Chapter 2: Realization
It's been a month since Peeta's funeral. I'm still a bit amazed at how quickly my mother went back to District 4 afterward. She and I haven't been all that close since my father died and she tuned out of reality and more or less left me to raise Prim. And then District 12 tends to bring back a lot of memories for her.
I'm sitting up in a tree in the forest, just thinking. We're no longer forbidden to venture into the forest. In fact, the districts are now able to communicate freely among themselves. I no longer have to sneak through a possibly-electrified fence; there's no longer one here to keep us penned up in our district like animals. Hunting is no longer forbidden.
I had been considering settling down with Peeta. I'd always said I didn't want children, but that was because I didn't want to see them get reaped, then thrown into an arena to die-or become murderers for the Capitol's entertainment. Haymitch is right. There are no winners in such a situation, only survivors. If you survive, you're left with the thought that you're a killer and it eats at you if you have any kind of a conscience, and I sure didn't like the idea that it could happen to a child of mine. I don't like the fact that I've killed people. When I dropped that tracker-jacker nest on the Careers, that was not so much to kill any of them, but to chase them away. Glimmer comes to mind. She's the girl from District 1 who was killed by those tracker-jackers.
When I killed Marvel, the District 1 male, I thought I was protecting myself and Rue, the girl from District 11, the girl who reminded me so much of Prim and who I thought of as another sister. I was too late, as he managed to spear her just as I was letting fly with an arrow. I wish I was able to help Rue. Only twelve years old. She was too young, too gentle, too compassionate for such a thing. I remember Peeta saying that he wanted to die as himself. That's what Rue did.
With Cato, the boy from District 2, it was a mercy killing. The mutts were tearing him apart and what I did was cut short his suffering. I believe that at the end Cato knew what it was all about. I have to wonder-had he lived, would he have been one of us in District 13?
I draw my knees up and rest my forehead on them and begin to sob, my dark braid hanging down. All I wanted to do was save my little sister from certain death. In the end she died anyway. I only gave her one more year of life. At least there are no more Hunger Games.
"Hey, you okay, sweetheart?"
I look down and see Haymitch standing there, looking up at me. He's been getting out more instead of staying holed up in his house and getting plastered, and he doesn't look quite so down-and-out. One thing about me and Haymitch is that we understand each other. We're more alike than we were willing to admit at first. I wipe my nose and sniffle. "I'm okay," I say, rather unconvincingly.
"Why don't you come on down? Maybe we can work on that book some more," he suggests.
"I can't right now," I sigh, the tears threatening to resume with a vengeance.
"Well, at least come down," Haymitch asks.
Haymitch is just about the only friend I have in District 12. I climb down, and as I reach the bottom I feel his hands on my waist as he helps me. Though I really don't need the help. Before I can say anything, he takes my hand and leads me to a nearby stream, where we sit down on the cold ground. It's October and the leaves are turning all sorts of different colors. Was it only two years ago, or close to it, that he was helping me and Peeta with our Victory Tour for the 74th Hunger Games?
"Never thought I'd enjoy nature," he comments as we look out over the stream. "I just keep remembering that arena, when I was in it. It was truly too good to be true. Guess I'm a bit mistrustful of that kind of thing."
I remember seeing a video of Haymitch's time in the arena, twenty-six years ago. Everything had been so beautiful in the arena-and poisonous. He had allied with Maysilee Donner, who had been a friend of my mother's. Her twin sister grew up and married Mayor Undersee, and their daughter Madge was my friend. Madge and her parents were killed when the Capitol destroyed District 12. As I had done with Rue, Haymitch had stayed by Maysilee's side until she died. He knows where I'm coming from.
"At least you know that here, what you see is what you get," I say.
I feel his arm around me and I lean up against him. He's my mentor-or he was-and my friend. I let him comfort me, though I'm a bit wary of being close to a man like this, so soon after Peeta's death. I'm just a whirl of confusion. Who do I like? Who do I love? For all I know, maybe it's just hormones. I do know that I don't think of Haymitch as a dirty old man. A bit uncouth, yes. Cynical, definitely. I really don't care that he's forty-two. I'm an adult, physically as well as chronologically.
I know he has to be lonely. After he showed the Capitol up by using the force field as a weapon to finish off a Career tribute and win the 50th Hunger Games, his mother, younger brother, and girlfriend were killed by President Snow. He hasn't had a serious relationship with a woman since, though I'm sure he's been around at least a little bit, especially when going to the Capitol as mentor. I have to wonder if he is looking for that special someone.
"Real or not real," he murmurs.
That reminds me of a game we'd started to play with Peeta, when the tracker jacker venom would affect his mind. Tears come back to my eyes.
"That was stupid of me," he says, noticing.
He holds me as I cry on his shoulder. It feels good to at least have someone hold you. It's good to know that I'm not totally alone in the world. Haymitch can be ill-tempered at times, but he has a heart.
Before I know it, he's tilting up my chin. I feel his lips brush mine and I jump back, startled at this. It's too soon…Peeta hasn't been gone very long…too soon….
"I'm sorry-I shouldn't have done that," he says.
"It's okay," I tell him. All I had ever done with Peeta was kiss. I can't help but wonder just how far Haymitch was going to go. Then I'm wondering exactly what Haymitch thinks of me and feels about me. He's a lot older and likely very experienced.
He reaches over and gently unravels my braid, so my hair falls in dark waves to my shoulders. "I think I like this better on you," he says as he then cups my cheek, the way he's done in the past, while mentoring me and Peeta.
"Makes it a bit harder to hunt," I comment. I actually like this attention from Haymitch. Why not? I ask myself. Peeta's gone. Forget about Gale. Haymitch is the only one here I can really cling to and lean on.
"It's getting dark out, that'd make it harder too," he points out as he gets to his feet and gently pulls me to my own. "Why don't we go to my place and just sit for a while-and work on the book? I think it'll help."
Haymitch actually has some cooking ability. As I go over the notes for the District 3 tributes, he makes dinner for us. I recall District 3 resident and Hunger Games victor Beetee Latier, who was a big help in the rebellion, and I wonder how he's doing, being in a wheelchair and all. He's someone I'd definitely call friend.
I find doing the research for this book to be therapeutic. It's the why I'm doing it. I want all these people to be remembered, what they went through. There are times when you have to rehash things, so people won't forget; after all, those who don't know their history are doomed to repeat it, and I for one do not want the atrocities of the past seventy-five years to be repeated. I think it's helping Haymitch too, to be able to talk about his experiences. He was literally holding his guts in when he managed to take down that Career tribute.
None of us has any physical scars. When you win a Hunger Games, you're fixed up, good as new. But there are emotional and psychological scars. Look at poor Annie. She saw her district partner get his head taken off, and since then she hasn't been really right in the head. She and Finnick weren't married for very long at all before he died-they were married just long enough to conceive a son. At least she has part of Finnick with her.
"Hope this is good," Haymitch says as he sets down dinner. He's managed to cook up a groosling.
"Well, you didn't use the smoke alarm as a timer," I joke as I look down at my plate. Doesn't look bad at all. A lot better than roasting it over a campfire, which is what I did a couple of years ago during the Games.
Haymitch sits down and starts eating while he looks over some of our notes. It seems to me that he's drinking a lot less than he used to. That tells me that he seems hopeful. The Capitol no longer controls us or starves us. We're actually free. Still, there are the memories of those times to contend with. I still have nightmares on occasion.
We spend a cozy evening together, having dinner and working on our project. I still can't help but think of Peeta. It hurts less, though, as time goes on. Haymitch isn't his usual sarcastic self; he's more matter-of-fact this evening. A few times I catch him more or less staring at me, though when we make eye contact he quickly looks at his notes.
A few hours later it's time for me to go home. Haymitch walks me to my house. "So what are your plans for tomorrow?" he asks as we stand in front of my front door.
"Just the usual, I guess," I reply. Hunting isn't a necessity, though I do love wandering around outdoors. "Maybe come over and work on the book some more."
Over the course of the bitterly cold winter, Haymitch and I continue working on the book. It's too cold to hunt, too cold to do anything, really, except work on that project. Thanks to open communication among the districts, we're able to place phone calls to different people in different districts and ask about their past victors. Families of past victors-and victims-are more than happy to give information when they realize why we're doing this. They're in pain too, and it makes them feel good to know that their child or cousin or whoever won't be forgotten, relegated to the dust bin of history.
One evening in January we're taking a break from the book. We're at his house, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, just talking. It's Haymitch's forty-third birthday and I've given him a birthday card. I want to give him something else, too, since I've been thinking about it the last few months. I'm just screwing up my courage.
Finally I kneel on the couch, take his face in my hands, and kiss him on the lips. "Happy birthday, Haymitch," I tell him.
He smiles. "Sweetheart, that's the best present I could get from you at this point."
I sit and snuggle up to him. There's something about a freezing winter night and being in front of a cozy fire with someone you want to be with. It's been four months since Peeta died and I think I'm on my way to being over him, though I really don't want to mention that to Haymitch. Not on his birthday.
Over the course of the next few months, Haymitch and I do things together, the book being one of them. I've been teaching him how to hunt and sometimes we go fishing together at the stream. I never pegged him as an outdoorsy type, but he seems to enjoy it. We share a kiss occasionally, but that's all, since my mother has told me it's best to wait until marriage to do anything else. A lot of it is common-sense stuff. I've seen Seam girls who didn't wait and wind up having it hard, raising babies born out of wedlock, and I'm sure quite a few of those kids were fathered by Cray, who was one of our Peacekeepers a couple of years ago. The Capitol didn't want us getting our hands on birth control, lest we dry up the supply of tributes. Never mind that people starved to death. Just keep punching them out and you may have a few reach adulthood, provided they haven't been tossed into the arena.
On my nineteenth birthday in May, Haymitch knocks at my door. He seems really nervous as I let him in, which is highly unusual. Usually nothing seems to faze him much.
"So what brings you here?" I ask as I sit down in an armchair.
"Well, I thought I'd stop by and wish you a happy birthday," he says.
"Thanks. By the way, have you been hitting the bottle again? Your face is all flushed."
"Barely touched the stuff the last few months. Been wanting to get you something," he replies. He paces a little and runs his hand through his blond hair, sweeping it back from his face. "Okay, it's now or never…."
I look at him oddly.
He suddenly goes down on one knee and takes my hand. "Katniss Everdeen-will you marry me?"
It takes me a moment to register what he's just asked me. I find myself squeaking out, "Yes."
