I curl up as much as my cell allows and wonder how much she is to blame. Then I start to drift into my memory… Was it really the handful of berries that caused this, or was it the Capitol itself? As I try to evade the drug induced nightmares, I think back to the object of them. Haymitch. What will I do if my nightmares come true? What will I do if I lose him?

When it came, I felt so happy- my letter, which declared me an official escort for the Hunger Games, brandished with the glowing seal of Panem, adorned with rose detail. Then I got to the station. With a train waiting for me to take me where no one wants to be. District 12. Home to miners and losers- disregarding their soul living victor, the drunken wreck of the once handsome Haymitch Abernathy.

And then my time came. Hand shaking as it scooted round the bowl of names. In several years, three of them would have Katniss Everdeen inscribed, and another, Peeta Mallark. Was it his fault? It certainly wasn't his fault that at my first reaping I picked twins. They couldn't have been more than 13 and probably had siblings at home, but I had chosen the two of them. I had sent them to their deaths. One died in the bloodbath, the other ate poisonous berries on the third day. By the second day, I felt terrible. Until Haymitch found me.

He had given up getting non-existing sponsors for the tribute left, and knew he would soon be going back to 12. But he found me, in my room crying. He disappeared and brought me some of his liquor, undid my corset, and made me eat. Then we drank and talked. What had happened to him since his games. What the games did to you. What the Capitol would do to you if they didn't like what you did. Why I was there. Why I couldn't cope. We went on and on, and one thing lead to another- he kissed me. I first I pulled away, but then I felt the warmth and comfort he gave me and leaned back in.

By morning he was ready to leave. By the end of the games it became clear that the Capitol had bugged the rooms. For the next games, escorts would be sent back to their homes once the tributes left for the arena. From there they could be called back if necessary and would be out of the way. For the next few years we continued. When Finnick Odair was first spotted with a Capitol woman, Haymitch knew what had happened. When Johanna Mason arrived in her first year of mentoring with a tear stained face, Haymitch knew why. When Annie Cresta was empty and pained in her victory tour, Haymitch understood. In between putting it on for the cameras, teaching children manners at their last suppers and giving relentless interviews with Caesar Flickerman we supported each other. Long nights on the train. Drunken escapades on the training centre roof. Hours alone in fancy bedrooms while the tributes were training. We had it all until the 71st Annual Hunger Games Reaping. We had it all until Haymitch finally gave up.