A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Hopefully you'll think that all this angst is worth it in the end :)
Chapter 25:
Over the next couple of weeks, I manage to keep my pregnancy a secret from Peeta; and as I suspect, it isn't even that difficult.
Every morning, I wake up well-rested, thanks mostly to my new deluxe queen bed, which sleeps great. However much my being massively pregnant was an act at the time, the real baby will start to distend my abdomen in several months. Ironically, the furniture sales guy's opinion, which I thought was meaningless at the time, will ultimately end up being pivotal in determining whether or not my back will be optimally supported when that happens. Now, however, I sleep quite comfortably and don't typically wake up before mid-morning.
The first thing that I see when I wake up is the painting hanging in my room; I am haunted (and slightly nauseated, but then again that could just be standard morning sickness) by Peeta's words upon revealing it to me. I think that this is probably the most recent piece that you'll want to see. I'm sure that he's right, I'm sure I don't want to know what he's painted after I told him about me and Gale, or at any point since then for that matter. But at the same time, if he did put me on canvas, the part of me with the morbid sense of curiosity is absolutely dying to see it.
I have been sleeping in lately, not only because I want to take advantage of the extra rest but also because it helps to pass the time. I want to avoid the kitchen while Peeta is there, as that is where he spends the bulk of his mornings, baking bread and other goodies that will last him throughout the day (though he has yet to make cheese buns). He usually clears the kitchen area before noon, however, and I tend to move in and take over for lunch before I head off to see my family.
Though Peeta never cooks specifically for me anymore, there is always extra bread, and Peeta is too nice not to offer up his leftovers. Sometimes I'll take a slice or two of bread, but I usually end up cooking for myself. Occasionally I'll head over to mother and Prim's early to eat there, but since I often stay there for supper, I try not to make a habit of it. And due to my nausea, there are just certain foods I can no longer eat unless I want to end up heaving over the toilet (many morning foods included, which is why a stashed banana and some granola from the bedroom is usually ideal for breakfast anyway). Since I'm the only one who knows which foods that will make me nauseous at any given moment (they seem to be constantly changing), not to mention the fact that my appetite is gigantic, cooking for myself is just easier. But I also have developed a much greater interest in what exactly it is that I put into my mouth.
Though I have not started to feel any kind of connection to this embryo growing inside of me, I do find that I want to feed it as much healthy food that I possibly can. I know firsthand the feeling of desperate starvation. I've stood in the rain and been happy for burnt bread. I've subsided on whatever I've managed to kill or gather, and even when I was able to occasionally trade at the Hob, my choices have always been limited. Up until we won the Games, my hair would frequently fall out and my periods were never regular, due to what I'm sure was malnourishment. Those aren't feelings that I would wish on my worst enemy, never mind a blood relative, no matter how new. As Peeta and I are both winners, I have no qualms about going to markets in the mornings to spend a small portion of our winnings on tons of fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as a lot of lean proteins- so my diet is more balanced than it has ever been before.
I am so grateful that I also happen to live right near "two of District 12's best healers", as Prim so accurately put it. Mother and Prim are constantly dispensing relevant advice and information. They have books on anything associated with pregnancy and are constantly reading them aloud to me. What to eat and what not to eat, ways of easing all of the discomforts that can occur, the weekly developmental milestones and how big the embryo is at any given time. To me, it feels a bit ridiculous, having now entered into my supposed 8 month of pregnancy and preparing to don my 9-month and final prosthesis next week, to be hearing that what is growing inside of me is now the size of a sesame seed. But I force a smile and play along for their sake. They both seem to take great joy in talking with me about the changes occurring in my body (the embryo was the size of a poppy seed last week).
Prim is still a sweet person- the Capitol despite their best efforts didn't change her inherent qualities- but ever since the Victory Tour she has been understandably jumpy and anxious. Mother and I always make an extra effort to approach her slowly and warn her that we're coming. Occasionally she will cry without warning, bursting into sobs while mother and I race to comfort her, stroking her back and telling her that we're here, that it's all over, and that hopefully it will never happen again. I've resolved to do whatever I can to help Prim feel better. If that means letting her and mother drone on about my pregnancy when I really just want to try to forget about it, then so be it.
Thankfully, the Peacekeeper presence has died down somewhat in our District. After several uneventful weeks upon returning from the Victory Tour, it became clear that there were no immediate plans for rebellion in District 12, and the Peacekeepers redistributed accordingly. Though the Capitol must be relieved, I feel nothing but disappointment- there are no excited whispers in the streets, no feelings of electricity the moment you make eye contact with someone who you know has been recently updated on the rebellion and District 12's plans. Whatever is in motion for the rebellion next either hasn't spread yet to our district, or hasn't been thought of at all.
Since mother and Prim are the only ones that know my real state, and we feel more comfortable now having whispered conversations when we sneak off to various places (mother still refuses to say a word when we're at the house, so we've followed suit), we've discussed ad nauseam what we've decided so far will be the best story for Snow and the Capitol to explain my current state.
"You have to tell him that you miscarried, Katniss," Prim whispers matter-of-factly one afternoon as we peruse the fruit stand at the local market in the square. Prim squeezes an orange to test for juiciness. The orange obviously didn't pass, as she gives a somewhat disgusted sigh and plops the orange back onto the crate where it was sitting. She picks up another and does the same thing, thoughtful for a few moments before setting it back down.
"I guess so," I say uncertainly. It does sound like the most reasonable explanation, the one that will get me into the least trouble. Of course I wasn't lying to you before, President Snow. I really was pregnant then. I lost the baby right after the tour. Yes, I was devastated. But I'm pregnant again now! It didn't take long. Isn't that great? "But I've been wearing this the whole time," I mutter, making a general motion to my ample fake midsection.
"So?" Prim counters gently. "You need to tell him something convincing. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. You could say you were afraid of what would happen to you- which is true, after all."
I nod- she has a point. This has been the point of anxiety that over the last several weeks has only been growing. I am slowly approaching my "due date"- the date where if I had really been pregnant I would have given birth. What happens then? I haven't heard anything yet, but surely the Capitol will want to know what happens, how labor goes, how much the baby weighs, what we will name it, etc. They'll probably want to show my fake baby on TV and make snide comments about it. So to counteract all of those expectations, my story will not only need to be convincing, but it will need to be interesting. I'm just not sure that the miscarriage story accomplishes all of that. Then again, I hadn't thought of anything better.
I shrug, and we continue to explore the market. I had just been here a few hours ago, but Prim wanted to talk and so did I, so I ventured down here again. There isn't much different from the morning haul, but there are bushels of fresh sweet peas in the pod that have arrived over lunch, so I grab several large handfuls to put in a bag to snack on later. I had been craving them lately.
We are headed back to Victor's Village when I tell Prim I want to drop the peas off at the house. If Peeta and I didn't live so close I wouldn't have bothered, but only being a few houses down makes it too convenient to not quickly pop some of them in the refrigerator for tomorrow. Prim agrees to join me before we head back over to her place.
When we arrive the door is unlocked, so we let ourselves in, but I can hear sounds, muffled noises coming from the kitchen, so I gesture for Prim to stay where she is at the entryway and I immediately switch into hunter mode. I stealthily creep towards the source of the sound.
Peeta is sitting on a chair at our kitchen table, and Delly Cartwright sits on the chair next to him. They are leaning close to each other and talking in relatively hushed voices, and her hand is on his forearm as she whispers something in his ear that causes him to laugh heartily. His eyes shine and he flashes a brilliant smile before reciprocating with a whisper back and a couple of gentle fingers on her wrist.
Peeta and Delly aren't being physically intimate per se; what they are doing is something that many close friends would do, especially if they were worried that their conversations were being monitored. But it doesn't matter. As I stand there, frozen, unable to do anything but watch it happen, jealousy rips through me like a tornado. The irrational anger that I feel is indescribable. Peeta and I haven't been that close in over a month.
I decide at that moment- screw what Haymitch said. It's still true, of course- Peeta is way too good for me, and he always will be- that won't ever change. But I suddenly realize with absolute clarity that I don't care anymore. He was mine. I may have messed it up, but I want him back. I want him. I want him. People can get things that they want even when they don't deserve them, right? Well damn it, I've got to try.
I stand there sternly, arms folded over my chest, and after a few moments Delly looks up and sees me; she gives me a look of pure mortification. So quickly she almost knocks the chair over, she gets up and mumbles something to excuse herself before rushing past me (and Prim) out the door.
Peeta looks up with genuine shock, and though it is completely unjustified since he doesn't owe me anything, a little guilt. "Katniss," he breaths. "I- I- didn't expect you home so soon."
I nod brusquely, dropping the peas to the floor. And despite my wanting to wait for the right time to spring this on him, plan the perfect way to drop this kind of a bomb, I find I can't keep the words in my mouth.
"Peeta," I reply, "There's something I have to tell you."