A/N: The update day for Broken Winged Birds has been changed to Wednesdays because I'm not in college on Wednesdays for the foreseeable future and it just fits better :-)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Chapter Nine

I am forced to miss school the next day. My body is at war with itself, causing me to have spent 75% of my day in the bathroom. Before she went to work, my mum explained that it's my organs moving in my body to accommodate the baby that is growing inside. Everything is being pushed, putting pressure my body and causing my sickness. Prim spent some of the day with me, making soup for me and chatting, but she left at six o'clock to meet Rory at the park. Well, she says the park. I doubt that's where they're actually going. I don't think she wanted me to know what they were really going to do.

I don't have to worry too much about her, though. I think seeing me on my bad days has put her off any thoughts of unsafe sex. Thoughts that I hope weren't there to begin with anyway.

Peeta comes to see me in the evening when the house is empty. We sit in my room, underneath my blanket, and talk. I feel safe snuggled against his side, like the curve of my body is a puzzle piece that slides perfectly into the side of his. His fingers play with the end of my braid while we chat, his arm hooked around me in a protective hug. Being with him almost helps me forget how nauseous I feel.

"What did I miss today?" I ask, sticking my hands between my knees to warm them up.

"Well, the Seniors got pulled into the hall for a talk about STD's," Peeta answers. He sighs heavily, the memories of the talk clearly disturbing him. "It was informative, to say the least . . ."

I pull a face, feeling glad for the first time today that I actually took sick today. The last thing I want to sit through right now is a talk about STD's and sex. I'm already serving my punishment for having unsafe sex. I'm just lucky that Marvel was clean. "Who organized that?" I ask.

"Mrs Lyme," says Peeta. "They tried to make it cool by giving out prizes and stuff."

"Prizes?" I scoff.

"Yeah and you'd never guess who got the main one," Peeta replies.

I think it over and roll my eyes. "Glimmer?"

"Cato, actually."

"Fantastic," I say sarcastically. "What was the main prize?"

"Tickets to some concert. Some indie band I've never heard of but the populars seemed excited about it," Peeta answers. Of course they were. "I got these though." He sticks his hand into his pocket and produces a handful of small square packets. On first glance, I think they're sweets but when I look closer I realize they're something else.

"Oh my god!" I cackle, picking a packet out of his hand. "You got condoms?!"

"We all got condoms," Peeta laughs, taking my hand and shifting the condoms into it. I count them up and laugh even harder when I reach the final number.

"Damn, they gave you ten!" I snigger. "What the hell? Did they give ten each?"

"They gave out bags of stuff," Peeta explains. "Condoms; health pamphlets; even a weird pleasure gel thing. Honestly, I think it was more a sponsor event for Durex."

I snort. "Well at least Glimmer and Gale won't have to fork out for protection for a while," I say.

Peeta laughs and shakes his head. That sort of humour doesn't usually get him but when it's me, somehow it always tickles him. This sort of talk has reminded me of something, though, of something I'd been meaning to ask him ever since Marvel and I spoke at the park. "Peeta, are my boobs getting bigger?" I ask.

Peeta seems surprised by the question. "Why?" he asks, confused.

"Marvel said they were," I say.

"But Marvel's an idiot anyway," says Peeta.

"So they're not?" I assume.

"Well . . . I didn't say that."

I frown, a little perplexed. "So they are?"

"Yes. No! Well, maybe. I don't know. What's the correct answer?" asks Peeta.

I heave myself up into a sitting position and our eyes meet. "You can't ask me that. I wouldn't know. Surely if they have gotten bigger you'd have noticed!" I exclaim. "It's not perversion when you're my boyfriend, obviously."

Peeta seems to mull it over for a second before he answers. I watch him carefully, awaiting his response. "Okay, maybe a little," he finally admits. "But I noticed out of pure medical reasons in regards to your pregnancy. I would never ever stare at your chest for any other reason." I quirk an eyebrow at him and he flushes bright pink and clarifies, "Never ever ever."

"Of course," I say sarcastically. "You're respectful like that."

"Exactly," Peeta grins. He leans forward and kisses me but pulls back and pulls a face. "Your breath stinks of vomit."

"Shut up!" I laugh, playfully smacking him. I force him to kiss me again, in all my sick-breath glory. "Deal with it!" When I release him from my nauseous display of affection, Peeta sits up and takes a minute to get his breath back. I watch him wearily, concerned about this whole breathing issue. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm fine," says Peeta. "That just took it out of me."

"We kissed for like twenty seconds," I reply. "Surely you can't be out of breath already . . . We need to have this conversation, Peeta. Remember? The one you blatantly pushed aside at the school playground?"

"Sure, I remember," Peeta answers. "I just don't know if you're ready to know . . ."

"Know what?" I place my hands on top of his and squeeze. "You can tell me anything."

Peeta nods and threads his fingers through mine, lifting my hand and kissing the top of it. The action seems to soothe him, somehow. Like he knows I'm not going to go anywhere. "The anorexia, as you know, has been causing complications in my body because of how long I've had it for," Peeta begins to explain. I nod to show my understanding. "I had to go to the hospital recently, for a check-up. My dad went with me because I was too worried about stressing you out, Katniss."

The way he can't look me in the eyes, the way he's staring at our hands instead of at my face, I know what he is going to tell me isn't good. Like when a police officer comes to your door and you just know that they're about to take off their hat and deliver bad news.

"I have Bradycardia," Peeta tells me. "It's a heart condition, brought on by my malnutrition."

My heart jumps into my throat. My fingers tighten around his. "Is it treatable?" I ask.

Peeta nods. "I have to get a pacemaker inserted," he tells me.

I don't know why but this makes me cry. Maybe it's because my hormones are shot or maybe it's because I can't stand the idea of Peeta having to go through something like this without me because he felt it would stress me out too much. I should focus on the fact that it's treatable and Peeta won't die from it. However, I can't help but feel utterly useless and afraid of what this means.

"I don't understand!" I cry into his shoulder. "You were doing so well!"

"Maybe it's just the after effects of what happened before . . ." says Peeta.

"But your doctor gave you the all clear! You started eating after that, everything was good!" I insist. "You were putting on weight. Sure, it isn't the quickest of processes but at least you were making progress!"

Nausea leaps on top of me like a lion and I bolt out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom and upheaving my guts into the toilet. When I finish, I simply sit there with my forehead pressed against the cool ceramic of the toilet bowl. I sob, my cries echoing in the bathroom and bouncing off the walls.

Peeta crouches down beside me and winds his arms around my body. I turn into him and cry harder. I thought things were improving. I thought we were finally getting back on track. I thought everything was okay and good. I could never have imagined something so awful to have happened. I should be thankful that Bradycardia can be treated. However all I can focus on is how Peeta will need to get a machine inserted into his body.

And also . . . what does this mean for Peeta?

"Answer me honestly," I mumble into his neck, which is soaked with my tears. "Have you really been eating?"

Peeta's fingers dig into my back instinctively and in that moment I know. I know before he even answers me, which thankfully he does honestly. "No," he says.

I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will ward away the truth. "Your diary?"

"Faked."

I grab his shoulders and shake him hard. "You stupid man!" I shout. "Why are you doing this?!"

"You know why!" Peeta shouts back. I glare at him through my teary eyes, maddened beyond the point of sanity at his stupidity. "I'm fat, Katniss! I'm still fat!"

"No, you're not!" I scream at him, slapping him across the face and shaking him again. "Why are you doing this to yourself? Why do you keep hurting yourself?!"

Peeta grabs my upper arms, his fingers digging into my skin so tight it makes me fall silent. His blue eyes are fierce, anger and fear blaring behind them like a siren. His intensity frightens me. "Because you are perfect and I am not," he says. He doesn't yell. He doesn't shout. He says this to me with a calm but intense tone of voice. "I need to fix myself so I am worthy of you."

"You already are," I say gently, trying to match his plane of calm.

Peeta shakes his head. "I'm not," he says, almost to himself. "No, I'm not."

"Peeta"-

"Don't Katniss, I know you're just being nice to me," Peeta says. "I wish you would just admit that you know that I'm fat too so I can just get on with it."

"I'm not lying to you!" I snap angrily.

"Stop it!" Peeta snaps back.

"No!" I scream at him. "If you're so big why was I able to kiss every rib on your abdomen? If you're as huge as you claim why do you have Bradycardia? Why did Cato know that you were starving yourself if you're as fat as your claim to be? Huh? Answer me!"

Peeta is still in denial, shaking his head as I speak. I'm screaming at him because it feels like the louder volume will get it through his head but it doesn't seem to be working.

"You're already perfect," I insist. "You just need to keep eating. It'll all be okay in the end if you just resume having proper meals. Please, Peeta. I'm saying this because I care about you. You know I do. You also know that I would never dream of lying to you. I told you about being pregnant by Marvel as soon as I found out. I could have hidden it from you but I didn't. Surely you know that I'm telling the truth now!"

"I should probably get back to the bakery," Peeta says, his fingers loosening around my arms as he stands up. "Annie says we're to meet up at four o'clock tomorrow after school."

I scramble to my feet, stumbling a little as I take a light head, and hurry after him as he heads for the door. "You can't just leave!" I shout as I follow.

"I have to go," he says.

"I'll tell someone that you aren't eating again!" I weakly threaten.

"Go ahead!" he replies.

"Fine, I will!"

"Good!"

"Good!"

Peeta slams the door shut behind him and I crumple. I sit on the floor in my living room and cry, burying my face into my knees and trying to convince myself that everything will be okay, even though I know that it won't.

A/N: Please review with your thoughts. I'm sorry that I'm putting Peeta through this but I'm trying to hit home how anorexia can't just be cured at the drop of a hat and there can be some serious after effects.