Pregnant and a Victor

Chapter 1: The Accident

*edited second version*

The room is dimly lit by the rising sun coming through my bedroom window. I roll over to face the opposite wall, feeling the warmth that spreads over the sheets on my back. The early spring air fills my lungs as I take a long, deep breath in. It's not likely I'll be able to fall back asleep.

I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the frame, slowly stepping onto the hardwood floors. I find myself strangely hungry. I have no problem getting enough food for my small family, with the victors winnings, and I am usually not very excited by the idea of eating. Stress, anxiety, and fear are strong appetite suppressors.

I head downstairs into my kitchen to find something to eat. There is a loaf of bread with various seeds and herbs in it that Peeta has baked sitting on the counter. I decided to pair a slice or two with some of Prim's goat cheese. I try unwrapping it from its small bundle very quietly, hoping not to wake up anyone else in the house.

I lean in to smell what has become a very comforting scent, and when it hits my nostrils I am overcome with discomfort. My feet are suddenly slapping the floor as I make a dash for the washroom. I feel a burning sensation making its way up my throat and can hardly hold it down until I can make it to the toilet.

My eyes water, my throat is hot, and bile is rushing out of both my mouth and nose. There is a strong pressure in the front of my head and my stomach feels like it's twisted into knots. I stay crouched over the toilet until I'm left dry heaving and completely empty.

"Katniss? Are you alright?" my mother asks from behind the door.

"I'm fine. Just one minute!" I call back. I wouldn't want her, or anyone for the matter, to see me this way. Weak and fragile.

Our relationship is still on the mend since my coming home from the 74th Hunger Games. She tried her best, as do I, but it's hard to forgive and forget the years of neglect brought upon by her depression following my father's death.

Another loud and uncomfortable croak escapes me, but no more vomit. I grip the sides of the bowl until my knuckles turn bright white.

"Are you sure? I'm coming in." I don't have enough time to respond before she come in and closes the door behind her. She pulls my hair back from my face and sets her hand on the top of my back.

Once I am able to, I lean back and move from my knees so I am sitting crisscross on the cold tile. My mother hands me a towel and I wipe my mouth while still sitting, unable to stand up yet after my sudden and violent sickness.

"Did you have another nightmare?" she asks. I know I often wake her and Prim up with my screams. Anyone would be hard pressed to discover a night I did relive the terrifying and traumatizing events of my time in the arena.

"No." I really hadn't last night. Not that I remember, at least. I did not wake up in a sweat or panic. My heart was not racing when I sat up likely no more than half an hour ago.

"You can talk to me about it, you know? I know I don't understand like Peeta, or even Haymitch, but I can listen." I hear a tinge of pain in her voice. It would be hard to see someone you care about live through the trauma of the Hunger Games, let alone your own child. She is likely upset that she thinks I do not wish to confide in her. That is true, but not right now.

"Truly I haven't," I reassure her. "I am honestly not even sure what is wrong. I was just about to eat breakfast. Maybe I caught a bug." I'm not usually sick. It must be something. My mind starts to wonder as to what the possible causes may be.

Food poisoning? I am sure that I cooked our meat well enough. The flu? I haven't heard anything about a recent outbreak. I didn't feel sick when I woke up. Not until... Cheese... Why did the smell of the cheese make me sick to my stomach?