I don't know what's compelled me to get out of my house in Victor's Village; I have barely even gotten out of this chair in months. I don't bother showering - he will smell, too, I am sure of it - and walk past the house neighboring mine before letting myself in to the one after that. It's an absolute mess. Alcohol bottles are everywhere; laundry is everywhere; empty cans of food are everywhere. The TV is on a news station, but there a spot on it that's fuzzy, like someone punched it. It's, quite honestly, exactly what I was expecting.
A smell fills my nostrils - a delicious one - but I dismiss it at the sight of my mentor, of an alcoholic, of Haymitch Abernathy. He could use a shave, I notice, but as my left leg grazes past my right, I decide against saying anything.
"Well, sweetheart, you finally decided to visit?" Hearing him call me that is almost comforting, but then I remember I'm angry at him. I grab the nearest vase and hurl it at his head.
"You didn't come check on me!"
"Ah, I suppose I was supposed to, wasn't I?" Haymitch smirks at me and glances at the kitchen door. "Surprised the noise didn't bring him out here."
"Who?"
"No one."
"Tell me," I say, my voice low.
But footsteps come quickly, and soon I find out.
"Katniss." For a moment, I can't breath. He's not The Boy with the Bread anymore. He's still muscular, but he's scarred. So scarred. His skin is like mine, not even real. His pale complexion that was so like Prim's is gone practically. I take one step closer - we're still several feet away from one another - but from this distance at least I can see his eyes. They're not that crystal clear blue that I could read like a book anymore; they're cloudy, foggy, still the Capitol.
"Peeta," I say, the name foreign on my tongue. In that moment, I realize how much I missed him. "You're… better?"
Haymitch snorts as Peeta gives me a sad smile that says, No. Not completely. "Look on the bright side, sweetheart; he's not trying to strangle you."
My voice betrays me, and I laugh softly, the first taste of happiness, of normalcy, since the end of the war, of me being the Mockingjay.
I sit next to Haymitch on the couch, and Peeta goes back into the kitchen. He comes out with cheese bread. My stomach rumbles, and he hands me some. And that's how we sit: Peeta stealing glances at me, me devour his cheese bread, and Haymitch drinking an entire bottle of whiskey.
The sun settles down, and it becomes increasingly dark.
"As much fun as this is," Haymitch starts, breaking the silence, "I'm going to bed. See you guys sometime, hopefully soon." He smiles at me, and I surprise myself by grinning back as he walks up the stairs.
"Could I walk you home?" Peeta asks me. I nod.
We walk in silence, because quite frankly, I have no clue what to say. What do I say to my ally, my friend, my star-crossed lover, my fellow tribute? The Capitol made us be so many things that I don't know what my own feelings are, concerning Peeta.
"The doctor let you come back?" I ask.
"You should call him like you're supposed to."
I want to punch him in the face, but when I look up and see a scar running across his forehead, it only reminds me of all the damage I've done to him. If it wasn't for me - the Mockingjay - he'd live on with only the nightmares of our Hunger Games.
When we finally reach my front porch, he grabs my elbow. "Katniss, I don't remember everything about us. What's real and what's not? I don't know, but I do know that I wanted so bad to come back to 12, and I think it's because of you."
I watch him as he walks away.