Maybe It Can Be Real

Chapter 57

Ending of last chapter:

I place one of the cups in front of him, and put the other one in front of me. We both take a sip, then cringe at the taste. "Switch," we say simultaneously, sliding our cups to each other. Taking another sip, we say, "Better."

Peeta hasn't said anything about last night. Other than earlier, but that doesn't really count considering I brought it up. Is that normal? Is it normal for couples to not talk about it? I have no clue. I'll just go with the flow, I guess.

****

Please, dear God, no, I think to myself, taking a shaky hand and pushing my hair back. I haven't said anything to Peeta about it, but I've been feeling sick and throwing up right after I wake recently. I also skipped my menstrual cycle this month. Which can only mean one thing.

But I refuse to accept that.

Stripping my sticky-with-sweat clothes off, I hop into the shower, making sure the water is freezing cold. My head needs to be cleared from the rampant thoughts that are currently present. I scrub extra hard when it comes to washing my hair, hoping to get the thoughts out that way.

Once fully dressed again, and somewhat recuperated, I head downstairs, where I find Peeta in his studio. I give his shoulder a squeeze. "Hey, love." I've found that after the war was over, I started calling Peeta different nicknames. Truly, I never saw myself doing that, yet here I am.

"Good morning, beautiful," he replies with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"

I nod. "How about you?"

Sighing, he glances at his painting. It's a scene from the Quell. Me, in a ball on the forest ground, my hands covering my ears, my eyes squeezed shut. "Well, I've definitely slept better. A nightmare woke me up last night."

My eyes widening, I gasp, "Peeta! You're supposed to wake me when you get a nightmare!"

He looks sheepish. "You were sleeping so peacefully, though. And I know you haven't been feeling well the past couple days, so I wanted you to get your rest."

A red blush adorns my cheeks. I didn't think he knew about my morning sickness. I had wanted to keep it from him for now. I don't know if he suspects anything or not, but I'm praying he doesn't. Ignoring the last thing he said, I reply, "What am I going to do with you? From now on, you're going to wake me. No ifs, ands, or buts." This is non-negotiable.

He rolls his eyes playfully. "Fine, Mom."

Giving his shoulder another squeeze, I tell him, "I'm going to go out for a bit. I need some fresh air. I'll be back later."

"Be careful!", he calls out after me.

Grinning, I state, "Fine, Dad." I can hear his laughter echoing as I leave the house.

Now that I'm alone with my thoughts again, my stomach flutters with nervousness. I can't be pregnant! Thinking the word for the first time makes me double over in the middle of the street, earning me a few odd glances from the people around me. No one stops to see if I'm okay, though. In return, they receive a ferocious glare that isn't nearly as ferocious as I want it to be.

****

Sitting in the waiting room at the small doctor's office, I realize just how much I hate being here. Sick kids, frantic parents, bustling nurses. It's all overwhelming, which is not helpful today of all days.