So if you were following this story and you are getting alerts that there are new chapters, I am going to apologize. The chapters to this story got deleted and now I am finally putting them back on. So if you are reading this and it feels familiar, might be! But if not, enjoy this. I went through the chapters to find errors so it should be a comfortable read. Enjoy.
My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 17 years old. My heart-wrenching story starts out with my father's car crash when I was 12. I had gone to school with my packed lunch and I love you kiss from Dad. I walked to school and dropped Prim off on the way. School was normal, except for the score of 100% on my spelling test. Prim by my side, we rushed home. Mother was sitting at the table with a blank look on her face, pushing the world off her shoulders and paying attention to nothing. She told me emotionlessly, "Dad was in a car accident, he's gon-n-e."
Those were the last words my mother spoke for three months.
What did I do? Nothing. Shock overwhelmed me and I could not do anything, I just sat on my couch watching reruns of cartoons absentmindedly. My dad was everything in my world Prim basically became my adopted daughter with how much I did for her, without my Mom around.
A few days after my father's death, I returned to school, and was welcomed with multiple hugs of 'I'm sorrys' and 'we miss him toos'. Even the teachers. Obviously, they were trying to be helpful, but I felt helpless. I was irritated; I am not a pity party. It would pass, that much I knew.
However, one friend helped me through it all.
When we talked at lunch or during recess, Peeta Mellark made sure to stay as far away from the subject of my father's death as he could. Instead, we talked of the weather and which SpongeBob episodes were our favorites. I told him my secrets, and he told me his. We were inseperable. We grew to love each other, in a brother-sister kind of way. Nevertheless, I loved him like the brother I never had. Peeta would speak of how his brothers were stronger than he was, while I imagined a brother in place of my eight-year-old sister Prim.
Peeta and I spent almost every minute together. His family, more his dad, was very generous in letting us have enough food. His mother was not mean, but instead cold and limited in her words. They owned a bakery, which seemed short with their workers. I was happy to volunteer. I worked under the table, obviously too young. It was hard work, which is all I can say. I have the scars from the industrial sized ovens and the smiles from Peeta's company. I worked every shift with him.
Many rumors went around that there was something more between us. We were nothing but friends, for 5 years. I mean of course, when a teenager is a teenager, I realized he wasn't ugly, but I never considered it. When we were around 16, I started to notice this glint in his eyes when I was around. He could never look me in the eye during the classes we shared, and I could not either. People must have taken notice because usually we would make stupid faces at each other to see who get in trouble first from laughing too loudly. He was becoming a smart kid; I am older than he is by 2 months, I had the right to tell him these things.
"It's 64 days Katniss; you hold hardly any seniority over me." He would joke. He would joke. That is how we are now.
Ever since that night.
About 2 weeks ago, Prim and I were stuck eating the moldy bread and the past expiration date canned goods. Years ago, my father would take me to the forest about a half a mile from my house when I was younger and show me how to shoot a bow and arrow, so I had the hunting experience from my past. Whenever I left to hunt, my mother did not even notice when I left.
Mom returned to work as a nurse three months after my Father's death, but never had the same look in her eyes. She was deep in depression, never to return. Eventually she had some salary to pay the mortgage and keep the electricity on. When the electricity did shut off, I would walk with Prim to Peeta's house and sit around his fireplace watching something on Cartoon Network.
Peeta and I went to the outskirts of town with the bow and arrows that my dad gave me, he carried a knife for protection, even though his footsteps scared away any living animal in a mile radius. I would trade Mr. Mellark meat for bread, which was mainly our sustenance.
That spring day was exceptionally cloudy and the rain filled every crevice in the ground. Prim was now 13, in middle school, and was home with my mom. She joined me out in the woods occasionally, but she had homework that day. Peeta and I left right after the shift at the bakery, both looking forward to some fresh meat, even though the store-bought stuff was at home.
A half a mile into the trees, Peeta pointed to the bird in the tree to his left. I pulled an arrow out from behind, aimed and apparently, there were two side by side, the arrow got both. The birds fell simultaneously to the ground, while I stood shocked. Peeta pulled me into a comfortable hug as he whispers into my left ear, "Good job, Kat." His hot breath sent foreign goose bumps up my left side and he smiled a full-teethed grin. I easily returned that gesture and proceeded to the birds to put in my game bag.
Life throws many curve balls. For example, the root hidden under the brush that lead to my fall. I fell on Peeta. We looked into each other's eyes and laughed so hard that I could feel his chest underneath me. I caught a breath and something clicked, which led to who could take the other person's shirt off first. For the first time, our lips came together comfortably. 30 minutes later, I could say that Peeta was my first time.
So here I am. In my bathroom. Holding a pathetic white stick that I just peed on. Waiting the outskirts of time for a little red plus sign. My life had been so hung up on the idea of love after my dad died, and how it can only be a disadvantage. I saw my mother go into complete darkness after my Dad passed away, and my life goal has been to avoid love. With the one exception of Prim, and maybe Peeta, I have succeeded. Now, I have the possibility of bringing another life into this world, where you never know what could be hiding around a corner or following you home. I would not be worthless as a mother, at least better than my mother would. I have cared for Prim and babysat kids in my neighborhood. But being called Mom, and having a Dad to my child? It was crazy.
Lost in my thoughts, the red plus sign was waiting for recognition.
I am Pregnant. It cannot be that different, I have the experience, right? I'm 17 and pregnant. I slowly drag my back down the wall I was resting on. What would other people think? I will be the one everyone sees in the halls that viewed as a Slut and Whore. I will be the one that gets the dirty looks. Majority of my junior class has had sex more times than I can count on all my fingers, there was no doubting that. The one time, one time, I do, this happens. There is abortion, but I have written multiple papers in my English class that explained my strong dislike to the murder of an unborn baby. Now I can understand those women's backing. Not that I agree.
I am crying now because I have not even told Peeta. What is he going to think? I knew that Peeta wanted to be a father, but he did not say anything about me being the mother. Not that I can do much about it now. What has happened cannot be erased. The feeling of my wet face has apparently gone unnoticed. I wipe my tears and put my shoulders back. You are Katniss Everdeen. You are pregnant. Your life will never be the same. Everything will be all right…
The smile shines through the tears when I imagine what our baby would look like; Peeta's blue eyes, my brown hair... His blonde curls, my silver eyes. Thinking of what our baby will look like feels as if its some form of incest.
I know that I will have to tell Peeta. Opening the bathroom door, a very confused Prim looks up to me. "Are you okay? I heard you crying. You never cry." Prim says with the look that she might already know something she was not supposed to know.
"Everything is alright." I cough through the raspy throat.
"Okay, I might be just your little sister, but I am more understanding than I seem." Prim is someone who always has my back, even when it takes more effort for her to hold me up. She has a natural happy spirit that makes me want to spill every problem I have and let her soak it in. But not this time.
I smile back at her while wiping away the last of my tears. "Thanks. I love you, but I need to go talk to Pe-eta."
She nods and gets out of my way. I put on one of Peeta's pullovers and lace up my beat up converse shoes, and grab my old phone from my nightstand.
I am walking into this downfall of rain to the most difficult conversation I will ever have.
I live in the west side of town called the Seam, where many of the poorer people live. Thankfully, we were able to afford still living in the house before my Dad died. One bad side to that was the walk to Peeta's was about 10 minutes, and it did not seem long enough. I wanted to just walk, walk, walk, and avoid this. We haven't talked about that moment for a long time, and now I have to face it head on.
Peeta lived in the upper class housing sector just beside me. He and his family moved here 2 years ago after their bakery was a successful way of profit. Peeta has two brothers, Rylie (we call him Rye), who is a senior and Luke who lives upstate working at some fancy law firm. I spent most time at his first house, so it even took me some time to get used to the high ceilings and the polished hardwood floors.
The walk has gone by in a breeze and now I stand, red and puffied-face in front of the Mellark house under the porch. On the way, all I thought was how do I tell Peeta this.
Just knock Katniss. My knuckles make contact with the door right when the door swings open.
Peeta's POV
My bedroom window is right above the front door so I could see Katniss trudging through the rain to my door. I run down the two flights of stairs to the door and open. Her fist almost made contact with the door and I see her face is wet from not the rain but tears. I do what I would do with any girl I have loved since I was five; I pull her into a hug that she melts into arms.
"Let's get you out of the rain." I whisper into her hood-covered ear.
"Thanks," She says fighting through a thick throat. I cannot help myself from realizing how beautiful she looks when she is distressed. I grab her hand and lead her to my room, but she fights against it. I know that look in her eyes that she wants to say something. We have not talked for a couple of weeks. We never do that. I hope that this does not have to do with that night. It was something I had imagined in my teenager head for a quite awhile. I could tell she felt so ashamed after, the way she ran away so quickly.
I open the door to my sunset colored room and she flops on my bed with her face in my pillow. This is not her. This is not the normal Katniss.
"Okay, what's wrong?" I beg.
"I don't know how to tell you," She muffles into the pillow.
"Well first of all, you need to take your face off of my pillow; I cannot hear anything you are saying." She doesn't move. "Kat," I plead, while she pulls her soaked hood away from her hair and takes it off. "Are you cold? You know that you can borrow whatever you want from me." She silently nods and I walk to my closet and pull out a Louisville Kentucky sweatshirt that always sits at the front of my closet. It is between my jeans and shoes, same place it has been for years. Right where Katniss can find it. Taking off her soaking jacket, she then slips it over her head and combs out her hair with her fingers and braids it.
She pulls her leg under the other so she sits Indian style on my bed. I reciprocate and grab both her hands. "Tell me, whatever it is, I won't be mad." I soothe.
"Promise?"
"Promise." I start to rub circles onto her hands, something she has become accustom to over the years. I love the way she can look so conflicted and so at ease within the same sentence. "Always." Her face fluctuates with the word and I mentally kick myself. I don't think she wants to be reminded of that night.
She studies my face one last time and shakily inhales, "I'm pregnant."