- 1 -

There is only one thing I can do - sometimes I think that might well be about all I am good for - and I am not even sure Haymitch is into it. It is not me - my 'please', my body, or that hurting lump inside my chest - that wins in the end. It is white liquor. The President's speech. Drunken Katniss. This huge, empty, grave-like house late in the night.

Somehow, we slowly make it to another heavily blinded room across the kitchen - I cannot quite decide whether it is Haymitch leading me or me bracing him against the fall. As we stumble onto the sofa though, I make up my mind to believe in the former. I am reaching out in the dark - just like I am used to - yet, it is somehow different this time with this man. I am surprised that my hands start to tremble, and I am suddenly clumsy. It would have been so much easier if I could only see his face, if he would only kiss me or call me by my name. Anything that would let me know that I exist for him now. That he knows it is me - not just a faceless antidote against the night and upcoming games.

But then, it does not seem to matter. I hear him sigh in mock exasperation and chuckle.

"Sorry, girl... My train won't leave the station. Don't take it personally."

It is strange but I do not want him to stop. I would rather lie here against the warm and sleepy heaviness of his body and breathe in stale liquor. So, I ask hastily and confusedly, "Is there anything you want me to do to...?"

He does not respond, and I cannot really do anything on my own because he has flattened me down. I am waiting while my legs and arms are getting numb, and his body is getting more and more heavy. It is only when I hear him snoring into my ear that I understand that - for better or worse - there will be nothing else tonight.

- 2 -

I do not know how long I have been staying like that. Staring into the dark. Listening to Haymitch snoring away. My dress all wrinkled. My chest aching for I can barely breathe.

I must have finally dozed off because the next thing I remember is opening my eyes and seeing the dim grey light through the hole in the curtain. I hurt all over - especially my shoulder that Haymitch has been using as pillow - and I desperately need to pee, so I absolutely must get up.

As I slowly pull myself off the sofa, Haymitch moves uneasily and mumbles something incoherent. Then, suddenly, he startles and is up before I can even blink. His eyes wide-open and unseeing. In a wink, I am thrown off the coach and duck under the table as he yells and crushes all around in an attempt to get at me. Too scared and confused even to cry out, I hold on to the chair that prevents him from getting under the table. I hold on for my dear life. My heart pounding. He pulls me out with such force that I bang my head on the table corner , and everything swims in front of my eyes. I stare into the swirling depth of the blind madness in his eyes, at the knife in his fist, and finally manage to wheeze, "It's just me, please...Don't kill me..."

These words seems to open the magic door for me. He slowly releases me and looks into my face as if painfully trying to remember.

"Oh, it's you, girl," he says finally.

"Yes! Yes!" I exhale in between crying and gasping for air, and thinking of one thing and one only: how to find the door and run away from this all this nightmarish darkness - in this house and this man's eyes - and never-ever to come back.

He is sleepy and still very loaded. I can see that in his confused face and clumsy movements as Haymitch falters, lowers his knife, and stumbles back onto the sofa. Clearly having no idea what is going on, and what I am doing here.

This is clearly my chance to get out whole and alive. But I don't jump on it. It is what he does next that disconcerts me completely.

Reaching out. Wetting the cuff of his shirt with the remnants of liquor. Using the damp cuff to gently wipe blood off my brow.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you now," he mutters, and a strange warm feeling suddenly fills me up.

I am still trying to find the name for this feeling while Haymitch shuffles away to the restroom and returns with his hair and face wet and dripping, and the zipper on his pants undone.

I am trying to avoid his eyes as he scowls at me and asks, "Now, could you please remind me what exactly I've missed since last night?"

I swallow hard and lower my head. The last thing I want is to explain what has happened and how I came to be here. The lump on my brow hurts, and I am dizzy for the recent fear and lack of sleep. So, I stare down onto my lap and shrug my shoulders hoping he would not press on for more.

He watches me with such intensity that I start to blush and bite on my nails.

"I need to head back home now... My uncle is going to beat the crap out of me."

He frowns and nods. It is funny that he does not seem in the least relieved now when it is clear I will not make a scene. As he sees me off, on a whim, I turn and smile at him tremulously.

"I'll see you around, won't I?"

He shrugs and bangs the door shut.

- 3 -

I am lucky. It is just after 8 am and there are no customers at the store when I tip-toe in. I quickly put on my aunt's old apron to cover my wrinkled dress, throw the shutters open, and begin cleaning around. The morning hours are always my shift since my uncle likes to watch the 9 o'clock news while sipping his coffee, my aunt usually cradles her migraine, and Rote prefers to sleep in late.

Since there is no one here, I venture quietly turning on the radio set. The husky voice of the Capitol singer. The faint smell of spring blossoms and new grass seeps through the usual Seam dust into the open window. When I brush a strand of hair off my brow and occasionally touch the bruised lump, I again get that warm feeling inside me. I smile at I don't know what and close my eyes, and the Capitol singer's soft blues creeps into me and vibrates deep down my belly. My dress is fluttering and rippling in the draft.

The draft... I stop shortly when I hear the door creaking behind me, and as I turn around, there he is. Standing at the threshold. The gun at his side, and his mask pulled up. How long has he been staying like that? Watching me curiously. His pale blue eyes are expressionless. For a moment, I duly wonder why his smooth handsome face and his broad shoulders have never appealed to either me or any other girl from our district. Is it because he is a Peacekeeper? Or because he looks so different from the men here? Or is it because of the way he always holds his gun - as if it all were a game and he were only too happy to try it out? Still though, I tell myself, he hasn't yet hurt anyone...

"Good morning, would you like to..." I stammer, and he interrupts me.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?"

I can feel the flush raising up my neck. Everyone around knows I am a good dancer. I have always been the first at our district evenings. Yet, this particular kind of dance is only for when I am alone. And now, this stranger from District 2 has seen me through and through.

"I'd say you are a match to those girls at Capitol parties," Aelius drags out his words but I can tell there is a bit of genuine appreciation in his condescending tone. While I am looking for a pack of cigarettes that he has requested, I know his eyes are still on me. Somehow, that sends chills down my spine, and I wrap my aunt's apron tighter around me, and try not to turn my back on him.