AN: Guys, guys, guys! I want to thank you ALL for following, reviewing and adding my story to your favourites! I have never had a response like that and I really want to thank you all. I was gushing last night when I saw all of my emails notifying me. Yes, I know it's only 18 or so but, that is the more than my first two stories together and then multiplied by five!
So, I don't like the way that the document turned out so the layout will be different. And, you may have noticed that most of chapter one – "CF: Chapter Eighteen" was mostly written from the book itself. That changes in this chapter. I know this chapter is fairly short but hey, ho. Enjoy my first EVER published chapter two. And thank you all, again!
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Catching Fire: Chapter Nineteen
. . .
When I reach the twelfth floor, Haymitch and Effie are waiting. Their faces are a blur through the haze of pooling tears in my eyes. I can't read their expressions but frankly, I don't care what they think. An arm reaches towards me and I scoot by it with an audible growl at its assailant. I do not want comfort and affection, I want to hiss and spit and scream.
It was Effie's arm. Haymitch waves it away from me with a warning that I only catch a few words of as I storm away, "best" and "leave".
Yes, best leave me alone. I sneer in my head.
Peeta Mellark, I hate you! No, I hate your big mouth! I hate the stupid connection you have with stupid Caesar Flickerman!
I walk down the corridor, away from the adults. I hope Effie Trinket tries to lecture me on how my manners, or lack of, upset her. I am in the mood to win that argument.
I stomp into the room that has been mine for the past year and yank the bolt into place. I fill my lungs with Capitol air and then scream until they burn, begging me to inhale instead. I'm sure every person for three floors, at least, has heard my outburst.
I strip from the Mockingjay dress, resting it neatly – because, at the moment, Cinna is the only person whose feelings I care about. I find the robe that I wore after my prep team finished with me in the dresser and make my way to the bed whilst shrugging into it. I collapse, sobbing on top of the mattress. I cry because I can, because no one can enter to try and console me.
How long I have cried for, I am not sure. I think it is late at night.
Peeta came to the door on more than one occasion. Other people have come too, even Haymitch. I ignored them all. No one has come to talk to me since and that, I am glad of.
I do not engage with the child inside me. I am not sure about it at all. Peeta was thrilled but me, I am terrified. I know that President Snow will hold this against me. I can't bond with something I am so unsure of. I don't want to love it for it to be taken, for it to break me. I always fear that this will happen with all of the other people that I love.
I think about mother, about how she has just, hours ago, found out that her eldest child has married and is now expecting her first child at only seventeen. I don't know if she will be disappointed or not. Perhaps she will only be disappointed that I never told her. Soft tears stain my cheeks. She also knows that I am going to die. I know I won't win the Games because I want Peeta to win. Now that everyone knows the big secret, I fear that they might pity me and sponsor me. No, it shouldn't be like that. I want them to sponsor Peeta. I start to sob again because this is not the way I planned it at all.
I cry long enough to tire myself out, enough to fall sleep.
. . .
I wake up screaming but Peeta isn't here to hold me.
Snow took our baby, ripped it from the protection of my stomach. I cry uncontrollably and for the first time, I comfort my tiny swell. I can't stop the tears that are falling again, and the images of Snow carrying out the procedure are burnt in my mind. For a moment, I wonder if it was actually the nightmare I believe or if, somehow, Snow has got inside my head to trick me, to warn me. The possibility alone terrifies me.
Breathing roughly, I get up and cross the floor. I unlock the door and quietly make way down the dark corridor to Peeta's room. I can't stay mad at him for long enough, especially not with how much I need him. Holding the robe across my body with one arm, I turn the handle with the other. It's unlocked, it always is.
He isn't asleep, of course he isn't, the Games start tomorrow. I pause to observe him as he draws, and after a few moments, he looks up and smiles at me. That beautiful smile. Those beautiful, soft blue eyes. I don't smile back at him. Not because of what he has done, more because I can't shake the thought of Snow in my head.
I also know that President Snow will never cancel the Games, just because poor Katniss is pregnant. I have a feeling that the Capitol and the districts might be rebelling against this, they are perhaps trying to change his mind.
Trying. I know that will never work.
Peeta puts his drawing down and rushes over to me. I try to avoid his gaze but he holds my face in both of his hands, I know he can read my fear.
"Katniss," Peeta whispers. "are you all right?"
I shake my head and lean into Peeta's chest. In an instant, my feet are off of the ground. Peeta is muttering apologies as he lays me on the bed. I don't let go and he stays down with me.
"It's not you," I start, my voice edging on the hysteria I feel. "Snow was in my nightmare." I tell him. This isn't news to Peeta so he waits for me to continue. "He took our baby." I continue, prompted.
Sobs shake my body and Peeta turns rigid against me. He doesn't like this any more than I do. "Katniss, no one will harm our baby," he promises. "no one."
I risk looking up from his chest. I see it in his eyes, amidst the tears, he means business.
I let Peeta hold me like he always does, it's comforting. His hand finds my tiny belly and he rubs it under the robe to soothe me. I smile at him, curling against his bare chest. He smells lovely – of whatever his prep team bathed him in. I'm so used to him smelling of bread now, not that I object, that this is a surprise. A surprise I have enjoyed every night.
He wraps the quilt around us both. This is how we sleep the night before the Quarter Quell, nightmare free, arm in arm, body against body. I enjoy the comforts of his arms and a bed. I know that this will be the last time for both words to be possible in one sentence.
