Maybe It Can Be Real

Chapter 53

Ending of last chapter:

"Peeta," I whisper, not able to finish my sentence due to the fact that I'm still crying hysterically.

He stands up, pulling me with him. His thumbs brush away my tears, his lips pressed to my forehead. His arm slides across my shoulders to lead me back to the house. We walk back in silence. An awkward silence, at best.

I notice that for the rest of the night and the next couple days, he has trouble meeting my eyes.

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Biting my lip, I glance over at Peeta as he paints diligently at his easel. His tongue peeks out of his mouth and his eyebrows crinkle in concentration. The brush delicately glides across the canvas, turning it from a barren desert into an oasis of colors.

The tension between us is massive - we haven't really touched other than a kiss here and there or comforting one another after a nightmare. We don't even fall asleep cuddled together. And I hate it.

Deciding that I'm going to go nuts here soon if I don't leave, I stand up rather abruptly. Peeta quickly looks over at me, giving me a small smile. I return it in a half-hearted attempt. "I'm going to go visit my father's grave, Peeta," I tell him, giving his shoulder a squeeze as I pass him on my way out.

He catches my hand as I walk away, holding it for a second. It makes my breath catch; I miss his touch so much. So, so much. "All right. Be safe, Katniss. I love you."

Sending him a real smile, I reply. "I always am. You know that. I love you too."

He rolls his eyes, a grin playing at his lips. "Always safe? Katniss Mellark? Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"

Laughing, I throw a, "Bye, Peeta," over my shoulder as he releases my hand and I walk away.

Some of the weight has lifted off my shoulders from our short exchange. Maybe this is finally passing, we can finally go back to normal, go back to the us before he asked for a child. But I still want to visit my father's grave.

The short walk to the cemetery in the fresh air clears my head, making it easier to think. I've been cooped up in the house for a few days now, crowded by the awkward tension between me and Peeta. It's nice to get away from that.

Settling down onto the grass before my father's grave, I let out a sigh, brushing off the stray leaves and blades of grass from the tombstone. I should visit here more often. I don't want it to get this dirty inbetween visits.

"Hey, Dad," I breathe out. "How are you doing?", I ask, knowing I won't get an answer but desperately wishing I was.  Rubbing my face, I half-laugh, half-cry, "I wish you could answer me, cause I have gotten myself into a..... situation, you could say. I could really use your advice right about now.

"Peeta asked me if we could have a child the other day. I told him no. Very rudely, actually. Ever since then there's been this cold chill between us that we can't seem to shake. I want him back more than anything in the world, but I don't think I can do that unless I give in to what he wants. And there's no way I'm doing that."

Dropping my voice to a strained whisper, I say, "I'm so scared I ruined us. I don't want to live the rest of my life with him yet not with him at the same time. I don't want to spend the rest of my life near him but not able to love him or be loved by him as we did."

Steepling my fingers together, I rest my chin on my fingers. My tears fall silently down my face and drip onto the tombstone, making the dirt turn into mud. "But Peeta wants children so badly. He would be, without a doubt, the best father in the world - well, tied with you, obviously. Just look at how he acts with Finn when we see him. It's an amazing thing to watch, honestly. I feel indebted to give children to him, but I just won't agree to it.

"The Games shaped me like this, I know. It's just.... the fear of something happening to my children overwhelms me. It makes me feel like there's a massive sack of flour just sitting on my chest. I know the Games are over and Snow is long dead, but this fear is permanent in me, I think. I don't think I'll ever get over it."

Wiping away my tears, I say,"So, the whole reason for my spiel was to ask you a question. What do you think I should do?" I'm answered by the wind blowing through the trees, the birds chirping in the sky, the mockingjays singing sweet tunes in the forest.

Overcome with sadness and frustration, I sink forward until my forehead is pressed into his tombstone. Small, choked sobs escape me, my breath fanning out over the stone. Sometimes I just wish that I could be done with all of this, be wherever we go after we die, be with Prim and my father and all my other loved ones that I lost.

Usually at this point Peeta comes to my rescue and holds me in his arms, reminding me of why I'm supposed to be here and that I need to live out my life in remembrance of those who couldn't live out theirs. But he's not here right now, so I have to do it myself.

To do this, I go through memories of people doing good acts in order to help someone else. I try and steer clear of memories tainted by the Games and the war, but sometimes they slip into my thoughts. Peeta giving fresh bread to the poorer people of the district. A factory worker helping a small girl find her family when they got separated. Finnick sacrificing himself for the rest of us to escape the sewers in the Capitol. Thom carrying a load of groceries for an older gentleman.

Most of them tend to be small things, but acts of kindness nonetheless.

Sitting back up, composed now, I look at my little duck's tombstone. "What do you think I should do, Prim?" Of course, I don't get an answer from her either, but I wish I could. She was so wise for her age. More wise than I'll ever be.

Breathing out deeply, I know what their answers would be. They would tell me to do whatever I thought was best. They would tell me that Peeta loves me no matter what, and he will respect my choice, even if it hurts him to do so.

But I don't want to hurt him. He doesn't deserve to be hurt.

But I also don't want to hurt myself. Selfish, I know, but I don't want to put myself through that. And once I say yes, there's no going back. I also don't want to put my child through it. I would be a horrible mother to them. They wouldn't want me.

Standing up and wrapping my arms around myself, I bid goodbye to their graves, promising to be back soon. I start heading back to the house, desperately and foolishly hoping that Peeta has totally forgotten about our predicament so we can be the normal us again.

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Shoot straight and be brave my fellow lovelies,
Weezabeth <3