I can't seem to pinpoint the source of how I feel. Maybe it's because I'm always lightheaded due to my injury. Maybe it's because my husband is sick in bed and won't be able to stand, let alone walk, for months. Maybe it's because Gale and I are finally on an equal playing field, not that it would matter. Whatever the reason may be, I can not stop throwing up.
Whenever I feel that familiar gurgling in my stomach and that terrible pounding in my head, I know that I need to get to a bathroom. Fast. The nearest one is conveniently located in our hospital room, but even with a solution this close, these are many close calls. I always try to close the door behind me, but most of my attempts fail, leaving Peeta helpless with a perfect view of my sickening condition. He tries to yells soothing words in my direction, but they can barely be heard over my constant coughing. Sometimes Madge stays with me to help, but I usually dismiss her after an hour or so. She has her own problems with her father being ill, and I wouldn't want to interfere. What I do want to do is be in bed comforting and keeping Peeta company, but the only safe location that I have offered to me is on the cold floor.
For the first couple of days, we ignore my issue. Peeta doesn't want to, but we do. When a nurse comes in to treat Peeta, whoever I'm with just lies and says I'm showing or washing my hands. I don't want to take any attention away from Peeta and his injury. I want him to heal as quickly as possible, and me bringing up a minor issue definitely wouldn't help with the speed of his recover. But when it gets to the point where I'm constantly apart from my husband's loving arms, we decide to seek help.
"Madge," I mumble between coughs, "Go get a nurse please. And tell Peeta."
Her warm fingers brush across my neck as she carefully drops my knotted hair that she was holding back for me. I haven't brushed it since the morning of my wedding. Five days can really tangle a lot.
"Of course," she says, standing up. I listen to her shoes rhythmically click on the hard floor until, eventually, the sound fades away and vanishes. The feeling of nausea has passed, temporarily of course, and I'm able to sit up normally. I glance out of the half closed door and find Peeta directly in my view. He's not looking my way. I follow his wide eyes to the front door, eagerly waiting for the nurse that will attempt to diagnose and cure me. He's so worried about me, but he shouldn't be. He should be worried about himself.
I look at the extra hospital bed and frown. I've never once considered using it. I've spent my four nights here either with Peeta, or with a thin blanket on the bathroom floor. The neatly made sheets on the vacant bed lye in the same position that they did days ago, and I can't help feeling bad for requesting and ignoring the unnecessary piece of furniture.
On the side table next to my bed, though, is what I do appreciate. Flowers. Beautiful dandelions. Apparently, Flynn and Annie picked a bouquet of them from the clearing before the ceremony started and were planning on presenting them to us during the reception. Considering what happened, Annie found it only appropriate to give the flowers to Peeta as a get well gift.
When she and Flynn visited us in the hospital a day after the incident, she brought with her the flowers and some lifesaving essentials from our house: clothing, toothbrushes, cheese buns - my favorite. I could stand at the time without fainting, and I thanked her with a hug as she handed the dandelions to Flynn, ordering him to deliver the gift across the room to Peeta. He quickly shook his head no and gave the flowers to me, trying his best to hide behind my legs.
It occurred to me that Flynn must have been terrified of Peeta, considering he was almost thrown on top of the small boy. Unfortunately, three year olds don't know the difference between falling and being pushed, and probably assumed Peeta performed his actions purposely.
Peeta apologized to the best of his ability, and fortunately, Flynn seamed to understand. The little boy adorably wobbled back over to me and snatched the flowers away, leaving me empty handed and laughing.
"No, Flynn," Peeta smiled, "Let Katniss keep the flowers. You can say they're from me."
Flynn huffed and placed the flowers on the side table, where they've stayed ever since. They're beginning to wilt, but they're still as gorgeous as ever.
The main door suddenly opens, and I notice Peeta flinch and grab the sides of his bed. We're both so scared of new dangers coming through that horrid door, as they once have before. But the only person that walks through the unpredictable archway is our nurse. The lady who at first seemed threatening, but now is actually extremely kind and comforting. Madge must have gone home to her father, and I don't blame her.
I've learned a bit about our nurse over the days. Her name is Emery. She's married to a former coal miner that managed to survive the war. I told her about my father, describing his appearance to the best of my ability, and she said that her husband might have been close friends with him. It's comforting to know that this woman had a connection to him. My father. No one else alive in the district does.
Emery smiles at Peeta, but immediately turns and meets me in the bathroom.
"Oh, Katniss," she sighs, sitting down on the floor next to me. She opens her bag, and I'm hoping she has a medicine that can fix me right up. The chances of this are unlikely, considering the quality of medicine in District 12 has lowered severely. There is no more war, and people rarely get sick anymore, so what's the point?
"You keep throwing up?" she asks, staring her blue-gray eyes at me. I nod in response.
"I'm thinking it's because of my head," I say. It's the only logical explanation, and I'm not about to start explaining my worries with Gale.
"That can't be it," she whispers to herself, unwrapping the gauze. Finally. The thick material was beginning to irritate me.
Emery examines my injury and shakes her head. "No. This isn't the reason. The swelling has gone down completely and there's only a bruise now. You shouldn't be feeling light headed at all."
I frown. "That's all I'm feeling."
"Then we're going to have to run some tests. Can we move you to the hospital bed?" She kindly asks, gesturing towards the vacant bed next to Peeta's.
"If that's best," I reply apprehensively. I'll no longer have the security of the toilet at easy access, but I'll have Peeta. And in my opinion, Peeta is much better company than an unwelcoming block of porcelain.
I take Emery's hand and slowly walk out of the bathroom. Peeta greets me with a wide smile and watches me as I'm led to the bulky piece of furniture.
"She's okay?" Peeta asks eagerly.
"We'll see," she replies, frowning, "Do you need anything while I gather my equipment?"
Peeta is silent for a moment.
"I need you to make Katniss feel better," he answers. "That's what I need."
"I'm going to do my very best," Emery smiles in his direction. He nods as I pull the covers over my body. I've been lying on a cold surface for so long that this feels extremely comforting. It's not the same as being next to Peeta, but anything is better than the bathroom floor.
Emery leaves the room and I turn towards Peeta.
"How are your feeling? How's your leg?"
"I'm okay," he responds. "But the doctor told me that I might have made my injury worse during the flashback. All the constant... twitching and movement."
I sigh and let my arm fall off the edge of the mattress. He takes my hand and carefully swings it around in the empty space between our beds. What did I ever do to deserve him?
"What happened in your flashback?" I ask, "Unless you don't wan't-"
"No," he cuts me off, "It's okay. It's good to talk about them. You assure me that what I assume is... not real."
I smile at his choice of words. Real or not real? The method we used when getting Peeta back from the hijacking. From the Capitol's attempts at using the boy with the bread as a weapon against me. Their attempts failed. And I won. And Peeta's better than ever now. Probably the majority of the war is foggy to him, which may not be such a bad thing. But what Peeta just said shows that he must remember a little bit of it.
"It was a pretty bad one," he states, "One of the worst I've had. Not because of what was happening, but the clarity of it all. Everything was so realistic... And terrifying."
"Tell me," I say giving his hand a squeeze.
"We were in the hospital with Gale," he begins.
"Real," I say.
"You said that you... forgive him."
"Yes... Real," I mumble. This is hard to admit, but I can't lie to Peeta. He nods, looking a little hurt, but continues.
"You got up and... left with him."
"Not real."
"I turned on the TV and saw you in the arena with Gale. In the cave."
"Definitely not real," I frown. It would have been terrible to be in the arena with Gale. If we were the final two, he undoubtedly would have killed me on the spot. He wouldn't have been able to afford risking his life with berries. He would have cared, but not as much as Peeta did.
My husband's eyes go blank. He stares beyond me. I can't begin to imagine the horrible thoughts racing through his mind right now. I know the intensity of my own nightmares, and it's not something you want to bring back up in broad daylight.
"The end of this flashback was... different than the others."
"In what way?" I ask slowly. I don't want to bring on too many memories at once.
"As I was watching you kiss Gale in the cave... You came in through that door. That ominous door. And told me that..."
He pauses.
"You love me. Real or not real?"
I tell him, "Real."
~•~
"This will hurt a little," Emery whispers. I close my eyes as the piercingly sharp needle enters my skin. I immediately think of the tracker. The one that was inserted in my arm before the games began. I recall how abruptly Johanna ripped it out of my already blistered flesh. What an eventful day that was.
"You're okay, Katniss," Peeta soothes. I must really look like I'm in pain, which coincidentally I am. "You're almost done."
I want to reach out and grab his hand again, but I can't. The nurse has been performing all shots on my non-writing arm - the one closest to Peeta.
I try to breathe. This is taking forever. I eventually open my eyes and realize that the needle isn't even in my skin anymore. The pain that it caused, though, is still present.
"This really hurts," I mumble. She nods, wrapping a bandage around my already stinging arm.
"It's going to for a little bit. I took a lot of blood."
Yeah. You also took my temperature, three x-rays, and pricked my finger 5 times, I want to say. But I don't. She's only trying to help me, and I should be grateful.
"I'm going to examine all of this, and I'll most likely be able to tell what's wrong," she says, taking the needle to the counter across the room.
I glance at Peeta who half smiles at me. I wish I could be in his place. I wish I could take some of the pain away from him. It's just so unfair. How all of this keeps happening to him. To us. I know that this will soon end. I know that we'll be back in our house in Victor's Village in a few months time. Alone together. With no one to disturb us. Soon, everything will be back to normal - As it was before. And I can't wait for that day to arrive.
"Oh, that makes sense," I hear Emery call from the opposite corner of the room. Both me and Peeta's heads snap in her direction.
"What makes sense?" I ask. "What's wrong with me?"
The nurse laughs. "I wouldn't say anything's wrong with you, Katniss."
"Then what is it?" I raise my voice. She better tell me right now. I'm beginning to feel that terrible feeling inside of me, and I'd rather not throw up all over myself in anticipation. I turn to Peeta, who seems to be just as annoyed as me.
"Katniss," she begins. "You're pregnant."
The words sink in, and I've never been more terrified in my entire life.
~•~
Seven Years Later
I've never been happier in my entire life.
End Of Book One.
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-Melanie 🦁