It was the middle of the night when I crept up the front porch steps and opened the door that I knew would be unlocked. Why lock a door when nobody has a reason to come inside? Even if there were a threat, it would probably be a welcome change. I tiptoed through the dirty house, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. The lump on the bed stirred, but remained asleep.
Of course he is asleep, I thought. Haymitch lay sound asleep, in the drunken stupor that characterized the last 26 years of his life. I gently lifted up the sheet to locate his hands and tenderly untangle the knife from his grasp. After setting it on the nightstand, I crawled into bed and curled up next to my drunken mentor.
Sunlight was streaming through the windows in dusty rays when I awoke. It was still early in the morning, too early for the unconscious lump to be anywhere close to awake. I carefully rolled out of bed, making an effort not to disturb him. I decided it would probably be beneficial for the both of us if I waited downstairs with a fresh pot of coffee, rather than surprising him in bed, which would be both creepy and alarming.
When I walked into the kitchen, I immediately went to work trying to locate something edible to go with the coffee. I prepared a breakfast from what little bread and jam I could find in the kitchen: coffee and toast, how delicious. A few hours later, Haymitch shakily found his way to the kitchen, where I waited perched on a stool.
"Good morning."
"Hey, sweetheart. Long time, no see," he mumbled in reply. "What have you been up to in the last year and a half?"
"That's why I'm here," I answered, pausing for a moment, "Here." I handed him a cup of coffee and a piece of toast. Haymitch sat down next to me and started to eat. He knew me well enough not to demand an answer immediately, but it was only a matter of time before he asked me why I showed up at his house. We sat in silence and finished our breakfast before he turned to me.
"So…?" he said questioningly.
"It's been a long time," I didn't want to immediately start off with my story because I didn't know where to begin and I didn't want to scare him off right away. A pity party was also the last thing I needed; I only wanted someone to talk to. "A lot has gone on since the Victory Tour, and I think you should know what happened. "
"Go right ahead, sweetheart. Tell me your story, or explain what brings you to here so early."
"I can't, that's my problem. I don't think I can handle telling you the whole thing at once," I whispered quietly. He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him. Instinctively I would have pulled away, but I really needed someone right now that wasn't my mother or Prim. "I'll start with the Victory Tour, but first you need to promise that you won't tell any of this to my mom or Prim. I don't want them to have to suffer because of what I've gone through."
"I promise," he mumbled before getting up to retrieve a bottle of white liquor from a cabinet. "Want some?"
If I were the same person I had been right after the Hunger Games, I would have turned down his generous offer of black market alcohol, but I had grown somewhat dependent on drinking my way through tough times, and this story would be very tough. "Grab me a bottle," I instruct. Haymitch raises his eyebrows, but doesn't question me, which I am thankful about. He would understand my need for alcohol later.
"So, this Victory Tour…?" he says questioningly.
"Right," I reply, bracing myself for the retelling of a long, painful story.