The Nightmares Hidden in Dreams - A Hunger Games Fan Fiction

Okay?

I lie awake, staring into the darkness. Peeta's breathing beside me is slow, and I try to match my own breathing to it. But it doesn't work, I continue to inhale and exhale at a rate too quick to fully get the oxygen I need.

Something about the past few weeks has brought back the nightmares, the fear that I used to have before Peeta. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't because of the odd bug that I can't seem to shake.

Peeta has only woken to some of my nightmares, so he doesn't know the full gravity of my stress. And I don't want to burden him with them.

I focus on just Peeta's breathing, let my chest rise and fall in tandem with his. His arms, which are cinched around me, tighten involuntarily, pulling me closer, keeping me from leaving him.

Ordinarily, his arms are a comfort, like a barrier that keeps any bad thing from coming close to me. But I feel suffocated by them tonight. It's too hot, my breathing is quickening again, I feel the pressure in my gut.

My mouth rapidly floods with saliva. I close my lips tightly and panickedly pull free from Peeta's arms as gently as I can manage. I rush to the bathroom. With the door still open, I begin to throw up yet again.

My eyes start to tear up, and I shut them tightly, trying to pretend as though I'm anywhere but here.

I finally manage to stop heaving. My throat feels raw and scratchy, my stomach still hurts, and my legs are trembling. I sink to the floor and pull my knees to my chest, trying to get more air into my lungs. I get the uncanny feeling that I'm being watched. My gaze travels to the open door, and I flinch at the sight of the silhouette of a man standing just inside. I relax when I realize it's just Peeta, but then my heart rate picks up again. He must know, he saw me, or at least heard me emptying my stomach.

I'm so thirsty, my mouth is too dry. I swallow with difficulty. "I didn't mean to wake you," I whisper, as if speaking quietly will undo the damage and make Peeta fall back asleep, his memory of this gone.

He flips the light switch, and I blink a few times to adjust to the brightness. There's no hiding the pallor of my face, the dark circles under my eyes.

"Are you okay?" He steps closer, but for once I want him to stay away. For him to see me like this, weak, goosebumps on my skin from the cold tile, eyes drooping from the fatigue of my many sleepless nights, it hurts. I know that he's already seen me at my worst, but this feels different somehow. Like I'm helpless.

I hesitate, lick my lips. I can't lie to him. I've never been able to. He always sees right through me.

"...I don't know." I let my head sink, avert my gaze from Peeta's, ashamed.

His footsteps come closer, until he's crouched beside me. With a steady hand, he touches the side of my face and turns it back towards him.

"How long has this been going on?" His voice is all gentleness, but I can tell that he's worried, more than he'll ever let me know.

Once again, I pause, wishing that he didn't need to know the truth. "A couple of weeks."

At that, he stands up abruptly and begins to pace the small bathroom. He runs a hand through his blond curls, worsening his bed head. He's agitated now, frustrated.

"Why didn't you say something, Katniss?" Peeta exclaims.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," I respond. But that's obviously the wrong answer.

"Of course it's a big deal. Everything about you is a big deal to me." I can see that he's angry, not necessarily at me, but at the fact that I said nothing, that I chose not to confide in him. He's hurt, and I'm anguished by the fact that I made him feel that way.

I have to fix this, make him see that nothing's wrong, that I wasn't keeping anything important from him. This is inconsequential, a bug, albeit a lengthy one, that will eventually come and go.

"I should've told you, and I'm sorry. I just thought it would go away by now. But I feel fine as of right now, there's nothing to worry about." My own words do nothing to appease my own concerns, but I try to keep that from showing on my face.

It's his turn to hesitate now. He reads my expression as though I'm a book, one he's read a thousand times.

"I still think you should get checked out, just to make sure." I begin to protest but Peeta cuts me off, "Will you at least let your mother check on you? We're visiting her next week for your birthday anyway."

Begrudgingly, I agree. As stubborn as I am, I know that Peeta won't budge on this stance. And maybe it is a good thing to have my mother affirm that everything is okay. Maybe that will be enough to quiet my own fears.

Maybe I'll finally get a full night's sleep again.

I stand up, trying to hide my shakiness. I grab Peeta by the hand and pull him back to bed. He tugs me to him, enclosing me in his arms again. He falls asleep in a matter of minutes, but I remain awake.

What if I'm not okay?