My head is still throbbing when my eyes decide to open for good. I can't tell if my throat is ragged because of the dehydration or from waking up screaming in the night.
Once I've survived my attempt to drown myself in the shower, gotten dressed, and opened the door to my room, I see that Saddler is leaving his own. Our relationship has been tenuous at best since we met years ago, but for the first time ever, he grins at me.
"Just you?" he asks, craning his neck to look past my shoulder and into my room.
I furrow my brow. "Of course, who else would be here?"
"Haymitch Abernathy."
My face burns when he says that name. I immediately remember the feeling of Haymitch's rough hand on my arm, his freshly manicured beard brushing against my face, his warm cheek under my lips…
"I saw you in the lounge last night," Saddler says, his grin looking nastier by the second. "You were all over him."
"I was not," I say defensively, stepping forward to slam the door shut.
"Did Garry tell you he wants to ally with that girl? What's her name? Catpiss?" Saddler asks as he follows me through the hallway. "That's the only reason I can think why you'd give someone like Haymitch the fuck-me eyes."
"What are you talking about?" I whisper harshly at him as I turn around.
"I saw the way you were looking at him by the elevators," Saddler tells me. "Before you put your head on his shoulder."
I don't remember him standing anywhere near the elevators last night. I only remember seeing him at the bar, sitting with Johanna.
"It's not a bad play, Briar. I'm just surprised you're willing to sink that low. Odair might be a stretch for you, but you can definitely do better than Abernathy," he snickers and walks past me for breakfast.
I close my eyes and lean my back against the wall behind me. Haymitch has been a good friend since my Hunger Games. He's one of the few people I feel anything close to happy around and now I'm afraid my actions last night will have ruined everything. Why was I behaving like that? Why did I kiss him on the cheek? Why did I want him to hold me through the night? Was it him or was it the need for the human contact I'd been missing for so many years?
Yeah, I think in response to the latter option. That must be it.
My eyelids squeeze tighter and I brace myself for what's surely to happen—Haymitch and Chaff laughing to each other about me behind my back, or worse, right in front of me. That's when I decide to cut myself off from alcohol for the rest of our time in the Capitol.
Clearly, I can't trust myself with it anymore.
"So, Garry," I start, sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed. "Tell me about yourself."
Garry stares back at me for a moment. His dark green eyes flit down to the tattoos on my arms and I regret not wearing a shirt with longer sleeves.
He knows. The boy is seventeen; he's surely seen the interviews I've given in the Capitol, where I've been asked about the markings on my arms and which new ones I've gotten to commemorate whoever I've lost the years prior.
"I grew up in the cattle sector," Garry finally says in a wooden voice. "My dad helps do that thing for the…what is it? Maintaining the genetic diversity or something."
"Oh, with the frozen embryos?" I offer.
"Yeah," Garry nods. "Dad and Uncle Dalton. Well, before Uncle Dalton went missing…" Garry is quiet for a second and glances back down at my arms. "You gonna get an ice cube with bullhorns for me?"
I try not to show him how sad his question makes me. He didn't want me to baby him—that's why he picked me over Kara and Beau. So, I reach out and punch him softly on the arm.
"Not if you win," I say.
"Pft," Garry rolls his eyes. But there's a ghost of a smile on his face. Perhaps my morose tribute actually has a sense of humor. "As long as it's not a clubfoot, I'm okay with it. I'm not defined by this." Garry taps the foot tucked under his knee from where he mirrors me on the middle of his bed.
I nod as a bitter smile creeps on my face. I think of Floriana, whose grand plan to help appeal to sponsors has been to play the pity card with Garry. I make a mental note to tell her not to do this anymore.
"What does define you, then?" I ask.
Garry shrugs and looks all around his room. "I dunno. I'm good with the cows…"
"Hopefully the arena will be a big field or a ranch, then," I bounce my eyebrows.
"Yeah, right," Garry chuckles. "Then I'd train 'em to stampede the others."
My face cracks into a full smile, glad that he's playing along with my highly unlikely scenario. "I can see you now—commanding from the back of a steer."
"With a pitchfork in my hand," Garry adds. "Just like Finnick Odair and his trident."
"Oh, you'll be more desirable than Finnick Odair," I wink, thinking of the young victor from District 4.
"If that's even possible," Garry snickers and rubs his hands together. "My mother's been in love with him since he showed up on our screen."
"Who hasn't been?" I cock a brow.
My smile falters when I remember the bronze-haired beauty's situation. Much like Kara, he's been forced to sell his body to the people of the Capitol. Much like Kara, he's smarter than me.
"So," I clear my throat and decide to change the subject. "You performed for the Gamemakers today. How do you think that went?"
Garry shrugs and I see his happy look fade. "I did my best."
"And what did you do?" I press.
"Well, like I've been telling you the past couple days, I've tried to learn most things," Garry says. "I haven't spent too much time with the Careers. And I've focused a lot on the survival skills."
"You know not to light a fire at night, correct?"
"Yeah, I'm not stupid."
I allow myself to snort.
"I don't think it really mattered what I showed those robed assholes," Garry sighs and looks away from me. I can tell he's not trying to show me how frustrated he is. "None of them were paying attention to me. Half of them were drunk, too."
"Just be glad you're not in Twelve," I tilt my head to the side. "They get the shortest end of the stick."
"Yeah, but you haven't seen either of those guys," Garry shakes his head. "That blonde kid, Peeta, he doesn't look like much, but I've seen him do hand-to-hand with the trainers. And then there's Fire Girl. She's smarter than she lets on."
I gulp. "Do…uh…do you want me to talk to their mentor about an alliance?"
Please say no, please say no, please say no.
I haven't seen much of Haymitch since that night in the elevator. In fact, I've tried to avoid him as much as possible, hoping to dodge any awkward conversations until he forgets anything ever happened. I know I'll see him in the control room, but hopefully he'll be too busy trying to keep his tributes alive to even register that I'm there.
"They're not going to want me as an ally," Garry says soberly, despite his wishes not to be defined by his foot. "They'd be better off with the twelve-year-old."
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek and then reach out to punch his arm again. "Then the last thing they're going to see is you on the back of that steer, raising your pitchfork to the sky."
One side of Garry's mouth lifts in a crooked smile. He's about to respond when Floriana knocks on the door for dinner.
Every meal since we arrived in the Capitol has gone much better than the first. Actual conversations happen, Opal seems to have stopped crying at every turn, and even Saddler has been something distantly related to friendly.
"You feel good about training?" he asks his tribute as he cuts into his sizzling steak.
"I know more about tying knots than I did before," she responds proudly. She should be prouder that she seems to have softened her mentor up since she met him. "I know a lot of stuff now."
"Show me when you get to the arena," he nods at her. "What did you do for them?"
"I camouflaged myself into a mat. But…" Opal shrinks in her seat. "I don't think they cared enough to notice."
"They couldn't be bothered to watch me set my traps either," Garry says in an attempt to comfort the girl.
Saddler looks from Opal to Garry, then to me. He shakes his head and shrugs his broad shoulders, then returns to cutting his steak.
"Fuck 'em."
When dinner is finished, Floriana plops herself onto the middle of the couch in front of our television. By the time Opal and Garry sit on either side of her with their respective stylists, she's got Claudius Templesmith on our screen. I sit down on the arm of the couch beside Garry's stylist and Saddler stands behind me. I hear him thrust his hands into his pockets as Claudius explains about the training scores.
I swing my dangling foot absentmindedly as the pictures of the tributes and their scores appear on the screens. I restrain myself from rolling my eyes as Marvel and Glimmer from District 1 show up, not only because of their high scores, but also because their names are Marvel and Glimmer. The Careers score well, which doesn't surprise me. Most of the other scores are middling. I smile at Opal and Garry when they're awarded their five and six.
"Briar won her Hunger Games with a five," Floriana says cheerily as she squeezes Opal's hand.
Briar was also incredibly lucky, I think to myself, despite what Kara tried to convince me of on the train.
I look back at the screen just in time to see Chaff's tribute, Thresh, score a ten, while the little twelve-year-old gets an impressive seven. Next is Peeta from District 12, who scores an eight, while Katniss shocks everyone with her eleven.
"She really is on fire," mutters Saddler.
I turn to exchange glances with him and immediately wish I hadn't. My cheeks must be glowing when he puckers his lips and makes a kissy-face at me. He still thinks I must be sleeping with Haymitch for an alliance… I gulp but take solace in the fact that he'll see how wrong he is in just a few short days.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat at the table. Kara had called me to discuss the headway she'd made in the Capitol, talking up Garry. Though I tried to persuade her to coming up to the tenth floor, she insisted we meet in the victor's lounge, and she insisted I wear something "nice."
My fingernails click and clack against the glossy tabletop as I wait. I keep looking around for Kara, hoping that she'll show up before Chaff or Haymitch do. If we look busy, no one will interrupt us, will they?
Finally, Kara strolls into the lounge, her hair bouncing behind her. She's wearing a slinky dark blue dress and I wonder if she's had to work much since we came to the Capitol. I don't actually want to ask, though, because I know the answer will make me sad.
"You look nervous," Kara observes as she sits down in the chair across from me. She glances down at the top of the short black dress I'd slipped into before meeting her. "You look nice, too," she says as an afterthought. "But you mostly look nervous."
Instead of answering, I shrug my shoulders and look down at the glass of water before me. Kara doesn't press me for any answers, instead flagging down an attendant and ordering herself a much stronger drink than I would dare after the first night.
"So," she says when she can finally take a sip. "A six. Not bad. Not bad at all."
"He should be able to fly under the radar for a while," I bob my head.
"Everyone loves an underdog," Kara folds her hands under her chin. "That's what I keep telling the prospective sponsors."
"Do you think we'll get a lot this year?" I ask hopefully.
"I think Beau and I have swayed a good amount so far. And there's still the interviews as well," Kara says. She pauses a moment and narrows her eyes at me. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?" I furrow my brow.
"You're getting too close to your tribute."
My mouth opens before I can even think of what I'm going to reply. "What's wrong with caring about him?" I eventually ask.
"You know how this is going to turn out, Briar," Kara reaches out and covers my hand with hers. "If he doesn't win…"
"Then I'll keep his memory alive," I finish where she trails off, not looking into her eyes. I know she's right—I'll surely be devastated if and when Garry dies. Like Saddler said, at least one of them is going to die. And with Haymitch's apparent revitalization with his tributes this year, and that damned eleven, Garry and Opal would be lucky to make it past the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.
"I don't want to see you get hurt again," Kara says softly, removing her hand from mine. "Don't let hope paralyze you."
"I'm not trying to," I finally look up at her concerned face. "But I'm not giving up on Garry either."
Kara is silent for a moment. She gives me a bitter smile and shakes her head slowly. "This is why you're a much better mentor than I would ever be."
"It's not easy," I shrug again, then smile pointedly at her. "But sometimes it's rewarding."
As we sit and talk about her experiences schmoozing this year, Kara encourages me to order something other than water. I finally ask for a fruity drink, but I exercise extra care to drink it slowly this time. I take an unfortunately timed sip when I hear Kara's imitation of Floriana's apparent nemesis, Effie Trinket, and narrowly avoid my drink going up my nose.
"She thinks pearls come from coal?" I laugh once it's safe for me to. "She's clearly never spent time in District Four."
"We should have Mags sort her out," Kara grins at me.
"Mags can barely speak," I point out. The sweet, old victor from District 4 had suffered a stroke in years past.
"Yes, but she's…expressive in other ways," Kara's grin becomes eviler by the second, culminating in her smacking the back of one hand into the other palm.
As Kara and I laugh, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. For the briefest moment, I forget why we're here, how we know each other, that we both have the blood of several children on our hands. I experience a tiny sliver of true happiness and it feels good.
"Speaking of Effie Trinket, how scandalized was Floriana when she saw her new wig this year?" Kara asks in a dramatic whisper.
"Don't even get me started," I roll my eyes. "'Of all colors, she must choose pink! Well, at least mine is meaningful!'" I imitate a snippet of the rant I was subjected to on the train.
"What it must be like to live here," Kara shakes her head after laughing. "Sending twenty-four kids to kill each other and those two idiots are competing over their curly, pink hair."
"Could you imagine Effie and Floriana in the arena?" I take a sip of my drink.
"They wouldn't make it to the arena. They'd claw each other's eyes out in front of Caesar Flickerman."
"Good point."
"Speaking of Caesar," Kara leans in and I know we're back to business, "is Garry ready for the interview?"
"I'm going to sit down with him tomorrow morning," I tell her.
"You know him better than I do; what approach do you think he should go with? I mean, the obvious way to go is for sympathy—"
"No," I cut her off in my most serious tone. Her words leave a bad taste in my mouth. Kara's face falls at my reaction, but I don't let her say anything else. "Garry is not defined by his foot. He's a smart kid, witty when you get him going. I think we'll go for humorous."
Kara nods slowly, not seeming to believe me very much. I notice her glancing down at my bare arms and I can practically see her trying to anticipate where my newest tattoo will go.
"Thank you for your insights," I fake a smile, my tiny sliver of true happiness replaced with dread and gloom now. "I'll need to get some sleep for tomorrow."
"Briar, I—"
But I'm already pushing my chair in and walking away. Everyone has given up on Garry except for me. His chances aren't likely, but stranger things have happened.
As I head towards the exit, my eyes are drawn up towards the poster of the timid, unimpressive girl from District 10 readying herself to launch a spear across a ruined building with a knife lodged into her stomach. Yes, that girl had luck on her side, but that girl also had enough social skills to create and maintain a powerful partnership, and that girl was able to do a lot more damage than she ever thought she was capable of. I make a note to remind myself of these facts more often.
Beau believed in me. Thom believed in me, I think. And I believe in Garry.
I'm so lost in my thoughts that I nearly bump into someone in front of me. I glance down from the poster and stop short. I see a man wearing a black shirt in front of me. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing olive-toned forearms. I look up from the buttons of his shirt and my eyes meet the steely gray ones peering down at me.
"Briar Martingale," Haymitch cocks a dark eyebrow at me. "How nice to see you."
I try to swallow the knot in my throat and manage a small smile. My chest feels heavy with pressure and I'm not entirely sure how to react to him being in front of me.
"Been a while," he adds, folding his arms above his slight paunch.
"Been busy," I shrug.
"Have you?" Haymitch asks. He clearly doesn't believe me. "Thought I'd be seeing a lot more of you this week."
"Maybe I took your advice to heart," I glance away from him and fold my arms as well. "Maybe I'm not trying to be like you."
"I know you're not like me," Haymitch sighs. "I don't kiss people's faces in elevators and then treat them like strangers."
My eyes snap back to his and I feel the heat rising in my face. Haymitch is smirking at me, his eyebrow still high on his face. A measly, "I was drunk…" is all I'm capable of uttering at this point.
"Well, Martingale, I've learned the hard way that that's no excuse," he stares down his nose at me.
"I'm sorry," I mutter to the pointy toes of my flats. "I don't know what I was… I don't know why…" I'm still staring at my shoes when Haymitch leans in closer. He grabs one of my elbows and comes so close to my ear that I can hear his breath.
"Maybe I'm not complaining," he murmurs to me.
By the time I lift my head up, he's let go of my elbow and started to pull away from me. My face feels warmer than before and my stomach is tingling, despite my responsible drinking tonight. I wonder how red my face is when Haymitch winks at me and starts to walk past me. I turn my head over my shoulder and catch him doing the same to me. He looks down at my little black dress and smirks wider at me.
"Maybe I am," he cocks his head. "But maybe I'm not." And with that, he walks further into the crowd, leaving me alone by the exit.
What the actual fuck just happened? I ask myself as I watch his retreating figure. I swallow the growing knot once more and take a cursory glance around the area, making sure Saddler isn't nearby. I don't even want to imagine what he'd say to me if he witnessed that interaction with Haymitch.
I doubt I'd ever hear the end of it.
