Because Haymitch stays the same after a these years. And because he grows old. And because we all love him. Rated T for some language and content (:
Suzanne Collins owns it. I love it. And write about it.
Please enjoy. (:
That woman.
I guess we can say she's a woman now, with her twenty five years of age. But we still hate each other. That, that has not changed. It cannot be changed. It's some kind of sick and twisted hate where love can be found. Because, why not say it? We love each other as well. That will never change. Some kind of sick and twisted love where hate can be found.
We cannot stand each other. That is something we cannot do. Whether I am drunk or not. The 'not' doesn't happen often, I'll admit. But still. When I look in her grey eyes, emotions conflict. But when I look in her eyes now, any love I feel for her on daily basis disappears.
That woman.
I decide to take action.
"You have no right!" I mutter.
"You're right, I don't. What are you going to do about it?" she taunts.
"I'm going to fucking kill you!" I erupt.
Nobody messes with my alcohol rations. But she dares. He does, sometimes too, but he's concerned. About my health and all that crap. I know she isn't. She does it to keep the flames alive in our relationship. I agree, we need the flames, because out of the flames come embers. Embers that keep our twisted love in shape. But my alcohol?
She, of all people, knows how it is. But she has him to keep her protected from the mutts, coming out of her dark subconscious to haunt her. When she screams, when her eyes fly open in sheer horror and fear, his arms are around her waist, his lips on her temple.
I know this because when I came back from my games and asked my girlfriend in marriage, we sneaked away at night to sleep in each others' arms. And when I woke up, she was there, her thin arms wrapped around my stiff body, her silver eyes gazing worriedly at my face. Tears would start soundlessly pouring down my cheeks. But she would smile a hurt smile and kiss me passionately. Of course, my body responded almost immediately.
But now, my only comfort, my love is gone. Gone, gone, gone. I never told her Snow commanded me to visit rich woman. Because, really, there was no point. I wasn't going to do it. I was very clear on that. I would never sleep in somebody else's bed than my lady's. But when he threatened her, I couldn't hide the truth.
When she knew, she didn't tear up as I expected her to. That's why I loved her so damn much; she never did what I expected her to do. She looked me right in my eyes and spoke these exact words:
'Bring it on, Snow! You will never own him. He belongs to me and me only, the same way I belong to him. You disgust me. He's nineteen years old you perverted, twisted, sick person!'
Of course, she wasn't addressing me; she was addressing the microphones nested all over this fancy, Capitol made room. That occurs to me as we are rolling on the humongous bed, teeth banging into each other as we kiss ferociously. My hands crawl over her body, my lips seeking out every part of her. Everywhere her light fingers pass leaves a trail of fire on my skin. She knows it. Her silver eyes are playful as she dares me to go further. This is our first time.
The next morning, my eyes rest painfully on her tender neck, squeezed shut by the rope. A single tear escapes her left eye as she makes her way to the heavens. That tear is for me. For all the opportunities we missed. For never knowing what our children would look like.
She stops by my body. I can feel it. After last night, I know her better than anyone else. I know the way she feels, and I know her presence. And right now, she's with me. And all I can feel is this burning sensation I felt last night but in much, much softer. I am filled with so much love, it hurts. But when she leaves, bitterness fills me. Bitterness that will never leave, I know it.
All of this crosses my mind in less than two seconds. Two agonizing seconds during which, this pain in my ass responds.
"You won't kill me, Haymitch. Why would you have saved me in the first place? Two times," she reminds me.
"Well I shouldn't have!" I exclaim.
But there's no point fighting anymore. I just sigh in resignation. She must see the hurt in my eyes because her face softens in the slightest of ways.
"Okay, Haymitch, just ration the stuff. You know it screws with your body," she says, now genuinely concerned.
I huff. She knows me. She knows I won't do it. I can't. After years and years of trashing this wreck they call a body, I can't just stop. It's vital. Killing myself is vital. It has become part of me. Without it to keep the memories in my subconscious, I'm as good as crazy and suicidal.
"Haymitch, why don't you come over tonight? It's been awhile and Peeta is going to test a new bread recipe on me. That way, if it's bad, we'll be two to die," Katniss says.
She's making it into a joke, but no matter how well she make-ups it, I know it's a real invitation. How long haven't I eaten cooked food? Um… Since last time I went over to their place, as in two weeks ago. I'll never admit it to anyone but I quite enjoy eating at their place. It feels… good. Like a normal life. Like a life I should have lived if she was here with me.
She would have hated me drinking. She always despised people who drank. I guess that's why I started. So that she would come back to me and scold me. To defy her to come back.
So I accept. I do after some grunting as to not sound too desperate. Desperate for affection, joy, attention, laughter. Desperate for human presence. When I finally and fakely concede, Katniss smiles lightly. Something, I should know, she doesn't do often. But since not long ago, since she and Peeta are official, kinda, well she has been smiling more often.
I'm in front of my broken mirror. Some coal powder covers it. I shave sloppily. Wash my face. Mess my hair up with my hands so that it doesn't seem like I tried to look okay for the dinner. Suddenly, I feel empty. I'm sober which explains some of it. My shoulders sag a little. I look at myself like a stranger would do. Deep wrinkles on my forehead, bags under my eyes, a cut from shaving, my hair wild, my eyes washed out. I feel old and worn out. I am old and worn out.
I quickly throw on a clean green shirt and some black pants. I head out the door. I walk to their house, which is across the street. I knock. Katniss opens with a smile. From behind her comes a warm, yellow light. I take a seat on the couch, in front of the unlit fireplace. Katniss joins me and we hear Peeta saying he'll be there in a minute. This feels like home. I grunt as I let myself relax and enjoy the company of human beings that are able to tolerate me. Peeta comes and sits next to Katniss who cuddles up next to him. She'll never deserve him and he can do much better, but they actually fit together. They make each other smile.
The whole night is laughter and joy. This new recipe of Peeta's is actually really good. His cooking is as always excellent. And he made me visit his studio where, I can see his skills are improving. I had a glass of good wine which changes from the Spirit I usually get into my system. I tasted the wine. I didn't just gobble it down to get it into my bloodstream as fast as possible.
But when I get back into my empty home, I feel old and broken. I am in pieces, pieces that won't ever come together. I feel alone. I am alone.
Yes, because I insist, if you read the book carefully, it says that Haymitch had a sweetheart back in the district that got killed. But I am not against you if you still want Maysilee and him to have some sort of romantic connection. Feel free to think up any story you want!
I still prefer the story of the killed girlfriend, because the star-crossed lovers thingy is kinda getting old. It sucks if you apply it to everyone that ever entered the arena. Haymitch and Maysilee were just partners, partners that developed a friendship, same as Katniss and Rue.
So I kinda did this quickly, I really hope you enjoyed it and if you can spare 5 minutes to write a review, that would really make my day. I'd like your thoughts on this hastily done one-shot (: