How am I going to tell him? Peeta, who yesterdays biggest worry was Burning bread. I know he would make a great father, but he would be sacrificing his life and his future for the baby and I. I, don't have any more potential in life. There is no real bright, successful future for me, but Peeta, his bakery is now so busy, I hardly get to see him during the days. His paintings picking up to, with more and more people purchasing canvases with images of the two arenas illustrated beautifully on them. I of course won't let him bring them near me because the memories are too painful.

If he commits to being a father, then he will have to commit to throwing the rest of his life away, but I guess I am most of his life, anyway. I look down at my small baby bump, just noticeable, and rub it genteelly.

"Who knew you'd be living there inside me?" My hands can just about trace the slight curve of the upward bump. "Your already causing trouble and your not even born yet!" I give a small laugh and decide I'm going to tell him. Today. There's no point keeping it much longer considering I'll be as big as a house soon. The thought scares me.

I walk into the kitchen and wait for Peeta to come home from work, thinking about how he will handle this. He is eighteen now and I will be in a few months time. We are still so young. All the responsibility, the time we will have to spend on the child…

Peeta walks into the room looking flushed from work.

"Rough day, Peeta?" I say.

"Oh my god. What a crowd! I mean, we had to give out tickets with numbers on them in order to get through everyone!" He walks past the kitchen countertop, where I'm leaning, and kisses me. Then his muscular body slumps down into a plush chair across from the fireplace.

Should I say something now? Or should I wait for a better opportunity? Who am I kidding; this is the best opportunity I'll ever get. He's exhausted from work and his brain is probably tired so he won't have the time or strength to over think it too much, like I always do. Okay. I'm going to tell him.

"Peeta?"

"Katniss, can you bring me some water please? I'm famished."

I quickly fill up a glass cup with some cool running water and walk over and hand it to him. I sit cautiously on the couch beside him while he takes a swig.

"Peeta, I—" He then cuts me off by saying,

"Thanks for the water. You know, it's nicer then the stuff down at the bakery. Colder and more… refreshing!"

"That's… nice. So anyway," I get cut off again

"Why is that?"

I sigh. "I don't know. Can I talk now?"

"Yeah sure."

So I begin, more annoyed now then nervous.

"Peeta, I'm—"

"Maybe I should bring a water bottle into work. So I can have so decent water. The stuff there tastes like—"

"PEETA!" I yell. He looks taken back by my frustration. Finally I shut him up.

"I'm pr-" I stop. My mouth fills with saliva so I cough to try and clear it.

"Well, I'm pr-" I feel a stirring in my stomach and its not the baby. It makes its way up my gullet and into my mouth. Spontiously, my cheeks puff out and I cover my mouth with my hands as I run for the bathroom. About halfway there I start puking all over the floor. When I do get to the bathroom I lift the toilet lid and seat and vomit more into the actual bowl. Finally it stops when Peeta rushes in looking worried.

"Katniss! W-what happened?"

"Isn't it a bit obvious what happened?" My tone is sarcastic yet slightly ticked-off. Peeta picks me up off the floor and makes me brush my teeth. I do so without argument because the grotesque acidic taste left in my mouth is bad enough to make me vomit again. After that he helps me strip off the sick covered clothing and puts me in the shower. The water feels so good on my skin. I close my eyes and let it drench my hair, feel the warm droplets run down me. When I open them again, I see Peeta staring at me, those deep blue irises fixated on my face. He smiles and suddenly, I don't want him looking at me. He may notice the bump, and my breasts have grown because of the baby too. If he figures it out on his own, he will be annoyed I didn't tell him. And even if I say I was going to, he wouldn't believe me. So I yank him into the shower.

"Hey!" He hops out jerkily just to take his clothes off. He leaves his boxers on though, which annoys me. While I'm here stark naked he is at least covering some of his bits. When I run my eyes up and down his body, I study the smooth curve of his biceps, the slight muscular tone to his torso and the small line of blonde tinted hair running from his belly button down. An urge rushes through me. An urge to rip off his boxers and jump on top of him. But instead I let him wrap his arms round me once he gets back into the shower.

We stand there a while. Not talking. Just embracing each other's presence with the hot water soaking us. I want to tell him about the baby now but every time I open my mouth, it fills with steam and I close it again. I decide I will count to 10 and tell him.

1..2..3..4..5..6..7..8..9.. there's no going back now..10