CHAPTER 2

I spend the next few weeks in a perpetual state of euphoric haze. Life is bright. Life is beautiful. I think these things when I am conscious at least. Most of the time I am so drugged that I feel too dizzy and drowsy to do much but sit around or sleep. This excuses Haymitch and Greasy Sae from the need to be constantly vigilant on the off chance that I should develop more of a thirst for blood, murderer that I am.

I don't know if Haymitch was so bored during his stint as a sitter for a mentally unstable adolescent that he began to formulate a business plan, but he and Greasy Sae seize the opportunity of my drugged haze to remodel one of the larger houses in the Victors Village into a functioning diner of sorts. At the time, I was far too itchy and ambivalent to even question it, but Haymitch must have put two and two together after he realized the liquor would soon run out unless he could procure a sizeable income to support his (and my) habits.

In the newborn government and economic system, things function a bit differently. This new system works in everyone's favor with the exception of the Victors. Now that the Capitol and its dictatorship have been overthrown, the Victors are all of a sudden finding themselves without their monthly stipends. Most Victors, emotionally damaged as they may be, at least went on to continue the family business post-Games. Haymitch went on being Haymitch. With Greasy Sae's resourcefulness and skill (shady though it may be) to make a filling, tasty meal and Haymitch's sudden interest in goose husbandry, it seems natural that the two should become business partners.

As the project is nearing completion and my morphling supply is beginning to dwindle, Haymitch enters my room with an ultimatum. At this time, I'm in between periods of vomiting and drowning in my own perspiration as the effects of morphling withdrawal are beginning to set in.

"How's the morphling treating you, sweetie?" He questions with a sly grin on his face. As always, I know something is motivating his visit today.

"What do you want, Haymitch?" I curtly reply.
"Easy!" he says. "Why, haven't I taken good care of you? I'm surprised you're not calling me daddy at this point."
I try to lunge at him but severe abdominal cramps and nausea overcome me.

"Looks like you need a little pink pill," he chuckles.
"What do you want?" I repeat.
"Look, I know what you need. You know what I need. We're the same person after all."
"I am nothing like you."
"You are just like me. And just like me, you need a little something to make a little thing called life less of a nightmare. You know we don't have our stipends anymore. We're broke, sweetheart."
"So what do we do? What do you want me to do?" I manage between chattering teeth.
"I need you to get it together and help Greasy Sae and me. You need to hunt like you used to. You need to go through that book of yours…the one with the plants. You, me, Greasy Sae, and Peeta can use what we already know to pull this together so we can actually have a livable life in District 12."

My annoyance gives way to curiosity.
"Peeta? Peeta's in the hospital in the Capitol."
"Peeta's days ran out."
"What? What does that mean?"
"Under the new system," Haymitch explains, "Citizens are offered so many days of treatment for whatever their problem is. Once those days are up, you're out whether you're cured or not."
"So Peeta isn't cured?"
Haymitch sighs. "I don't know. It doesn't matter. He's coming back to District 12."
"Why would he come back here? There's nothing here."
"Why did you come back, Katniss?"

Good question. Why had I come back? Did I think that if I had returned to District 12 the clock would somehow be reset to three years ago? The truth is, though, that there is no place for a Victor. Not now and not ever. Life is forever changed after the arena but District 12 is the closest I can get to having my first life back.

Haymitch grew impatient with my pensive silence. "Well anyway, I'll be in charge of the geese and anything with any sort of alcohol content. You'll be in charge of game and farming. Peeta can manage making bread and stuff. Greasy Sae will make it all come together. We'll have a nice little set-up, the four of us. A diner. Cheap, tasteless eats for cheap tasteless people, by cheap tasteless people."

"Wow. It's idyllic, really," I dryly offer.

"Do it or we'll be forced to live in the present reality," Haymitch threatens.

I roll over in my bed. "I'll do it tomorrow, okay? Leave me alone for the rest of today, Haymitch."

"Fine," he says. Then, after a pause in which he was clearly trying to think of some jab, "Remember, you can call me 'Pa' now."

My shoe makes a loud thud against the wood of the door just as its intended target closes the door behind him.