It's Always Been You

Chapter Thirty Four; Again

"Happy seven months, Hunter Mellark" Peeta says, dancing around the room and holding Hunter in the air. I breathe heavily, staring at my son in his arms. Those words terrify me really-my son. It's scary to think about, so I try not to. I don't find happiness in much anymore but my son. But I'm afraid that if I hold him in my arms I'll damage him. Like I damage everything else that I touch.

I love my son, there's no feeling greater than the love I have for my son, but I can not ruin him like I have ruined myself.

"Katniss," Peeta says, holding Hunter towards me. "He needs fed." He tries to come close to me, putting his hand on my shoulder and leaning down for a kiss, Hunter wrapped around his hip. I move away swiftly, standing up and wiping a tear from my eye.

"There are bottles in the kitchen. Give him one of those," I demand, walking out of the room as I hear my son's tiny little screams bellowing through the hallway. I try to ignore them, despite how awful I feel. I walk until I reach the living room, and I sit on the couch, sipping a glass of straight whiskey, but hurriedly setting it down in panic.

"You know, for someone who can relate to me, you're a real shitty mentor." I hear a small voice behind me. Brinley is strong, that's for sure, but judging by her voice, you'd never know.

"I never had a good mentor and look where I am now." I say with a smirk, not bothering to turn my head.

"Your son keeps me up all night, you know? All that crying is really the worst." She laughs. "I hope you're a better mother than a mentor."

"I'm actually a terrible mother, so maybe I'm better at mentoring." I snap, pushing the glass of whiskey towards the other side of the table.

"I highly doubt that." Brinley says, confused with my outburst. "Still though, it's annoying. I only have two weeks until I probably die, you could at least control your little offspring."

She laughs out loud at her own comment, but it starts to disgust me. "I can't help it." I say softly. "Besides, next years tributes will have it worse, there will be two-"

I cut myself off with a gasp. That's the first person I've told.

I stumble down to the bathroom late at night, passing Peeta in the next room. He looks at me and ushers for me to come in, but I ignore his wishes.

I go towards the kitchen, hoping to find myself a drink. The doctors have told me I've got postpartum depression, but I just think I'm the worst mother on the planet. Peeta hates me, I'm sure my son hates me.

I drink my sorrows away, and the last thing I remember is waking up in the infirmary, an IV on my arm.

"Mrs. Mellark, it looks like you've gotten a stomach pump!" Haymitch laughs, sitting in the chair parallel to my bed. I bite my lip, closing my eyes. My headache is uncanny.

"Cmon, kid what're you doing to yourself?" He asks. "Is it that girl? Because Peeta is in there just wanting you to care for he and your son, and it's a losing battle."

"I'm sorry." I whisper.

"Then tell him that," Haymitch says, walking out of the room, almost running into the medic.

"Mrs. Mellark," the doctor says, holding a clipboard, which I assume is my vitals.

"Where's my husband?" I ask softly. "Does he know?"

"He does." The doctor says, sitting down. "We have something to discuss, though. Perhaps just with us?" He asks.

"Go ahead." I say, sitting up slightly. "What is it?"

"Mrs. Mellark, are you aware that you're pregnant?"

The events of that night too flash into my mind. The talk, the first time I let him kiss me in months...

"Katniss.." he whispered softly, caressing my body. "I just want things to be better with you." He kisses me softly, and holds me close.

"They will be," I whisper. Finally, I kiss him back, wanting to be in the arms of my husband once again.