Hi everyone! So I'm really sorry about Harm Me Gently, I know I haven't updated, but I honestly don't know where it's going to go and I want to actually give you a good story, not a lot of semi-decent rambling. To make up for it here is a tiny little one-shot that suddenly popped into my head as I sat on my couch with my leg in bandages. I'm pretty proud of it! Anyway enough of my ramblings, here is "There Are Much Worse Games To Play"
Some mornings she felt like she couldn't even get up. But this morning, she knew anything was possible. Maybe even making it through the day without relapsing.
Every morning, Katniss pulled the blankets closer to her, grasping the sheets with her fist. She rolled over and sighed. Late. She was already late.
Every morning, rushing, she grabbed a tub of yogurt and brewed some coffee. She longed to make the coffee Irish, but she couldn't lose this job. Not another one. She glanced at the clock and sighed. Late. She was still late.
Every morning, she succeeded in getting her car to start as it hissed in protest. She should really get that checked, but she didn't have enough money. She sat on the towel she had thrown on the cracked leather to protect her legs. The dashboard flashed to life, illuminating the clock and she sighed. Late. She was always late.
Every day, work was hard. Every single kid at the nursery where she worked walking through the door, holding onto their mothers hand and screaming, only deepened the fresh wounds of the loss of her mother. Katniss was still shaken to the core every time she remembered walking into the bathroom to find her mother in a pool of dazzling crimson water.
Every evening, after work was harder. At home she would drown in a sea of memories, so she would go out and drown in a sea of alcohol instead. Everything from then on forward was a shiny blur. Usually the shimmering memories involved her smashing her stuff, cutting her hands on the glittering shards of glass, and having a complete breakdown.
Every day began like the last, proceeded like the last and ended like the last, in a vicious circle of self-loathing.
Because what sort of a daughter was she if her father left before she was even born, only proving that she wasn't the only one deeming herself to be not good enough. Because what sort of daughter doesn't notice her mother falling apart to the point where she leaves the Earth just to escape. Because what sort of sister allows her younger sibling to be taken into foster care instead of getting her act together and looking after her herself. What sort of decent human being allowed herself to drown her sorrows in alcohol, even after swearing never to when it killed her Uncle Haymitch.
Every day, coming to in the mornings was the worst. She would always pull the blankets close to her and grasp the sheets with her fist before realizing she was late.
Some mornings she felt like she couldn't even get up. But this morning, she knew anything was possible. Maybe even making it through the day without relapsing. Making it through the day without breaking down. Making it through the day without images of her mother filling her head. Making it through the day without wishing she could just fall asleep and never wake up.
This morning, instead of grasping the sheets in her fist, she was grasping the hair of Peeta Mellark as she pulled him in for a long kiss.
A kiss that didn't even taste of alcohol.
A kiss that mattered.
And this morning, she was going to her first AA meeting.
This morning, she was making a change.
This morning, all because of one blue-eyed, blond-haired boy at a bar a little short of a week ago, she was optimistic, something she hasn't been in a while.
A boy who took her hand and kissed the scars there.
A boy that helped her pour all her lifeline drinks down the sink.
A boy that whispered three life changing words in here.
A boy that helped her find the song in her heart.
A boy that is introducing her to a whole new ball game.
But there are much worse games to play.