Ashes Blow Away

Chapter Seventeen

Hey guys!

I cannot believe that I am actually writing chapter seventeen of 'Ashes Blow Away'!
Everyday I wake up so grateful for my small but loyal fan base!
It means so much that you guys repeatedly vote and comment, though I did lose a lot of voters in the past few chapters of all of my books. . .

Anyway, thank you so much!

- realornotreal_real.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: NIGHTMARES

What happens over the next few months is incredible.

I get bigger everyday, and while Peeta comments on how beautiful pregnancy is on me, Haymitch calls me fat repeatedly.

One day, when I visit him to give him dinner, he calls me 'as big as a barn' and I tell him he's a no-good-drunk and throw his dinner on the floor, storming home.

When Peeta sees me sitting in front of the fire at home, he asks, " What has he done now?"

" He called me 'as big as a barn'," I grumble.

Peeta leaves and returns ten minutes later, handing me three bottles of liquor. I can't help but pick up his slightly bruised knuckles.

" Had to wrestle him for these," he explains, following me to the kitchen.

" Couldn't have been to hard," I mutter, beginning to tip the contents of the bottles down the sink.

" Well," Peeta says, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his palms on my bump, " he's surprisingly strong when he's drunk."

Other than infrequent incidents like this, my life is spectacularly happy. When Peeta is not baking, he spends the majority of his time painting or sketching me, until there are hundreds of them. One day, he makes me look through them and pick out my favourite.

Coincidently, my favourite is somewhat natural. I am looking out the window, wearing a sweater that is multiple sizes too large for me, my hair cascading down my back in matter waves. In one hand, I am cradling a mug of tea, and my other hand is resting atop my swollen belly absentmindedly.

" Why is that your favourite?" he asks.

" I don't know," I say, shrugging. " I guess it's because it just doesn't look forced."

Peeta smiles lopsidedly. " You really are full of surprises, Katniss Mellark."

" I don't know how," I tell him, taking a sip of tea. " Everyone is always saying how predictable I am."

" Except when you're not."

Even though the statement makes absolutely no sense, I find myself nodding in agreement.

" Except when I'm not."

I still have moments of crippling fear, no longer do I topple to the ground because of them, but they're pretty bad. Peeta says it will be okay - we have each other, and the book, but I know better. I know I can only be as strong as I have to be, and right no, curling up in a ball and never moving again seems pretty good.

Fun.

Around the start of my third trimester, everyone visits. They bring toys and other colourful gifts, and refer to the baby as a "she". It seems everyone wants this baby to be a girl, including me.

My life is going well, and then everything goes down hill.

" Peeta," I call, my hands gripping onto the bathroom sink so hard that my knuckles go white.

" Yeah?" He calls from downstairs.

" H-help," I plead, pausing to look down at my seven month pregnant belly and gasp, " it hurts."

A moment later, Peeta enters the room in a full blown sprint.

" It hurts," I repeat agonisingly as I fall to the floor, clutching my stomach. I grasp his feet as I scream and cry and plead and-

I wake up with a blood-curdling scream. Peeta stirs, rolls over, taking in the blank expression on my face. I sit up, panting heavily, too disgusted with myself to even roll into Peeta's arms.

I could've saved her. But I didn't. I lost her.

The dream was so vivid it could've been real.

It still could be.

I yank my tee shirt over my belly, ignoring the way Peeta says my name, and sigh as I see my seven month pregnant belly.

Peeta pulls me into his embrace and I do not enjoy it. I feel empty, cold.

" Katniss?" he tries again.

" What?" I snap. I want to shout at him, to tell him that the world does not revolve around him, but I know I wouldn't mean it. I shouldn't be angry with him, it's just. . . well, the pregnancy.

He frowns at me. " Nothing."

He rolls himself so his back faces me and tucks himself under the covers.

I didn't realise growing up would hurt so much. If I'd known, I might've just stayed young and broken forever. But now, with a life in my hands, I am not free to break. I want to, but I can't.

I take a moment before finding Peeta's hands under the cover. It is better than talking, because talking makes you wonder what exactly the person is lying about. So, when we don't say I love you that night, it's okay.

Peeta knows what I need. I need the silence, a moment to recognise that everything is okay, that I am okay.

And he gives me just that.