The Hunger Games: Continued

Restless Reasoning

10 years later...

Katniss' POV

No.
This can't be right.

Sometimes it happens—irregularity. It happens to all women. It doesn't have to mean what I think it does. I'm overthinking.

And the sickness? Everyone gets sick. Probably something I ate.

I walk through the woods alone while Peeta works at the bakery. He asked me to stop by for breakfast this morning, but it's already noon. I should go. He'll be wondering.

But I can't. Not with this weight crushing me. I can't step into that bakery and pretend I'm content, because I'm not. I'm crumbling.

The leaves crunch beneath my boots. I grip my bow but change my mind. I didn't come here to hunt. Killing would only be a way of bleeding off stress, and that seems unfair—to kill something with no purpose.

I sit hard on a fallen log, hands raking through my hair. I can't, I can't, I can't. The thought circles like a mutt. I should take a test. I'm afraid it will confirm what I already know. I should take a test. Maybe it will tell me what I want to hear.

Before I know it, I'm running—through the woods, across the square, past the bakery and the butcher's—until I'm banging on Delly's door.

"Katniss! What's the matter?" she exclaims, pulling me inside. I hadn't even realised I was crying until she brushed away my tears.

With a warm cup of tea in hand, I tell her everything: the sickness, the lateness, my dread. She knows instantly.

"Oh, Katniss. Everything is going to be alright. Having Leo has been the best thing that's ever happened to me. The minute you bring a life into the world, you're consumed by unconditional love. It feels wonderful."

"I don't know. I don't think I'd be a good mother."

"I thought so too. And Leo's ten now, and he's incredible." Delly smiles, though her eyes flicker, knowing I'm not convinced. She rises, rummages in a drawer. "I have a test. I think you should take it."

And when it's done, when the truth is undeniable, I collapse into her arms and sob.

⸻

Back home, I wait. The phone rings. I don't answer.

It will be Peeta. Why wasn't I at the bakery? Why haven't I called? Why won't I pick up? But this isn't something I can tell him over the phone.

Seconds stretch into hours. I pace. I eat an apple. I sit. I stare at the phone as it chants its repetitive, infuriating ring. Maybe it's Annie. Maybe Dr. Aurelius. Maybe Haymitch. Who am I kidding? Only Peeta calls this many times.

The door creaks. The phone still rings. Peeta walks in, mobile in hand.

"Why haven't you been picking up? The phone is literally right in front of you." He sets his keys down, comes closer, worried eyes scanning me. "Where have you been all day? I've been worried."

He leans in and kisses me, and when we pull apart, I finally let the words out.

"Peeta..." My voice falters. He stiffens. "I have to tell you something."

"What is it?" His stutter, his searching eyes, his fear of bad news.

"I'm pregnant."