It Started With a Cake

Ch11. Sleep

I'm awoken promptly by the nauseous feeling rising up my stomach, sending me quickly running to the bathroom.

It's happened much the same everyday this week, though I think today might be a new record for the fastest hitting.

As I spew last nights dinner into the toilet, I feel Peeta's embrace behind me. He's quick to pull my hair back as I let out another round, scratching and rubbing my back just like he does every time we go through this routine.

It isn't until it's fully come to a stop that I notice he's already fully dressed and it's then I vaguely remember him not being beside me when I woke up this morning. That combined with the smell coming from downstairs that is threatening another round of vomiting I put two and two together.

"I'm sorry" he surprisingly says first, I look to him with a look of confusion.

"Why are you sorry? I'm the one who should be sorry"

He laughs lightly but it holds a sense of pity, "I thought if I made myself some breakfast while you were asleep we could avoid this whole situation"

I shake my head reaching out my hand to place on his cheek, the light stubble he's yet to shave tickling my hand. "You couldn't have avoided it, even without the smell I would have vomited this morning" it's my turn to share a pitiful laugh, "I hate to say it but I think it'll be like this for a couple more weeks."

He frowns at that but nods.

"You go finish up" I tell him, letting him help me off the floor as he gets up himself.

"I'm going back to bed" I tell him finally, "but I could do with some fresh cheese buns when I wake up" I smile over at him, receiving a grin in return.

"I can do that" he leans over to kiss my forehead, "sleep well"

***

I manage to get a few more hours of sleep in but after that I'm once again awoken abruptly, this time from one of my usual nightmares.

I'm still catching my breath when I realise Peeta hasn't come running into the room like he usually would when I scream out from a nightmare. I know that I did scream because my throat still feels hoarse, yet he's not here beside me.

As my mind wanders over a million different possibilities I hear a crash downstairs, peaking the fear in my mind.

"Peeta?" I call out, hoping to hear him call back something in response, but I only get silence.

"Peeta!" I yell out again, only this time more frantic. When I get no response I'm racing to get the covers off myself, proving difficult in response to my thrashing earlier.

Once they're off I'm rushing down the stairs before I'm even thinking about it.

There's glass all over the floor I realise almost immediately, obviously in relation to the crash I heard. He's almost surrounded by it, holding a death grip on one of the dining room chairs that has been pulled away from the table.

"Peeta..." I can't help but whisper out to him, hoping that my voice can bring him back.

"You're okay; it's okay" he lifts his head up, turning slowly towards where I'm standing. When our eyes connect I'm alarmed to find his usual crystal blue eyes are clouded over, holding a rage in them that shakes me to my core.

"It's not okay" his words are cold. "Because you killed them"

"Peeta please"

"Tell me it's not real" he's almost spitting with rage, yet pleading with me at the same time.