AN: Hello! This is just a fic I started writing because idk, I just love Gale/Katniss so much, and nothing has killed me more than the fact that Gale left. So, here's a fic. Also, for my plot's sake, Peeta is dead. I'll get more into that later.
Disclaimer: I obviously do not own THG or any of these characters. I own nothing but the plot. If you have to ask me if I own it... well, I don't.
When you're at the end of the road
And you lost all sense of control
And your thoughts have taken their toll
When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul
Your faith walks on broken glass and the hangover doesn't pass
Nothing's ever built to last, you're in ruins
-21 Guns, Green Day
Solitary confinement is what I face after I come back. Everything was over, the Districts rebuilding themselves into a... happier place, I guess after the rebellion. I sit alone in my large house in Victors Village, which has been empty for weeks now, save the few times Haymitch had actually tried to get me to do something.
Hah. Think of it, Haymitch trying to get others out of their misery. The idea was almost comical, a mirthless snort escapes me. Suddenly, I break out laughing, gasping for air, even though there was nothing funny about the situation.
I hear my laugh ring off the walls of the empty house, and a sob escapes me, as the impact sinks in. It's empty because Prim is dead, and my mother left. My eyes cloud over with tears, and I begin crying. There was a time when I wouldn't let anyone see me cry, especially Prim. I couldn't show weakness.
But now Prim is dead, there is no one left here. Just me, with a house to which the Capitol made for a murderer. Because that's what I am, aren't I? Those people I killed in The Hunger Games, the hundreds of lives that were lost in the rebellion, even Coin. I killed them.
Maybe I should take up drinking, like Haymitch. I didn't want to deal with the guilt anymore for all those lost lives. I guess I can see why he would drink. It eases the pain away.
I stumble up from my position on the couch, dropping the afghan that was wrapped around me. I shiver as the cold air touches my nearly bare body- a thin, dirtied chemise, and ragged shorts- and walk into the kitchen, pulling open a cupboard.
There was a stock of the liquor that I had kept for Haymitch in case he ran out, before the Quarter Quell, laying dusty and forgotten. It'd be so easy. Just falling into a drunken stupor like Haymitch had been for numerous years. He had stopped now, just the occasional glass if he was at the Hob, but that was it.
I weigh the bottle in my hand, watching the liquid slosh around inside. So... easy. I didn't even have to pour it into a glass. All need for table manners were trivial and stupid, when everyone you loved was gone, and none of those Capitol people were here to judge. I sit down on the breakfast bar, and set the bottle in front of me.
Should I? I'd turn into Haymitch, wouldn't I? The laugh of the town, an embarrassment. I scoffed. Did it even matter anymore? Sometimes I wish I hadn't pulled out those berries. If everything could be what we had considered normal after 74th Hunger Games. I should have killed Peeta, and won for myself. Prim would be here. My mother wouldn't have left. And Gal- well, he'd be in District 2, with someone else.
I breathed in. Out. In. Out. Another sob escaped me, and anger boiled in my blood. Even though it was all over, how dare the Capitol do this every year to countless families? They were the ones who had ripped Gale away from me. The amount of lives that were lost over these seventy five years. All that death, all the murder, just for entertainment. Just to make them happy, to keep us in check, to provide entertainment. It was sickening.
I laugh bitterly. Well, in check we kept, didn't we? Starting another rebellion and overthrowing them.
And now what was left for me? Wallowing alone for the rest of my life? My mother was gone, Gale was gone, Peeta was dead and all I had was Haymitch.
I snort. What wonderful company he would make. Suddenly, I hear the sound of a body crashing into something solid, and I whip my head around, eyeing the doorway out into the living room.
A body comes barreling through, rubbing his side. The familiar dark hair, grey eyes, tall stature, strong features. My breath catches in my throat, and my jaw slackens.
Gale.
"What are you doing here?" I hear the words escape before I can stop myself. I can see his body flinch, his eyes flicking back and forth from my face and the room. I look down and realise the state of my dress.
"I, I-felt like- well," he began, his words stumbling over one another. He runs a hand through his dark hair. This is the first time I had ever seen Gale Hawthorne at loss for words. The idea of him not knowing what to say makes me want to laugh. Though laughing may not be the best idea in this situation, so I settle for glaring at him.
"You do not have the right to come here. Af-after you left, you can't do that." I say, my voice getting louder and louder with each word.
"Maybe we should talk after you, well, p-put on some other clothes?" he said weakly. A sharp bark of laughter escapes me. Gale. Ever the gentlemen.
"Maybe we shouldn't talk at all," I say coldly, glaring at him.
"But I thought-well, I lo-" he started off, but I cut him off. Katniss Everdeen was no longer being considerate. If he had the gall to just waltz in here after nearly six months of nothing, he was wrong. He wasn't going to be going through this easily.
"Get out, Gale," I said, my voice low.
"But Katniss, I lov-" A sharp pain cuts through my body.
"Don't. Say. A. Word. Especially not that. Ever again," I hiss, glaring at him.
"Leave. I don't want to talk to you," Gale's shoulders slumped a little, visible to only those who spent hours on end with him. The way his shoulders used to drop ever so slightly when we had missed a kill, or did not have a good haul.
"OK," he said hoarsely, and walked out. When I hear the door slam, I lift my hand to my face, feeling the wetness- the tears that had unknowingly fallen. I grimace, crack open the bottle of liquor, and pour a healthy amount down my throat. The hard drink burns my throat as it goes down, and I cough. Tears begin to fall more freely now, and I push the bottle away, and press my cheek against the cold counter top, clenching my hands into fists, and letting out a frustrated scream.
So, I realise that was a bit short, but I just wanted to… introduce the story a bit. Anyways, I hope to update this in a few days. Reviews motivate me to write… so review? :) If you noticed, I've tried keeping up with SC's writing tense.