The pain was unbearable. Every single second worse than the last. As horrible as it is, I remember thinking, Please just make it stop, I give up. Just kill me. Of course, I never said those words aloud, for the sake of Peeta. But that didn't stop me from screaming obscenities while practically crushing Peeta's hand to a pulp. For a while, I thought that I was going to die. At one point, I began seeing shadowy shapes. I honestly believed that I had been injected with tracker jacker venom. It was when the pain turned to numbess, when I heard her high pitched shreik, when I saw her precious rosy face, I knew I must be hallucinating. Nothing, no human or creature, has ever looked so beautiful than she did in that moment. Maybe I had been hallucinating, maybe I still am. Maybe she looks so perfect through only my eyes and Peeta's because she is new and innocent and fragile. She is ours.
Peeta hasn't cried once since the night I screamed at him for leaving me. Until he saw her; his new baby girl. I've always known how desperately he has wanted a child, but I'm not sure even he has ever truly been able to imagine what it feels like to hold her, knowing that you have brought her to life, that she is completely dependent on you. Nothing I have ever experienced, or will experience for that matter, can match up to it. Holding her is like holding real, tangible hope in my very own arms. Until that moment, I have never realized how much I truly wanted her, that sense of comfort and hope.
I can hardly open my eyes, but I hear it. I hear the cries, the ones that make my heart swell up with joy. I barely manage a small smile, fatigue crushing me and making me utterly immobile. When I do muster up the energy to open my eyes, I see that Peeta is standing above me, a bundle of pastel pink blankets cocooned in his arms. I know that in those blankets my newborn daughter lies, snuggled up close to her daddy's heart. Another smile stretches across my cheeks and I raise my limp hand to his strong arm. He slowly kneels down beside me and carefully places her in my arms. I shift the cloth blankets away from her face. I immediately burst into tears. It isn't that I'm afraid or unhappy. No, it is that I'm overjoyed. I am in absolute awe of her.
I've only ever held a baby twice in my life. The first time, when I was five, I held baby Prim. Of course, she wasn't a newborn. I had just turned five a few weeks before Prim was born. I remember being terrified for my mother, so much so that I ran out into our old neighbor's house and refused to come out until Prim arrived. I wasn't allowed to hold her for a while, as she was tiny and fragile, much like Willow is now, but after about four months of keeping my distance from the alien creature who had taken her place in my home, I picked her up in my skinny five year old arms and I held my baby sister for the first time. Of course, I've held her a countless amount of times since then. Even as a twelve year old, when she had nightmares at night, she would go to me as her first source of comfort and I would hold her tightly in my arms and sing her back to sleep.
The second time was when Annie and the little seven month old Finn came to District 12 to visit. For a long time, I was hesitant of Finn, afraid of hurting him or doing something wrong. I couldn't bear the thought of it, so I stood by quietly as Peeta rocked him in his arms and planted soft kisses on his round baby cheeks. Eventually, though, I did manage enough courage to pick him up, though it was only for a minute or so. I couldn't help but see Finnick in his emerald green eyes, so I had to give him back to Peeta before I burst into tears.
Now, I hold Willow, though this is different. I loved Prim, and I love Finn too, but not in this way. Never in this way. Now I understand the love and pride that is constantly shining as bright as the stars in Annie's eyes when she looks at her son. I understand the way my mother and father used to look at me. And the way Gale looks at his children. Finally, I understand. And I'm sure I'm doing it too. I'm sure that I have the same look in my eyes, my eyes in which my tears are still flowing from. But I don't mind them, I don't brush them away. They remind me that although so many tears have been shed before, over all of the people that I never got to thank, never got to tell that I loved one last time, these tears are good. They have washed away the pain and the sorrow and have replaced those horrible things with happiness. Because I am happy.
I thought, for so long, that I would never be happy again. I thought that I would never be able to claw my way from that wretched black hole, and I would be stuck there for the rest of my life. But I have. And here I am now. Instead of being responsible for taking away lives, I am finally responsible for creating one. And I can't possibly think, after all of these years, of a better way to forgive myself and to lessen some of the guilt that has been put on my shoulders.
When I look at Peeta, I see the certain sparkle in his eyes. I brush away the tears on his own face, and he moves his head to kiss my palm, like he did when we were in the arena. Oh, how we've come so far. It's as if I have memories of a different person. How, not long ago, was I even considering taking those nightlock pills, which are now locked away deep into a cabinet in the basement of our home? How, just several months ago, were Peeta and I fighting? The entire thing seems foolish now. Because look at what we have accomplished, what we have created.
Though I'm struggling to keep my eyes open, I still manage to raise my head enough for my lips to meet his. "She's so beautiful, Katniss. You both are. You did it," he whispers, pushing a sweaty strand of dark hair behind my ear.
"We did it, Peeta," I reply before softly planting the first kiss that my baby girl will ever experience on her forehead. We did it.
HIIIIIIII!!!!
Okay, I know, again, it's been forever. But at least I didn't take two months to update this time. . . ha. . .ha. . .ha. . . Anyways, Mockingjay is in like 11 days and oH mY gOd. Actually going to die. Not even kidding. Anyway, I have recently found out that in the movie version of the epilogue, Katniss and Peeta's kids will be played by Jennifer Lawrence's nephews. NO THAT'S NOT A TYPO. NEPHEWS. Yep, that's right folks, we aren't getting an Everlark daughter. *INSERTS FIVE MILLION ANGRY FACE EMOJIS*. And no, that in no way means that I'm going to rewrite this chapter, or my last, to change it so Katniss and Peeta have two sons. Because they don't. I don't care what the movie is going to have. KATNISS AND PEETA HAVE A DAUGHTER AND I DON'T ACCEPT IT ANY OTHER WAY. But yeah, basically that sucks but just warning you, this fanfic is not going to change. But hopefully this book is able to provide enough feels about Katniss and Peeta's daughter because the movie obviously won't. So yeeees, that's the conclusion of that rant, though I am never going to not be angry, no matter how cute Francis Lawrence makes the epilogue.
Anyways, I hope y'all liked this chapter, I tried making it as mushy and cute as possible to make up for the fact that it was super short :)
I love you guys, always <3
-booklover2019
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Always: A Hunger Games Fanfiction
FanfictionMy name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. I survived The Hunger Games twice. Peeta was hijacked. He was rescued and he's fighting to return to his old self. I led the revolution that led to the fall of President Snow. Snow. Snow is dead...
