legs over the side of the bed is enough to blind me for a few seconds. After the dizzy spell ends I feel the too familiar nausea to rise up in me. Making my dash to the bathroom, I ignore the pulsating in my skull. Vomiting up whatever was left inside me I stand up and meet eyes with my reflection. A bandage has been wrapped around my head, flattening down my hair which is caked in blood. I flush the toilet without breaking eye contact when I notice the test still in the tub.
The results remain the same: I am pregnant.
The blood has been cleaned up meaning only one thing- Peeta saw the test.
He had to. He spent his time leaning over a bloody bath tub, there's no way he didn't see it. I feel the sob in my throat rise up as tears pour out of my eyes. With my clammy hands I fondle the stick and look for some way to prove that it was wrong. It had to be wrong.
There's no possible way that I could be pregnant. I never wanted children, despite Peeta's insistence. Fifteen years passed and there was no way I was ever going to bear kids. Not even if I lived in the perfect Utopia would I choose to have children. Growing up in a society thats main source of entertain is the murder of adolescents is bound to make anyone hope to never raise a child in the fear that they might be chosen for their game.
Wiping away the last tear I slowly rise, attempting to avoid another inevitable headache. As calmly as possible I make the march from the bedroom down the stairs into the kitchen, the place I know he'll be.
I when I finally see him, his head is buried in his hands that are clenched tightly around his perfect blonde hair. He looks absolutely and completely beautiful. His tight jawline flexes in rhythm with his breathing that sounds like music to my ears. Everything about Peeta, my Peeta is perfect.
The moment I shift my weight from my left to right leg, causing the wooden floor boards to squeak back in response.
Peeta's head pops up immediately.
And that's when I see it.
The tightly clasped hands, furrowed brow, hard jawline.
This is not my Peeta.
"I found the test, whore." He spits at me on the last word, "It was in a pool of blood. You tried to kill it didn't you? You tried to murder MY flesh and blood."
"Peeta. Peeta, baby. Come on. This isn't you! Sweety, remember me? I love you…" I manage to squeak out before he slams my body against the wall. The pulsing in my head reaches a deafening frequency.
"Why the FUCK would I love you?! You tried to kill my child, filthy fucking MUTT."
I try not to let the words sting, and attempt to push my husband off of my body.
"Peeta, please. Peeta! You'll hurt the baby!"
"I'LL hurt the baby! You already killed it!"
I look him in the eyes. His beautiful eyes of blue, the ones that comfort me and love me, but they are now turned stone cold and filled with hate.
My Peeta is gone.
And I need to get this stranger off of me.
Kicking him in the groin gives me the time I need to make my escape. I run to the doorway but trip over the step up from the kitchen. Hijacked Peeta lunges on top of me and raises a fist that is aiming towards my face. I grab his free hand in my own and pull it on to my stomach. The place where our child is nestled.
"Do you feel that?" I inquire, "That little bump is OUR baby. YOUR baby Peeta." I see a glimmer of my husband return in his eyes for just a split second but soon reverts back to his hijacked counterpart.
He drops his fist into my face and I hear the crack of my nose. Only I don't feel it. "See? The baby is just fine!" My voice cracks and my mouth fills with blood just when another punch lands on my cheek. A rogue tooth falls out of my mouth when I no more than whisper, "Please, come back. I love you."
The pressure of my husband falls off me as I close my eyes. Utter exhaustion crashes over me as I hear the kitchen phone being dialed. Moments later, the force returns- but this time softer and around my fingers. I open my eyes for just a moment to see my husband with tear streaks down his face watching over me. His mouth is forming words that I cannot make out.
Closing my eyes again, I fall into a deep, deep sleep.