The Hunger Games: Continued

The Contrast Between Good And Evil

Katniss' POV

In this moment, he doesn't exist.
The boy with tortured blue eyes and a soul carved up by venom. The boy with scars that run so deep they've rewritten everything he's ever been and ever will be. The boy who visits me sometimes in jagged flashes — hating me, despising me, unable to love me back. That boy doesn't exist here, not now.

Only this one does.
The boy with innocent blue eyes and a radiant, beautiful soul. The boy with rosy cheeks and words that pierce me with their gentleness. The boy whose kindness rises from the depths of everything he's survived. The boy who loves me, wholly and without hesitation — and who I will love until there is nothing left of me.

The room holds its breath. The words — I'm pregnant — still float in the air like something sacred, as if they are the first and last words ever spoken. He doesn't answer. Instead he presses his forehead to mine, his eyes closed. I can feel only his breathing. I am aware of my own because I'm still alive, because he is still here.

"Tell me again," he breathes. Not speaks — breathes. "I'm ready this time."

"I'm pregnant, Peeta."

His response comes like a tide breaking. A sigh — half relief, half wonder. A smile — proud, disbelieving, radiant. His eyes glimmer like the sea in sunlight. "Okay," he says simply. That's all. And then his arms are around me, fierce, too tight. His hands cradle my face, and his kiss is deep, rougher than usual, but full of awe.

Later there will be panic. Later there will be trembling, fears of the birth, fears of the future. But not today. Today there is only this — the astonishment, the joy, the giddy overwhelm of knowing we have created something new.

The world has stopped turning. All that exists is him. He is all that I see.