No Games Left to Play

28: Kicking and Screaming

I start thinking about my mother and begin to worry myself even more, knowing the possibility for me to lose more than just the baby if I'm miscarrying again.

"I was super dizzy," I add. "The room wouldn't stop spinning."

I shut the door once I'm safely inside and walk the remaining few steps to the toilet. I raise the lid, pull down my pants, and do my business. But when my eyes land on my pants, I see a pool of blood and I instantly panic.

"I just felt really weak and had the most unbearable stomach cramps," I finish off, feeling shaky, anxious, and not at all at ease.

Seconds later I'm having a full fledged panic attack, and the only thing Peeta can do to calm me down is physically lift me up and sit on the couch. He settles me on his lap and wraps his arms around me. He know his embrace is the only thing that soothes me when something like this is happening.

"Hey, hey, hey. Shh," he whispers in my ear, playing with my hair. "Please calm down."

I continue hyperventilating as he continues to get me to relax.

"Breathe, Katniss," he pleads. "Think of the baby. If you need air, the baby needs air too."

"I-I-I ca-can't."

"You have to," he says. "I know you can do it."

He holds me tightly and rests his head on my shoulder. He sways us side to side and hums the melody to The Valley Song until my breathing becomes more regular.

"I don't think anything is seriously wrong, but if it would make you feel more comfortable we can go see Jade. See what she thinks," Peeta says.

"That would make me feel a hundred times better," I admit.

"Then let's go," he says before kissing my temple.

"I don't know if I can walk," I pout, my lower lip trembling.

"I'll carry you if I have to," Peeta lightly laugh.

"Peeta, you can't carry me. I'm a cow, a-and your leg, I'd break you."

"Don't worry about me," He says. "I'm more concerned about you."

"What if something is wrong?" I ask. "I don't think I can go through that hurt again."

"Nothing is going to be wrong," Peeta smiles.

"I hope so," I say, getting off his lap.

Peeta goes over to our coat closet and brings me a pair of shoes. He comes back over and helps me put them on— the bigger I get, the harder it is for me to bend over without fearing that it will squish the baby. He takes my hand and walks me to the door. He stops for a moment to put on a pair of his boots. I feel my stomach twitch and my face scrunches up and expresses my discomfort as my hand reflexively goes to my swollen abdomen.

"You okay?" Peeta asks.

"Yeah," I say after the feeling passes.

"Ready to go?"

I nod, and Peeta opens the door.

"Wait," I stop him, and his eyes grow wide. "I need a jacket."

"Oh my," he breathes out. "I thought something was wrong."

I giggle, "No, it's just winter."

"I'll go grab your hunting jacket and we'll go."

I thank him when he returns and helps me slip my arms inside the sleeves. I try to zip it up so I can hide my bump from the public, but I'm just big enough that the zipper won't move past a certain point. I groan, and Peeta just laughs at me as we exit the house and begin our journey to the clinic.