Four months in I could almost have forgotten there was a baby on the way if it wasn't for the persistent nausea. It's still too early for me to feel the foetus moving inside of me and I so rarely pay attention to the shape of my body anymore that I don't realize my midsection has begun to swell until the day comes, halfway through my fourth month, when I can't fit in my pants anymore. I stare down at my belly with bewilderment, not sure what to make of it. I don't feel particularly pregnant. Not that I know what it ought to feel like but there's no part of me currently comprehending the fact that there is a new life growing inside of me. I grasp the fact that my body is changing but not the true reason why. My breasts, which have been tender off and on since the pregnancy began, are swelling. My mood is starting to shift and yesterday when I saw a mother deer with a foal I actually started to cry, something I hated myself for once I had come to my senses. I'm more tired than I usually am and the bad dreams seem to come more often now than in the past five years. Even so it hasn't begun to make sense to me yet that the cause of all this is a new life. Since the baby has been so tiny inside of me for four months now I'm not prepared when it begins to grow this big.
As I eye my own midsection with slight bewilderment a thought occurs to me. My belly is going to grow. Not just a little bit but to a size that seems incomprehensible to me at the moment. Across my stomach runs thin, white scars separating what is left of my own original skin from the grafted skin I received in the Capitol. A gnawing thought begins to enter my mind. Will the grafted skin follow the lead of my natural skin and stretch gradually over these next months? Or does it not possess that ability at all? After all, unlike when I had won the 74th Games I was not a priority to the doctors after the bombing and I doubt they took much care to give me perfect skin grafts.
I force the thought from my mind. There's nothing I can do about it anyway. I just have to wait and see what will happen and be grateful that I have a husband who won't care if my body looks even worse after the pregnancy is over.
"I can't say that I blame you" says Peeta, walking in to the bedroom with a smirk on his face. "I spend a lot of time looking at your midsection, too."
"I need new clothes" I mutter, pulling my shirt down to cover my belly and kicking the pants to the side. "For now I'll use something of yours."
The thought of spending money on new clothes irks me, at least when the clothes in question will only be worn for a brief period of time. The days when I enjoyed dressing up in fancy clothes from the Capitol are long gone and I only spend money on new garments once or twice a year. Then a thought occurs to me and I frown even deeper.
"I'm going to have to stop wearing pants" I say in a sullen voice.
"How so?" questions Peeta, tossing me a pair of his.
"If my stomach keeps expanding any pants I buy I will grow out of before long."
"There are elastics, you know" he points out dryly. "Or get pairs that are too big and use a belt. It's not advanced science, Katniss."
I'm not in a good mood and ignore his comment as I step into his clothes. They're too big but if I wear them with a belt they should work, which irks me because of what he just said.
"I'm going to have to go hunting in a stupid dress" I mutter.
"Hunting?" echoes Peeta, eyebrows raised.
"What?" I snarl.
"Nothing, just... You really think you're going to be doing much hunting when the pregnancy starts to become more pronounced? You won't be as agile as you're used to and frankly I'm not comfortable with the idea of my pregnant wife running around in the wilderness with a bunch of wild animals and... tree stumps to trip over and stuff."
The realization hits me like a bucket of cold water and I sink down on the bed, feeling like gagging and crying at the same time.
"Oh God..." I say. "Once I get too pregnant to hunt that means months without going into the forest... Who knows how long it will be after the kid is born before I can head out?"
"You're only realizing this now?" asks Peeta, sounding amused.
"I don't know why you find this funny" I snarl. "It's not like you bring home any literal bacon. You're going to be stuck eating whatever we can buy or trade until I can go hunting again and we both know that traded stuff and butcher meat isn't half as good as the game I bring home. And this is your child causing this."
"Katniss I don't mind being without your game for a few months" says Peeta. "Not for this reason. Besides, the meat from the butcher isn't bad."
"Peeta I'm a hunter!" I say angrily. "I hunt! That's what I do! What the hell am I supposed to do with myself for months on end if I can't go hunting?"
"Taking care of an infant, for one" he answers calmly. "I think that will take up a lot of time for the both of us. You can still go out in the woods for a few more weeks so make the most of it. After that and until the baby comes why don't you use that time to rest and prepare for our new family member? Or work on that hunting book you've been talking about since forever? You'll figure out something to do. And as for your clothes, why don't we head into town and see if we can buy you a pair of maternity pants?"
I groan and rise reluctantly. Most of all I'd like to go to the drug store and order pills that relieve nausea but I'm too afraid to take anything that might harm the baby. In lieu of better options I agree to go clothes shopping but if that's what we'll be doing then I can't be wearing Peeta's pants. They're good enough for a day out in the forest but they don't fit me well enough that I would feel comfortable wearing them in town. I walk to the closet and grab a skirt I can pull up over the bump. It feels like such a waste to spend the day in town now that my days in the woods are numbered but I do need something more maternity appropriate to wear.
I walk inside the clothes store owned by a former District 8 family and feel the faint scent of fresh linen. Neither Peeta nor I come here very often which makes us a rarity around these parts. Once people began to have more money there was a growing interest in clothing and fashion. Nothing anywhere near as crazy as what we used to see in the Capitol but definitely fancier than the kind of clothes people in District 12 used to dress in. Peeta and myself still had a lot of clothes left in our closets when we came back to our houses after the war and truthfully neither one of us has changed much in size since then. Naturally we have worn out most of the clothes we had fifteen years ago but the urge to keep our closets filled with the latest fashions has never gotten us, maybe because we associate it with being victors of the 74th Games and with memories of Portia and Cinna. We buy new things every once in a while but are just as happy dressing in shirts or pants that have been worn for months or years.
I am alone in the store when I first step inside. Peeta came into town with me but had an errand to run first. He needs some new brushes so he went off to get those while I get a head start on finding new clothes. Only I'm not so comfortable shopping for this purpose. Maternity wear is something I never thought I would ever have to put on so I'm at a complete loss for what to get.
As I walk slowly down one of the seven aisles of clothes I hear a noise coming from the room behind the checkout counter. Children's voices and thumping feet. A few seconds later a boy at around five years of age comes running out from behind the counter, apparently playing tag or something similar with his siblings. He is one of the seamstress' children and I know him by appearance even if I can't ever seem to recall his name. He comes running around the corner and almost collides with me before he notices me. Then he stops, places his hands at the small of his back and looks up at me in his best attempt to be well-mannered.
"Good day to you, Mrs. Mellark" he says politely.
"Good day to you" I reply with a smile.
Behind me a bell rings as the door opens. At the same time the boy's two siblings come running out from behind the counter in search of their brother. All three of them spot Peeta as he's walking in and before he can even locate me in the store he is surrounded by the trio of children, all excitedly jumping up and down around him.
"Mr. Mellark, Mr. Mellark!" they cry in chorus.
I watch with a smile on my face as Peeta greets them all by name and tousles the youngest boy's hair. When they realize that the baker has not brought any cookies for them they immediately lose interest and continue on with their games. Peeta spots me and sends me a smile before he walks over to the aisle with men's clothes. He's looking for a new jacket and I leave him to his own devices while I slowly make my way through the store looking for clothes for myself.
After about ten minutes the seamstress, Mrs. Cobble, has gathered her playing children and sent them into the back room, turning her focus to me instead. I'm busy studying a blue cotton dress and don't hear her approaching.
"Oh, no Mrs. Mellark" she says, her voice startling me a bit. "You're in the wrong section, dear. These are maternity clothes."
I look at her without uttering a syllable, so taken aback by her immediate assumption that I've wandered off into the wrong section. I'm wearing a rather lumpy shirt so the slight bump on my belly is not clearly visible but still it feels like a bit of an insult. I should correct her and tell her that I am in the exact right section and then ask her what I should consider when I get my maternity wear but I'm suddenly not comfortable publically announcing my condition. Without a word I hang the dress back where I found it and allow Mrs. Cobble to take me by the arm and lead me over to another section of the store. I catch the inquiring look Peeta gives me but the look on my face must be rather intimidating because he doesn't say anything and goes back to looking at jackets.
I stay almost entirely quiet until Peeta and I leave the store fifteen minutes later. Then I find my words and sputter and hiss like an angry cat as I yank up the door to the passenger seat of our two-seat car.
"Can you believe that?" I snarl. "Telling me I'm in the wrong part of the store! What kind of an idiot does she take me for?"
Peeta calmly gets in behind the wheel and puts his two bags in the tiny compartment behind the seats. He doesn't seem the least bit phased by Mrs. Cobble or by my anger.
"You don't look pregnant" he points out and puts the key in the ignition.
"That is not the point!" I argue. "Even women who don't yet look pregnant still need to buy maternity clothes!"
"Which you should have done, Katniss. It's why we went in to town in the first place."
"Forget it. I can wait another couple of days. I hate the way she said it, like she automatically assumes that I could never be pregnant. Like if it were you browsing in that section."
"We've been married twelve years Katniss, almost to the date" Peeta points out, turning the steering wheel to head us home. "Most people probably assume we never intend to have children, or that we can't."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"People will find out soon enough" he shrugs.
"No, I mean how the idea of us having a child is completely unimaginable to them."
"It's one person, Katniss" Peeta points out.
"It's not going to be just her."
"It doesn't matter" he shrugs. "What does matter is when you let it get to you. You do need to go in there and buy maternity wear eventually. You realize that, right?"
"Not at that store" I sulk. There are two other clothes store in town, though Mrs. Cobble's is the one in highest regard and the other two are further away.
"I don't get why this bugs you so much" says Peeta. "She didn't think you were pregnant, what of it? It's nobody's business but ours, anyway."
"I can't explain it" I sigh. "I just... It feels insulting, okay?"
Peeta refrains from further comment and I stay silent as well. There are some things I just can't explain to him and this is one of them. I stare out the window at the passing houses and the people walking about and force myself not to sigh out loud. I've wasted several hours of the day going in to town and Mrs. Cobble's store, hours I could have spent out in the forest, and with nothing to show for it. What's even worse is I will have to throw away another perfectly good hunting day by going back into town and buying those damn maternity clothes that I didn't get today. I don't want to waste whatever precious time I have left out in the woods before I become too pregnant to be out there. I know the thought is ridiculous. There are bound to be days with bad weather when I wouldn't have gone out hunting anyway. Still it bothers me and I can't seem to shake it. Just like I can't seem to shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
We reach the Victors' Village and pull up on our driveway. I cast a glance over at Haymitch's house to see if he is out tending to his geese but there's no sight of him. I open the car door and step out, leaving the bags to Peeta. The nausea is back and I long to be inside nibbling on one of Peeta's biscuits. I feel worse on an empty stomach and I've found that the biscuits are among the easiest things for me to eat when the nausea is bad.
When I step inside the house I toss my keys on the dresser and kick off my shoes before walking inside the kitchen. A basket sits on the kitchen island and when I lift aside the towel covering it I'm pleased to find it full of the biscuits I'm eager for. Peeta usually keeps the basket stocked for me, just another one of his tokens of affection and concern. I'm so emotional these days that it sometimes brings tears to my eyes. Today it doesn't have that effect but it does mellow me somewhat. I take a seat on one of the high stools and grab a handful of biscuits to stuff myself with.
"If you're not going into the woods today then perhaps you can help me sort through this" says Peeta, tossing me a box as he walks inside the kitchen.
"What is it?" I ask, studying it with vague interest.
"Lola gave it to me" says Peeta, setting his bags down on the counter. Lola is Greasy Sae's daughter and together with her husband she runs the store where Peeta buys his painting supplies.
"Uh-huh" I say, giving it a little shake. It rattles a bit. "What's in it then?"
"Photographs" answers Peeta. He fishes out a new set of brushes from one of the bags, followed by some tubes of paint. "She's been going through all of old Sae's stuff, years too late if you ask me, and she thought we might like to have these."
Greasy Sae died four years ago and left a bigger void behind than I had expected. She wasn't in our lives on a daily basis but nonetheless she was a constant presence, helping us out when we needed a hand, showing up at special occasions and, for me more than Peeta, offering a link to the life that was before the 74th Hunger Games.
By the time of her death she was the undisputed matriarch of her family, which included three children and seven grandchildren. Her daughter Lola has begun to take over her mother's role but it's not the same and never will be. I rarely see Lola, finding it too difficult to talk to her now, but Peeta never seems to have any problem talking to her. Maybe it's because he wasn't as close to Greasy Sae as I was or maybe it's just his personality. I know he's sometimes spent an hour or more supporting Lola through her grief when what he really came into the store to do was buy painting supplies. In the past four years whenever he's gone into town and been away for longer than he should I've known he's been with her.
I set the box down on the kitchen island and open the lid with one hand, using the other to grab some more biscuits. Inside there's indeed a bunch of photographs, the top one taken at mine and Peeta's wedding dinner. My chewing slows almost to the point of stopping and I stare at the picture for a moment. I've seen a number of photographs taken that day but not this particular one. I didn't even know Greasy Sae had brought a camera, or that she even owned one at that time. Maybe she got the picture from one of the other guests. However she came to have it, it is now in this box. Me and Peeta, just married, sitting at the table smiling widely at each other. My eyes fall on our hands, his resting on the table and mine resting on top of his with the ring clearly visible. It brings a lump to my throat.
"What is it?" asks Peeta, coming up to look over my shoulder. "Wow... I've never seen this picture before." He lifts it up from the box and studies it. "Lola told me these were all pictures we might find interesting. Said they were more ours than hers or even Sae's. Guess she was right."
He hands me the picture and walks back to the counter to unpack the rest of his bags.
"You're not going to look at the rest of them?" I ask.
"Eventually. You go ahead if you want to. I've got to unpack the rest of this and then I have to get started on the wedding cake."
"What wedding cake?" I ask, feeling more sick to my stomach at the mention.
"The cobbler's son and his fiancée" Peeta reminds me patiently and I vaguely recall having heard him mention it before. "Wedding's tomorrow. Which reminds me, I need to set the alarm early so I can have it decorated in time."
He brings out his pots and pans and then leaves to go change into the clothes he wears when he's working. I stay put, chewing on biscuits and studying the picture from our wedding. It seems so long ago. It was long ago. I can't believe it's been twelve years. Almost to the date, as Peeta pointed out. Next week will be our twelfth anniversary. We look so young in the photograph and so very happy. I have never regretted getting married, not for a second, not even when things have been hard. Hopefully I will look back in another twelve years' time and know that I never regretted having children.
I end up not looking at the pictures right away. Instead I go upstairs and lie down, escaping from the smells of Peeta's baking which are repulsive to me right now even though I normally love it. In the evening I go and get the box and bring it with me to the living room. Peeta is there, sitting in his favourite armchair with his sketchpad and a pencil. He's got a content smile on his face and whatever he's working on is probably a labour of love yet I hope I can get him to put the pad aside and come look at the photographs with me. It's a pretty safe bet that they're all pictures of us and I would feel better looking at them with him.
"What are you working on?" I ask.
"You... and the baby..."
I walk over to him and lean down to get a better look. I have seen him draw pictures of me and toddlers and me and older children, though I know he never meant for me to see them. This is the first time I've seen him draw me with an infant. The drawing is far from finished but I can clearly see myself cradling a little bundle with a smile of motherly love on my face.
"Looks good" I manage.
"Not as good as the ones I'll draw with the two of you as models" he smiles.
"Do you have a minute?" I ask. "Or do you want to work on that until it's done?"
"It can wait" says Peeta, putting the pad down on the small table beside his chair. "Have a seat. I always have time, and room, for wife and child."
I somewhat clumsily take a seat next to him in the chair even though there's not really room for me there. I throw my legs over Peeta's lap and place the box in my own.
"I thought we could look at the pictures" I tell him.
"Okay" he nods.
He opens the lid and hands me the pictures. I wrap one arm around his shoulders and lean closer so that we're cheek to cheek. Then I put the picture from our wedding down in the box and hand him the next one in the bunch. He holds it up so that we both can take a look.
"Another wedding photo" he says. "Wonder if they all are."
This one I recognize. It shows us talking to Haymitch, Peeta standing behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist and his chin resting on my shoulder. Greasy Sae gave me a copy of the picture to put up in Haymitch's house when I decided his walls needed some decorations. It hangs in the upstairs hallway and I wonder if he ever bothers to look at it.
What follows is a collection of photographs of Peeta and me, sometimes together and sometimes not. The pictures span a timeframe from our wedding until a couple of years before Sae's death and some are familiar to me while others are new. There are pictures of us at the harvest feast, at private parties and at random occasions. One in particular stirs a reaction in me and I tell Peeta to wait a moment and not put it aside yet.
"Why on earth would she want us to have this picture?" I wonder.
"Probably too painful for her to keep" suggests Peeta.
I nod slowly. That must be it. The picture is at least ten years old, if not more, and shows Peeta playing with Bobbie, Lola's daughter. I confess I don't remember much about the girl, least of all the circumstances during which this picture was taken. What I do remember vividly however is her funeral. She died at age four from a previously unknown heart condition. Just gone, from one day to the next. Greasy Sae was terribly upset and as far as I can recall the reason we went to the funeral was to show our support to her.
"Get rid of it" I say.
"Get rid of it?" echoes Peeta. "What's wrong with it?"
"It's a picture of a dead child. I don't want it anywhere near me."
He lets it drop down on the floor where I can't see it but I would have rather he tore it up. The memory of the four year-old girl and the funeral we went to has made me completely lose interest in looking at the rest of the photographs. I toss them back into the box and get up as quickly as I can, then I walk over to the fireplace and put the box down on the mantelpiece.
"Do you want to talk about it?" asks Peeta.
"Nothing to talk about."
"Are you sure about that?"
My hand goes to my stomach and the bump that is beginning to form there.
"Positive. I'm going to go make some tea."
I walk past him into the kitchen and grab the teapot from its place on the shelf beside the stove. I can't seem to get that picture out of my mind. Peeta and that little girl, a girl who only got to live for four years and who died unexpectedly. There was no war, no Hunger Games, no evil from the Capitol that took her life. Nor did she die of starvation – while she was certainly hungry at times she had enough to eat for the most part and looked healthy. Her death came out of nowhere, a complete surprise to her family.
"What happened to Bobbie was... a terrible amount of bad luck" says Peeta.
I turn around and look at him. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I didn't hear him come into the kitchen.
"Meaning what?"
He walks over and opens a cabinet next to the stove to take out some crackers to go with the tea. He sets the cracker box down on the counter before he answers.
"Meaning that nothing is ever for certain. But it takes one hell of a dose of bad luck to lose a kid like what happened with Bobbie."
"Do you think that makes Lola and her husband feel better?" I ask dryly.
"No. But it should make you feel better. What are the chances that the same thing would happen to our child?"
"That's not what I was thinking" I lie, but it's a weak lie. I don't want to talk about this any further and I wish he would drop the subject.
"Tea s ready" says Peeta and for a moment I think he really is going to drop it. Then he continues talking. "I'm surprised you even remember Bobbie well enough to recognise her off of just one photograph."
He puts the crackers on a tray together with some cheese and grapes and takes it with him to the living room. I stand frozen for a minute, puzzled by what I just heard him say. Then I remove the teapot and walk over to grab some mugs. Does he think I have forgotten about that girl? I may not have known her well when she lived but her death has haunted me for years. Or, to be fair, her funeral.
I arrange a tray with tea mugs and a couple of sugar lumps for myself and walk back to the living room. Peeta is busy flipping through the channels on the TV and I sit down next to him without saying anything.
Does he not remember how that funeral affected me, or the things we talked about that day?
As life begins to rebuild and reform in the former District 12 it becomes very clear to me that while people still greatly admire me for having been the Mockingjay and for being a two-time survivor of the Hunger Games, I am not exactly loved by them. Peeta is, and it's neither surprising nor upsetting to me. He has always had an easy way about him, always had a lot of friends and been kind and warm towards those that he meets. I, on the other hand, have built walls to protect myself and they did not get smaller after the war. I'm not unfriendly or cold but I'm just not as approachable as my partner. Whenever we are together among other people he is the one who talks more, asks more questions, gives a friendlier impression. I don't approach people unless I have a specific errand in mind and I'm fine with people not coming up to me just to start casual conversation. Peeta and I both hold a great deal of respect and admiration from the people around us but most of them prefer him to me and I can't say that I mind or that I blame them. If anything I am proud that people find him so kind-hearted and friendly.
It's not just adults who like him. He's kind to the children, takes the time to stop and talk to them and on rare occasions gives them cookies. That's all they seem to need to adore him and I can tell that he enjoys the attention they give to him. We never talk about it and he never makes a point of it but I would be a fool not to see what lies beneath it. He wants children of his own but since he can't have any he'll settle for being well liked by other people's kids.
It's almost a year into our marriage when I start to consider changing my mind. It happens gradually, slowly. I see my husband with other people's children, see how much he enjoys playing with them and how much he longs to have kids of his own. On a few occasions I have found drawings of his that depict him or me with a child and I know he never meant for me to see these drawings. They aren't drawn to persuade me or make me feel guilty for denying him kids. They are Peeta's only way of having children and I can't very well deny him that. He doesn't nag me, doesn't try to change my mind or make me feel guilty for having made up my mind so firmly and thereby made up both our minds. He accepts that I don't want children even though I know it pains him.
After our wedding I have begun to feel safer. Slowly and steadily, with the war behind us and the former district rising from destruction and poverty life now seems different. There are options that were never available when we grew up. The children we see on the streets and the children I see Peeta with, they are all well-fed and happy. There are no Hunger Games looming over them, no reaping to fear when they turn twelve.
I say nothing to Peeta about my thoughts on the subject. I haven't made up my mind yet, only begun to toy with the idea of children but that in itself is a much greater step towards parenthood than I ever thought I would take. I'm still leaning more towards not having kids and for that reason I decide it's better not to tell him what I'm thinking since he might start hoping and I might end up having to crush those hopes rather cruelly. But little by little I start being able to imagine us with children and thinking that perhaps the world has changed enough for me to re-evaluate my previous stance.
This all comes to an abrupt end when we learn from a neighbour that Greasy Sae's four year-old granddaughter has died unexpectedly. At hearing the news Peeta and I both react in the ways that are typical for us, meaning he thinks of others and I think of myself. Peeta rushes to get our hats and gloves for the walk into town, saying that we need to go see Sae to offer our condolences and see if there's anything she needs. I remain standing in the same spot I stood when I heard the news, shivering in my winter coat, feeling bile rising in my throat. Little Bobbie was no less healthy than any other child in town, not outwardly at least, and she was well-fed and living in times of peace. Death had struck her anyway, proving once and for all that nobody could ever be safe. I barely even react when Peeta comes back out and hands me my gloves and hat. He begins to walk towards town and has to turn around and call out to me to get my attention.
We sit with Greasy Sae that day and I haven't got the faintest idea how I make it through. Her grief reminds me far too much of how I lost my sister and that is a pain I cannot bear to think about. There has been too much death in my life and especially children should be safe from it now that all the threats we grew up with are gone. Yet here we are, supporting a grieving grandmother. The only reason I manage to stay and not run as far away as I can is the memory of everything Greasy Sae has done for me and how well she took care of me when I first returned after the war.
It is Peeta who takes care of Sae, not me. I can manage to stay near and not run but I cannot bring myself to comfort and console. I have to keep some distance between myself and the horrible situation or I won't be able to take it. Thankfully I have Peeta and he seems to know exactly what to say and do at times like these. He sits with Sae and listens to her talk about her grandchild, holds her hand and wipes her tears with a handkerchief. He sends the neighbour's son over to Lola to see if she needs anything and if she wants her mother to come. He throws together a meal for the three of us. I seriously don't know how he does it and it's almost fascinating to watch him in action.
"So little, she was" says Sae, her tears beginning anew.
I look around, helplessly. Peeta is in the kitchen and Lola is supposedly on her way over but until she arrives there's just me there. I know I need to be there for Sae now but it's almost a physical impossibility to even step closer to her. Somehow I manage to leave my spot by the bookshelf but I don't make it to the couch and the spot Peeta has been sitting in for the past few hours. Instead I take a seat in an armchair across the table from where Greasy Sae is sitting.
"I saw her just the other day" says Sae for the fifth time today. "She came over to play with the kittens. She was just fine, then. So full of life."
"I'm so sorry" is all I can manage to say.
"It's not right" says Greasy Sae. "It's not right that little children should die so suddenly while old wretches like me linger on."
"It's never those who deserve to die that do" I mumble, thinking back on all the people who are dead because of me.
"The sweet, poor child..."
I don't remember ever hearing Greasy Sae talk like this, about anyone. Then again she's never lost a child or a grandchild before. The very thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. Even with all the losses I have experienced can there be anything that compares to losing your own offspring?
We stay with Sae until Lola arrives, even more of a wreck than her mother. It only takes about ten seconds of seeing the distraught mother and watching her seek comfort in her own mother's embrace for me to know that this is more than I can handle, no matter what I owe Greasy Sae. Thankfully Peeta chooses this moment to gently take me by the arm.
"I think we ought to leave" he says in my ear. "They need some time to themselves. We shouldn't intrude on their family."
Leaving sounds like sweet music to my ears. We bid a brief farewell of Greasy Sae and Lola and then hurry out into the cold winter evening. I pull my hat down to cover my ears and shiver in the slight wind. I wish I had a scarf to wrap around me but Peeta didn't grab one for me and the thought of needing one later in the day didn't even occur to me before we left home.
Peeta wraps an arm around my waist and we begin to walk back towards the Victor's Village. It's pitch black out but the snow helps bring a little bit of lightness. It's quite a few degrees below freezing and I can see my own breath with every exhale. It's not a very cheerful evening to be out walking and it rather fits the mood of the day we've had.
"It's just terrible" says Peeta sombrely.
"Awful" I agree, shivering a bit.
I'm grateful for his arm around me and his side pressing against me as we walk briskly through the dark and quiet town. The street lights are all on, a luxury we rarely if ever had here before the war, and most windows we pass are lit up by warm lamplight yet the road in front of us is mostly dark and I know it will only get darker the last couple of miles before we reach the Victor's Village. I wish we were home, that we never had to venture out the door today. I long for a soft blanket by the fireside, Peeta's warm cheese buns and Buttercup's content purring. I don't want to think about death anymore today but I know that it's inevitable.
"Are you thinking about Prim?" asks Peeta after a few minutes.
"Yeah" I say. Prim, and everyone else I care about who died far too young.
Peeta draws a breath and exhales heavily.
"Yeah, I know. While we were there, with Greasy Sae, I was so focused on her. Now that we're not my mind keeps going to those I've lost."
He pulls his arm back from around my waist and instead his hand finds its way into mine. We continue our walk back home and it takes me almost ten minutes to realize that he just brought up his family, which he rarely ever talks about. Or, at least I think that's what he brought up. At the top of my head I can't think of anyone else he's lost that he would be thinking about on a night like this.
"Peeta?" I begin but it seems that if there was a window to breach the subject and ask that window has now closed.
"We should hurry up and get home" he says. "I'm freezing."
"Yeah" I nod. "It's getting colder, I think."
Not much else is said between us for the duration of the walk home. Once we arrive at the Victor's Village I almost hesitate to go inside, even though I was aching to get home just a minute ago. Our house is the only inhabited one where no lights are on and it looks cold and unwelcoming. I let go of Peeta's hand and stop beneath the porch steps, letting him go ahead of me. He unlocks the door, hurries inside and flickers the lights on.
"Katniss?" he says. "Are you coming?"
I slowly walk the steps up to the front door and once I'm inside close the door firmly behind me. The house looks abandoned, which it kind of is seeing as how we were only going for a short walk when we heard the news and after that we rushed off. Ever since the war I have hated coming home after dark unless Peeta is already home or we left the lights on. There's something about walking inside a cold, dark house that unsettles me. I take my good time undressing, hoping that Peeta will go around and turn on the lights and make the place feel more like home. I can hear him in the kitchen, talking to an angrily meowing Buttercup. The cat's probably livid since he's been indoors all afternoon and nobody has fed him.
"Alright, alright" sighs Peeta as I walk into the kitchen. Buttercup is on his hind legs, clawing eagerly on Peeta's thigh, meowing non-stop. "Calm down, I'll feed you."
I walk over and lift the cat up into my arms, earning me a hiss.
"Calm down" I tell Buttercup. "Stop pestering him and he'll have your dinner ready much sooner. What have you done today anyway to earn a meal?"
Peeta finds one of the cans of cat food that we keep in the kitchen for the days when the weather is too cold or too bad to let Buttercup out to hunt his own food. Most of the time we feed him entrails from the game I bring home and various leftovers from our own dinners but we ate at Sae's tonight and neither Peeta nor I am in the mood for preparing more food.
"Here you go, you lousy old cat" sighs Peeta, setting a bowl filled to the brim down on the floor. "Enjoy."
I set Buttercup down on the floor and he runs over to the bowl, gulping down food like he hasn't seen it in weeks. I snort at him. We fed him this morning and he's been without food for longer than a day in the past. Like everyone else he had to occasionally starve back when we lived in the Seam. Then again maybe that's why he's so reluctant to miss a meal now.
I walk into the living room and kneel by the fireplace to start a fire. The house is chilly and I always feel more at home with a fire burning. I grab a couple of logs and get to work while Peeta walks in and sits down in his favourite chair. Once I have the fire going I turn around and I find him hunched over with his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his knuckles. The expression on his face is grim and reflects what I'm feeling. I stand up and walk over, feeling a touch better when he looks up and opens his arms to wrap around me. I stand in front of him, embracing him and resting my chin on his blond curls.
It feels good to have him close. I need the reassurance of his presence. Even though I barely knew the child who died there are a few too many unpleasant memories stirred today.
A week later we attend Bobbie's funeral and it is another huge trial for me. Memories of Prim keep coming to me. She never got a proper funeral, buried in a mass grave with the other victims of the bombing. There was just not enough left of most of the victims for identification to be possible, at least not under the circumstances. Perhaps if there hadn't been such matters as finding a president of Panem or dealing with war criminals... Maybe then Prim's body could have been returned to us and she could have been laid to rest next to our father.
I think of Prim but I also think of a few others. Brave Rue, so young when the Capitol claimed her life for the sake of entertainment. At least she got to be buried by her family and I got to give her a funeral of sorts in the arena. The faces of other dead tributes flash before my eyes. Foxface. Thresh. The boy from District 3 who got his neck snapped by Cato.
I spend most of the funeral service lost in my own thoughts and hardly paying attention. Funerals in former District 12 are short and simple and they end with a procession to the grave site where the casket is lowered into the ground. In the winter things work a little bit different as it's very hard to dig a grave when the ground is frozen and covered in snow. The actual burial of the body then takes place later, in spring, but the site of the grave has been selected and the procession walks there together as if they were to witness the burial. The last part of the funeral process is allowing people to say their final goodbyes. I have always hated that part the most. Watching others grieve gets to me and I never know what I'm supposed to say or do. I'm very grateful to have Peeta standing next to me, both for the moral support and for the knowledge that he will know exactly what to say. When he has said his bit I can just add that he speaks for the both of us.
The moment by the gravesite is utterly depressing yet I am still disconnected and lost in my own memories and thoughts. It's not until Peeta and I begin to leave that I take a real good look at the grieving family and fully take in what they are going through. I can never begin to imagine exactly what they are feeling but I know grief really well and understanding that their loss might be even greater than the ones I've suffered is enough. They all look so haggard, so desolate. Like all joy and hope has left them.
"That will never be me" I tell Peeta firmly as we walk down the path that leads away from the graveyard.
I mean it. With every bit of my being, I mean it. All thoughts of perhaps relenting and agreeing to starting a family are gone and I am more determined than ever before to never bear children. I could never handle what Greasy Sae and Lola and the rest of their family are going through right now and there is only one guaranteed way of protecting myself from it. I was right to never want children and this just confirms it.
"No, I suppose it won't be" answers Peeta. "I mean, why should it? What happened to this family is just... the epitome of bad luck."
"You're chalking it up to just poor luck?" I ask. "That the odds were not ever in their favour? Peeta we're talking about the real world and the real world is not about good or bad luck. Not when it comes to things like this." I give an angry kick to a rock that's in my way, sending it flying across the path. I hate graveyards; I hate everything about them and even the neatly pebbled path leading to the south gates annoy me. "This proves that I'm right. Having children is beyond foolish."
"I beg your pardon?" he says tiredly.
"How can you possibly think anything other than that?" I ask, my voice starting to reveal just how upset I am. "How can anyone want to have kids when they know what we know? That children die, even without the Capitol's help."
"You're saying that because a child died of a previously undetected medical condition the whole world should cease to procreate?" asks Peeta. "That the answer to death is to just give up and not even try? That does not sound like the Katniss I know."
"And what is your answer?" I ask, angry because he has a very valid point. "That everyone should go out and have more kids because of this? That if those parents up by that grave have another child it's going to make them forget the one they lost?"
"Forget? No. Nothing could ever make them forget."
"Exactly."
"But that doesn't mean they can't find joy in another child, if they want one."
"Why would they take the chance? Why bring another child into their world when all that might await that kid is an early death?"
"In order to die you have to first have lived. I think life trumps the absence of life. When my name was drawn at the reaping I was almost paralysed with fear, I wanted to rage and scream at the unfairness of it all, I really did not want to die and I hated the fact that I knew I was about to. At no point did I wish I had never been born. And don't you dare suggest that maybe my parents wished that because they would never have wanted to negate my entire existence to spare them the pain of my far too early death."
I recoil a bit at the harshness in his voice. My hand slips into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I know we're in the middle of an argument, even though I don't quite know how we got here, but I want to assure him that I'm not thinking anything like that.
"On a logical plane I know what you're saying makes some sense" I say. "But I just can't, Peeta. By now you know why it took me so long to admit to myself that I'm in love with you; it was because I didn't want to love somebody and then lose them. I tried to deny my feelings for you but I just couldn't in the end. You were always there, even when you weren't, if that makes sense."
"Thank you" he says icily, pulling his hand out of mine and shoving it in his pocket. "I'm glad you feel that way about us."
"I didn't mean it like that. Look, I'm obviously not able to put my feelings into words. I've never been good at that. You are everything to me Peeta and you know it. All I'm saying here is that I can't bring a child into the world and risk having that child taken away. Love has its ugly sides, too. You invest so much of yourself into it that if the one you love is taken from you then..." I can't make myself finish the sentence. Images of Prim and my father flash before my eyes followed by the memory of what it was like when Peeta was held captive by President Snow.
"I don't want to live my life afraid of having people matter because I run the risk of losing them" counters Peeta. "Nor do I think that's what you want. If it was you would never have married me. You chose to be with me and if I end up being the first one of us to die I don't think you will regret that you shared your life with me."
"Falling in love is not an active choice" I say. "Having children is. Look at Bobbie's parents, Peeta. Look at them. Do you see all that pain?"
"I do, but unlike you I'm not terrified by it. The reason why it hurts so badly for them now is because they loved her so much. The more a person matters to you, the more it hurts to lose them. I find a sense of beauty in that... The greater the grief, the greater the love."
"And you don't want to protect yourself from that grief?"
"I look at Bobbie's parents and I see two people who were blessed to have someone in their life they loved that much. You see the pain, I see the joy that came before it and I envy them. Most parents don't survive their children, Katniss. Think about that."
I do think about it. I understand what Peeta is saying but at the end of the day it makes no difference. I can't force myself to see things the way he does even if I agree there's logic to his reasoning. Peeta is different than I am. He's more hopeful and has a much more positive outlook on life. To him love has always been something good, even when we were first brought to the Capitol and he fully intended to die so that I may live. Maybe it's because he never lost anyone he loved when he was growing up. Peeta's whole family was still intact when we entered the arenas and even though they were killed shortly after the Quarter Quell his belief in love as something entirely good was too cemented in him to change his outlook. I, on the other hand, had different experiences. Losing my father at such a young age and then fighting to protect those that I care about, often losing, made me hard. Love makes you vulnerable and I don't want to be vulnerable. Maybe the fact that Peeta was the youngest of three brothers while I was an older sister had something to do with it too. He grew up protected by his siblings while I grew up fighting desperately to protect mine.
We don't say anything further on the subject, instead we go to Haymitch's house and spend the evening there. Haymitch is drunk and Peeta forces him into the shower to clean off the spilt alcohol and the fresh vomit on his shirt while I cook us dinner. The three of us then sit in silence for hours, each lost in their own trail of thoughts. When we go back home we head straight to bed without saying more than necessary. I'm too emotional from the funeral and Peeta is irritated from the talk we had on the way home. He doesn't wrap his arms around me and I decide to let him be and not snuggle up to him. I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for him that I'm so adamantly against having children.
With these thoughts running through my head I fall asleep and soon I'm lost in a nightmare. This time I dream that everyone I love dies and they all die for my hand. I light Prim on fire, I throw the spear into Rue, I beat Cinna to a pulp, I bludgeon Haymitch with one of his bottles, I cause the explosion that kills my father. Eventually I kill Peeta, too, and as I force the nightlock berries down his throat I realize that I am the mutt he once accused me of being. His hands have a firm hold on me, trying to pry me away but to no avail. I don't want to do the things that I do but I can't stop myself. I have killed everyone else who mattered and at last I kill the one person I cannot live without. Before the poison of the berries takes his life he hisses to me that I have also taken all his children.
"Katniss!"
I wake up to find that Peeta's hands are on me to shake me awake, not push me away, and his voice is comforting, not accusing.
"Peeta!" I gasp.
"It's alright" he says soothingly. "Just a nightmare. That's all." I sit up and he follows suit, wrapping an arm around me and massaging my shoulder with one hand. "After a day like today it's not a shocker that you dreamt something bad. I had a nightmare myself."
I lean into him, finding comfort in his embrace. If he was angry with me before, or upset in any way, that seems to have gone away now. At times like these I can't help but think of what Haymitch once told me, and agree wholeheartedly. I do not deserve Peeta.
"I killed everybody" I tell him. "Everyone who mattered."
"Except you didn't" he comforts. "It was just a dream."
"I'm sorry" I say.
"Don't be sorry. Just relax. It was a bad dream and now it's over."
He holds me close and rocks me gently. It feels so good to have his strong chest to lean against, his strong arms wrapped around me protectively. How he manages to be this kind and comforting to me now when he didn't want to lie close to me when we went to bed is amazing to me.
"No..." I say. "I mean I'm sorry about before. About the things I said. I..."
For the millionth time I curse my inability to put my thoughts into words. I'm not sorry that I said I don't want children but I'm sorry I come off as so cold and uncaring about what Peeta wants. What he said to me in my dream was like a manifestation of one of the last thoughts that went through my head before I fell asleep. I don't want to be a mother because I'm afraid of having to watch my children suffer and die and I don't think I can bear the pain of losing a child. But for Peeta the one who causes him to lose his children is me. He's not afraid that if we become parents our children will die on us. Because I'm so adamantly against the idea of parenthood he has already lost the children he so longs for. Still he chooses to be with me.
"Katniss it's okay" says Peeta, though I can hear a hint of resignation in his voice.
"No" I say. "It's not. I know that you want children. I just can't. It frightens me too much. I don't think I'm strong enough."
"I disagree" says Peeta. "But it's your choice."
"It doesn't seem entirely fair that I get to choose for us both" I remark.
"You don't. I was free to leave but I chose to marry you. I'm free to divorce you but I choose to stay."
That doesn't make me feel better. Given the choice between me and having his way on the matter of children he chose me. I, on the other hand, choose to persist in my determination not to have children, even if it means Peeta leaving me. But no sooner has that thought crossed my mind before I start to doubt it. Could I really? Could I live without him? He would never make me choose outright but if he felt he needed something more than I could give him would I relent in order to keep him? It's a question I will never know the answer to because he will never put me in that position.
"I get to have my way and keep you" I say. "You don't. I just... need for you to know that I'm not trying to deny you that which I know you want or that I'm not taking your wants into consideration. It's not about that. I don't have anything against children but I don't think having them is a good idea. I'm sorry that I'm keeping you from having something that's so important to you." I swallow hard. "Maybe you would be better off with someone else. With someone who would make you a father."
"Understand this, Katniss..." says Peeta gently. "I want to have children. More than I think you know. But I want to have children with you. If I can't have that then I choose you over children. I know why you resist and I may not like it but I respect it."
"It scares me that you might end up resenting me for it when we're old" I admit.
"Spending a lifetime with you without getting to be a father would make me happier than spending a lifetime with anybody else and raising a whole score of kids." He pauses for a moment. "I understand and respect your decision. In turn I... I hope you can understand and respect that there's a part of me that will always hope that someday you'll change your mind."
"Peeta..."
"It would be different for me if you straight up didn't like children or didn't desire to have one because it just doesn't interest you. The reason why you don't want to be a mother is because you're afraid and you're not sure that it's a wise decision on our part to have kids. It's the idea of losing a child that scares you, not the idea of having one. Someday you might decide that it's worth the risk, just as you did with loving me."
"Please, Peeta" I say. "Don't hope. If you do then that's where you might start to resent me in the end."
"That won't happen" he assures me, stroking my hair. "If you never change your mind I will still be grateful that I got to spend my life with you. If you do change your mind... well that will be the best bonus of all time."
I turn my body so that I can wrap my arms around him and pull him close, resting my cheek against his. Unable to express in words what I feel I turn to other methods. I pull back from our embrace just enough so that I can caress his lips with mine. My hands begin to roam over his body and he responds in turn. When I give him a gentle nudge he lies back and lets me take the lead, watching me with awe as I tug on his pyjama pants.
There are no more nightmares that night.
Other nights I'm not as lucky. The nightmares come and go over the years, sometimes I have one almost every night and sometimes a month or two can go by without one. Unlike Peeta's moments when the effects of the hijacking returns the nightmares don't seem to fade over the years. They remain a constant in my life. A few rare times it happens that I start to feel more secure and start to wonder what it might be like if Peeta and I had a child but every time I allow myself to think that a nightmare comes to scare me back to where I started.
Peeta's arms are always there for me to seek comfort in when I've woken up. Sometimes it feels like I give him so little and he gives me so much. I know he's plagued by nightmares too but I never seem to know about them. I can't imagine how tiring it must be for him to have his own demons to face and then having to face mine as well. I can't help him fight his to the same extent, perhaps because he won't let me know about them.
"Don't you ever get tired of it?" I ask one night when I've woken up screaming from a particularly bad nightmare. "Don't you ever want to pretend you're still sleeping? Or tell me to stop whining and go back to sleep, it's just a nightmare, everybody has them?"
"No" says Peeta.
"Don't you ever wish you shared a bed with someone who let you have a full night's sleep every night?"
"Katniss your nightmares don't bother me" says Peeta and strokes my hair. "I mean, of course they do, just not that way. As long as you keep having them I'm going to keep making you feel better when you wake up."
"That's a bold promise to make" I say, looking into his eyes. "You say that now but you're bound to me for life. When we're in our sixties you might not be as patient anymore."
"It's not a chore" he assures me. "It's what we do. Comfort one another. You would do the same for me, every night for the rest of our lives if need be."
"Yeah" I nod. "I would. Only it never seems like I have to. You seem like you do just fine without any help from me."
"That's where you're wrong." His fingers caress my cheek and I feel a longing and a hunger stir inside of me. "When you're near me I'm not afraid of anything. You make me happy enough that all the bad things don't seem to have as much power over me."
"I wish you would wake me sometimes when you have a bad dream."
"Why should I disturb your sleep? All I need is to know that you're there."
"Because I want to hold you when you're scared" I tell him. "When you've had a nightmare I want to be able to comfort you the way you comfort me."
"You do" smiles Peeta. "You don't have to say anything or do anything... As long as I know that you're safe and that you love me there's nothing else I need to feel comforted."
"If I were you I'd dare to dream a little grander" I smirk, giving him a teasing nudge. "I can be very attentive in my attempts to show how much I love you."
"That does sound tempting" he chuckles.
We kiss and then lie there for a while, just looking into each other's eyes. At times we can lie this way for what seems like hours on end, saying nothing, doing nothing, just looking at one another. Our hands usually clasp but other than that we don't even touch. I love these moments because they are a rare form of intimacy I never imagined people could have. Before I fell in love with Peeta I had no idea that I could want to just look at someone and do nothing more. It's as if we communicate without words because no words need to be spoken.
It's during moments like these that I feel like I can have anything in the world and that maybe, just maybe, I might be brave enough one day to give Peeta the thing he longs for the most.
I lay awake at night, unable to sleep. Peeta snores lightly beside me, curled up on his side. His face rests by the crook of my neck causing each exhale to tickle me a little. His right arm is draped across me and both my hands caress it gently while I stare at the ceiling. My mind keeps coming back to how everyone will soon find out that Peeta and I are having a baby. I feel nothing but dread at the thought of how people will react. Hopefully they won't react at all. After all it has been fifteen years since my husband or I did anything truly noteworthy to the public which means people ought to have lost interest a long time ago. But perhaps the upcoming addition to our family will make people start to gossip because it has been so long and since at least some seem to have dismissed the idea of us ever becoming parents. People must be wondering why we chose to have a baby now when we've gone without for fifteen years.
People will congratulate us, of course. Talk about how these are special, happy times. I know that they are right. It's the logical response to a pregnancy and God knows my baby's father feels that way. Peeta embraces everything that makes him happy with open arms while I almost shy away from it. It's one of those differences between us that sometimes make me wonder how on earth we found love in one another when we're so different and other times seem to be the whole reason why we fit so well together.
As I lay awake tonight I can't help but think of how unfair it is that I should get this happiness. Because I am happy. Happier than I deserve to be and happier than I ever dared to hope I could be. It makes no sense. Why do I get to be happy? I'm the one who won the Hunger Games by killing and manipulating and thinking only of myself. I'm the one who ignited the fire that killed so many people. During the revolution people rallied to my alias and to my image and it got them killed. It's true that we won peace at the end but my role in all of it was never that of a heroine. My part in the Games and the war is too sullied by blood and death and despair to be a symbol of hope for the future. There are so many others who far more than I deserved to survive and live happily ever after. Finnick. Rue. Prim. I could go on listing names until I drive myself crazy but especially Prim's name sends a jolt of pain and guilt through my heart. The whole reason why I took part in the Games was to protect her and in the end it was in vain. She was the good sister, the one with the heart, the healer. Yet she died and I lived.
I listen to Peeta's light snores and I think of all the happiness he's brought me. Someone else really ought to have had that happiness but I know that nobody could take my place in Peeta's life just like no other man could mean as much to me as he does. This thought is what I cling to when the guilt becomes overbearing. I may not deserve happiness but he does and I know he couldn't have that without me. Sometimes that thought is the only thing that allows me to keep calm when these feelings hit me. The happiness in my life is not a reward for my own efforts and actions but a side effect of the rewards Peeta so justly deserves. I want him to be happy. I want to make him happy. I know that feeling is not unique but rather a natural part of being in love yet it's more than just that. I owe it to him.
A lump forms in my throat. Having never felt that I deserve the happiness I do have I am never able to shake the fear that it may all be taken away. Could I go on living if I lost Peeta? Happiness is one of the most dangerous things in the world, together with love. I love my husband dearly and we're going to bring a child into the world. The more you have the more can be taken from you.
Now there's going to be one more person in my life to love. Somebody who is sure to be one of the greatest gifts I ever receive but who also has the potential of becoming the greatest loss I will ever experience. I wish I had just a fraction of Peeta's strength and his faith in love as something completely good. Since I don't I will just have to compose myself, take a deep breath and pray that the day will never come when I lose the child growing inside of me.
Even though her age ought to give it away I still want to clarify that Greasy Sae's granddaughter who dies in this chapter is not the same one that appears in the books.
Hope it was a good read. Let me know what you thought of it =)