Chapter Four

I stare at the screen, my mouth hanging open, my eyes wide.

Me.

He loves me.

How?

Why?

When?

I don't know how to react to this. I'm shocked - too shocked to think. Does everybody expect me to stand up and admit that I return his feelings. I guess that's what they want.

Except I don't return his feelings.

I've only ever thought of Gale as a hunting partner, a friend... like a brother. We're so alike; stubborn and selfish. Together, we'd be like a raging fire, ruining everything around us. We're not right for each other.

I drag my eyes from the screen and look at the others in the room, all of which are staring at me, waiting for my reaction. I open my mouth to say something - anything - and then start laughing. I laugh so hard that fat tears roll down my cheeks and I'm clutching my stomach because I'm laughing so hard that it hurts.

As the tears continue to fall, my crazy laughter comes to an abrupt stop. The tears continue to trail down my skin, but I am no longer crying because of the hysterical laughter that had taken over my thin frame just moments ago.

I am crying for a lot of reasons. I have had to hold my emotions in for so long. It seems that I am always the strong one, holding it all in so I don't burden anyone else. I didn't know that keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself would make me feel this way.

"Me," I speak, my voice small and vulnerable. "Why has it got to be me?"

Nobody answers my question, even though I don't expect them to. My mind is racing, all these things building up and up. It's like I have an endless list of problems.

"He loves me. Why? What am I going to say to him? The Capitol is going to expect me to jump into his arms when he gets home! He has ruined everything! Why did he say that? Damn you, Gale!"

I jump to my feet, my arms wrapped tightly around my tummy, as if I am hugging myself. Painful cramps torture my stomach and my head feels heavy. I feel so exhausted. I just want to go to sleep.

"Calm down, Katniss," Prim says as she takes my hand. "You two have been friends for so long that we've always assumed that you both felt the same way."

I shake my head. "I don't love him like that," I whisper. "What do I do now?"

"You tell him the truth," Prim says.

"But he'll be heartbroken," I mutter, feeling terrible.

"He'll be fine," Hazelle speaks up.

"Why did he have to announce it to the whole of Panem? Everyone is just going to expect me to jump into his arms," I say. "When does he come home?"

"In two days," Hazelle replies, looking at me with pity.

"I can't greet him at the station, not with hundreds of people and cameras watching me tell him that I don't feel the same way. That wouldn't be fair to him. Tell him... I don't know. Tell him to come pay me a visit," I say, before I quickly leave the room, not being able to handle the sad faces that stare at me.

I climb the stairs quietly, tears still on my cheeks. Once I reach my bedroom, I crawl into bed and bury my face into my pillow as I yell my frustration into the fabric. How can someone so young have so much bad luck? My father died when I was a child, my mother became depressed, meaning I had to become the adult figure, a stupid mistake results in an unwanted pregnancy, and then I find out that my best friend is in love with me.

My life is an endless nightmare.

Those few moments in the woods when Gale would touch my hand or place an arm around my shoulders to guide me, I thought were him giving me a helping hand - not loving gestures.

Gale always voiced what he wanted for the future; a wife, children, a good job, the Hunger Games finally coming to an end. All along he must have assumed those things would happen with me. However, I don't want marriage, or children. The thought brings me back to my current situation and I choke on a sob.

What is Gale going to say once he finds out? Cameras are going to be displayed around the District, watching every move, broadcasting anything exciting to the whole of the nation. People are going to want to see me. People are going to think that I'm carrying Gale's baby. I scream into my pillow. It seems like nothing is ever going to be normal again.

I wish I hadn't slept with Peeta Mellark the night of the reaping! At least then I wouldn't be carrying a mistake. That will solve a few problems. A baby just means there is another mouth to feed, another person to worry about as it grows older and starts attending the reaping. Just the thought of Prim going into the arena is enough for me to want to scream... but if it's my child...

What then? What would I do?

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't feel my eyes droop, my breathing steady, as I drift off into a slumber...

I'm running through the forest as fast as my legs will carry me. I can hear footsteps behind me and I look to find a large frame looming above me, holding a knife in his hand. "Give up, 12! Only one can win and it's going to be me," the male tribute yells, his wide, evil eyes staring straight into mine.

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. I'm in the arena.

"You can kill me if you can catch me," someone retorts, and I realise that the person who spoke is actually me... Except that isn't my voice. I'm somebody else, in another body. But whose?

I turn on my heel and run even faster in the opposite direction, looking for a tree that will be easy to climb. I run for what seems like forever. I'm becoming slower and slower, and I know I won't be able to last much longer. I look around at my surroundings as I run and a tall tree catches my eye. It looks sturdy enough to climb. I use my last embers of energy to reach the tree. I start to climb when I sense something or someone behind me - then a searing pain resonates through me as cold metal breaks through my skin.

I scream and lose my footing, my small frame falling to the ground below. The pain is excruciating. The male tribute runs to my side and pulls the deadly knife from my back. He then flips me over and straddles my waist.

"I've got you now, 12," the boy laughs, before wiping the blood on the knife in his shirt. He presses the weapon against my throat as I try wriggling out from under him. "I'm going to make this as painful as possible for you!"

"No!" I scream, before I spit in his face. The action only angers him more and he presses the knife further against my skin, preparing to land the blow that will kill me - whoever 'me' is.

The male tribute laughs and lifts the knife from my throat, the shiny silver of the metal catching my eye. I see my reflection in the surface and I watch as the striking, blue eyes that I see widen in surprise.

The girl in the shiny surface looks just like me; with long, dark hair pulled into a braid, a straight nose, plump lips. However, her other features - her blue eyes, pale skin, strong jaw - resemble another familiar person I know.

I nearly choke on a sob as I realise who the girl is, who I am in this horrific nightmare.

My daughter.

I don't have time to fight the male tribute before the knife he holds penetrates my stomach. He pulls it out as the girl screams in agony.

"Mother!" she yells. "Help me!"

I bolt upright in bed, sobs wracking my trembling body.

"Katniss," somebody whispers and I look up to find my mother at the side of the bed.

She must've heard me from downstairs and had come to see what's wrong.

"I'm okay," I choke out, yet my tears prove that I am lying. Cramps torture my stomach and my whole body feels like I have been set on fire. I feel all hot and sweaty and sick. I breathe deeply as I try to catch my breath. "I'm fine. It was just a nightmare. I'm going to go wash up."

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands and then pull back the bedcovers, only to gasp at the sight in front of me.

Blood.

Everywhere.

My eyes widen and I can feel my hands start to shake as I stare at the bloody blankets and soaked sheets.

"Get up," my mother orders, and it takes a few seconds before I can force myself to look at her, not knowing what to say. "I'll put Prim in my bed tonight and I'll get rid of the sheets."

I nod, unable to say anything in reply. I don't know what to think, what to do, what to say. I swallow hard and stand up, clutching my stomach with shaky hands.

I know what this means. I've wanted this ever since I found out that I was pregnant.

Yet, suddenly, all I feel is guilt.

I'm just like Snow.

I'm just like the male tribute in my dream.

I killed a child.

My baby.

It's all my fault. I must have done something wrong. All I had to do was protect the baby in my stomach for nine months, and I couldn't even do that. I stumble into the bathroom, sick rising in my throat.

I get to the toilet just in time as I empty the contents of my stomach. This can't be happening. Maybe this doesn't mean what I think it does.

But what else could it be?

I wonder if mother knows. She's had to deal with patients who have had miscarriages before. She must know what's going on.

I slowly stand after I'm sure the sickness has passed and I pull the chain to clean the toilet. I turn to the wash basin and find it full with water. Mother and Prim must have already washed up and left it in for me. I strip out of my bloody clothes and lower myself into the cold water. I feel terrible. The bath water instantly turns red and a sob escapes from my mouth.

I sit in the cold and bloody water with my head in my hands, before my mother walks hesitantly into the room. Normally, I would send her out, but modesty is the last thing of my mind at the moment. I hear a small sigh come from my mother before she tells me to stand up.

I once again do as she says, stepping out of the water and onto the wooden floor. She then carries the basin from the room, most likely emptying it outside. She comes back a few minutes later and places the basin back on the ground. She leaves the room several times; each time coming back in with a jug of hot water. Once she believes there is enough water present, she orders me to stand in the basin while she pours the jugs of water over my quivering frame.

All I can think is that a few hours ago I wished I wasn't carrying a baby and now all I feel is guilt.

"Katniss," my mother whispers and I lift my eyes to meet hers. She knows. I can see it in her eyes. She doesn't look angry. She looks tired. As soon as I am clean, I step out of the tub and she wraps a worn towel around me, before she guides me back into the bedroom.

"I…" I start, but trail off, not knowing what I could possibly say to her.

"We'll talk in the morning," she whispers as she pulls back the fresh bedcovers.

I swallow hard and nod my head before sliding into the bed, not bothering to dress. Mother pulls the covers over me, tucking me in like she did when I was little, and kisses my forehead.

My mind drifts off into a what-could-have-been dream and tears well up in my eyes once again as I wonder if I would've tucked my child in, too.