A/N: Philosophy paper, you can just go suck it…
August 8
3:48am
The phantom lights and voices are slowly retreating. The backs of my eyelids glow red as if light is shining on me. I open my eyes to the soft illumination of the lamp on the bedside table. The rails on the sides of the hospital bed cast tall shadows on the wall.
For a moment, I'm disoriented. I defensively pull the blankets up to my chin.
"When were you going to tell me?" I jump at the sound of his voice. Haymitch is sitting in the chair at the foot of the bed.
I push myself up into a halfway seated position. "Tell you what?" I ask, my voice rough and sleepy.
Haymitch leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "About the baby," he says. "I thought it was a joke."
It takes me a moment to remember the stupid statement Peeta had dropped during his interview before the Quell. "It was," I say. "It is."
"Fuck it, Katniss," Haymitch snaps, dropping his chin into his hands. "Don't try to hide it now."
"What? Hide—what?" I ask indignantly. "I'm not—"
"Do you seriously not know?" Haymitch ask with an air of disbelief. He sits back and laughs humorously. "You're knocked up, sweetheart."
"I'm not," I say again.
"Yeah, 'cause you're a virgin, right?" Haymitch rolls his eyes. I'm not, but it seems somehow irrelevant. "You had a blood test yesterday," he continues.
"Yeah," I nod. "For antibodies or something. To make s going to sure I'm not going to breed diseases when I move out of this shithole." I gesture at the hospital room around me.
"Yeah, but that doesn't matter," Haymitch answers quickly. "The last test you had said your hormones were whacked, and this one just confirmed that you're—" He gestures at my stomach.
"I'm not!" I yell. How the hell could I be pregnant?
I know perfectly well how. When a man and a woman have unprotected sex, there is a possibility of pregnancy. But I don't think of Peeta as a man, and I'm definitely not a woman. But we'd still… And now I'm…
I put my hands over my face so I don't have to look at Haymitch. "Fuck," I sigh.
"Yeah," says Haymitch. "I thought you were smart enough to use this mess to your advantage and stay out of it for real. Why the hell did you even do it?"
"I don't know," I mutter. "We both thought we'd be dead in a week." I'm beginning to feel angry.
"So it is his," Haymitch says.
"Yeah, who else's would it be?" I shoot back.
"How the hell am I supposed to know?" he asks heatedly "All I know is that it's not mine."
"You're disgusting," I spit.
"No more than you are, Sweetheart," Haymitch says, matching my tone.
I slump back against my pillows and let out my breath. I look down at my abdomen, which bears no indicators that there is a life growing inside of it. I'm pregnant. What did I do? What does this mean for me? "Who all knows?" I ask
"Dr. what's-her-name. Coin. Plutarch," answers Haymitch.
"Right," I say. "And what are they going to do?"
"Protect you. Hole you up somewhere and fatten you up so you can crank out a perfect little victor baby. Take films of you and broadcast them on national television. I don't know," Haymitch says, "But they're defiantly going to use this to their advantage."
Something in my mind won't click. "They want me to be pregnant? I mean, stay pregnant?" I ask, slightly confused.
"Uh, yeah. Why wouldn't they?" he replies. "You don't want—"
"Yeah, I do," I say, scrambling to sit up. "Just get rid of it. I don't want to do this right now. I'm too young. I'm too…I don't know. Involved," I say. "I want to get my head back on straight and go take down the Capital."
"But you can't." Haymitch insists.
"I'm not stupid, Haymitch!" I bellow. "I know what an abortion is. I know they can do it. Hell, people do it with coat hangers in back alleys in the seam. All this fancy medical equipment, they can do it here."
"You can't!" He says again. "They won't do it. If there's one thing they take more seriously here than the war, it's fertility. You know about the pox. You know how low the birth rate is here. With a baby made from two healthy kids, they'd never do it."
"And what about what I want?" I assert. "Does that even matter."
Haymitch gives a sinister chuckle. "Of course not, Sweetheart. It'll be the child of the mockingjay, the child of two victors. You gave up your free will the minute you walked out of that arena the first time." He shakes his head. "And the entire country already thinks you're pregnant anyway. It really doesn't hurt that you actually are."
"Hey, that was a mistake," I say. "What if I wasn't pregnant? They'd tell the country something. That I miscarried or something like that. Why can't we just do that?"
"Sweetheart," Haymitch says. He's starting to get exasperated with me. "They just won't."
"But—Goddamnit!" I let out. I drag my knees up to my chest under the blankets and slam my hands onto the bed at my sides. "Fuck."
I shut my eyes and seethe for a minute. Then Haymitch speaks up again. "So, how so you want to tell them?"
"What?" I ask, squinting at him. "Tell who?" It's amazing how one piece of information can completely overwhelm my mind.
"God, Sweetheart," Haymitch says, "I don't know. Your mom, your sister, Finnick, Gale…"
"I don't want to think about it," I mumble, pulling my fingers through my tangled hair.
"Well, you've got to do it anyway," he says. "Now that your tests are confirmed, there's no getting around it. You tell who you want how you want, or someone else is going to do it for you."
"Yeah," I sigh. Haymitch stands to leave. "Wait!" I say.
"What do you want?"
"A drink," I say. "Anything to scrub my brain."
"No can do, Sweetheart," Haymitch chuckles. "My neck would be on the line if the baby comes out warped." He continues toward the door.
"Don't leave, then," I whisper.
Haymitch sighs. "Okay. Fine." He clicks off the lamp before returning to the chair. "I'm not looking at you, though."
"Fine," I say back.
I lean against the pillows and stare at the ceiling, listening to Haymitch breathe from across the room. I'm pregnant. I'll never be able to fight. I'll never be able to get Peeta back from the Capital. My life will never be what I want.
What I want. I don't want this. How far along could I be? Three weeks? Maybe? The fetus would be smaller than my thumbnail. Aborting it wouldn't really be killing it, would it? It would be the best option. For me and the baby. I would never love it. It'll just end up being another thing Coin can use to control me.
I must have drifted off eventually, because I open my eyes to a brightly lit room and my mother negotiating a tray of breakfast onto my lap. Haymitch is still in the chair at the foot of the bed, rubbing his eyes.
My mother glances at him. "You spent the night together?"
"No!" I immediately snap, even though it's technically true.
Haymitch yawns. "I think I'll go," he says and makes for the door. He exits just as Prim enters with an armful of clean sheets.
"Fuck," I say under my breath.
"Katniss!" my mother admonishes.
"Sorry," I say. "I just—I have—something I need to tell you." I look at Prim. She's so young. Chaste. But not naïve. And not stupid.
She sets the bedding on Haymitch's chair and comes to stand beside our mother. They both look expectantly at me. "I…" I start. I can't tell them. I can't. "I'm having Peeta's…" Baby. I can't force out the word. I change tact again. "I'm pregnant."
My mother brings a hand up to cover her mouth. Her eyes are wide and wet. Prim is grinning, though. She claps her hands together, then grasps my arm. "A baby!" Prim squeals.
She's actually excited. I feel nauseous. "Yeah," I force out.
"A baby," my mother whispers. She looks like she either wants to laugh or start yelling at me. I know how she feels. I've made the mistake no one wants their daughter to make. But for whatever reason, women get so happy at the thought of a baby entering the world. Just not me.
"Yeah," I whisper. I don't tell them that I don't want to keep it. Neither one would understand. My mother and Prim wrap me in their arms, kiss me, and stroke my hair.
When they let me go, I find that I can't meet their eyes. "What do you need, Katniss?" my mother asks.
"Can you get Gale?" I ask in a small voice. My eyes are flooding with tears. She nods and leaves the room.
Prim stays and tries to get me to eat breakfast. "No, stop!" I say as she starts to pour maple syrup on my oatmeal. "I need butter or cheese or something." She laughs at me, then finally agrees to try to fulfill my request.
Prim's barely left when Gale appears in my doorway. "Gale," I whisper. He sits on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry," I say. Tears are pouring down my face. "I don't want it." He folds me into his strong arms so I can cry into his shoulder. "I'm just so sorry."
A/N: Reviews feed my muse! And I'd buy you all Starbucks if I could.
I'll try to have the final chapter up by Monday.