Chapter 20: Realization

Reynald Guenther

My head throbs as I try to focus on the screen in front of me. I almost want to give up, to continue drinking my way into oblivion. But I can't.

Focus, Reynald. You told yourself you would help these kids.

I grit my teeth, massaging my temples with my hand.

"You good?"

Milo stands just behind my shoulder, watching our tributes through my screen.

"Fine," I ground out. "Just a headache threatening to make my head explode. Nothing out of the ordinary."

He makes a sound of sympathy but I know he doesn't understand how bad withdrawal is. The victor of the 15th Games has never had a drink in his life.

Sometimes I wonder if that makes me weak. My thoughts bring me back to when I first met District 9's only male victor. His Victory Tour was only a year after my own. Of course, seeing the way the Tour works, he and his team had been paraded to District 12 first. I had been drowning in alcohol, unable to handle the death of the two kids who had been reaped that year. Coupled with the fact that my sister had died six months earlier, I was so drunk I hardly remember anything from that night.

Except for Milo finding me after the dinner District 12 had barely put together. I'll never forget that.

"Reynald, right?"

I turn to look at the boy in front of me, not bothering to hide how annoyed I am. "What do you want?"

He looks me in the eye and he doesn't look like the scared 17-year-old boy who won the last Games by hiding out until the final two. He looks sharper, more angry. I wonder if the new President of Panem, President Snow, has talked with him yet.

"Why do you drink?" He doesn't even bother with pleasantries. "What's so bad about being a Victor? I fought to come back home and it's not as great as I thought."

I guess Snow did talk with him.

"Why should I tell you," I had said, irritation dripping from my tone. "Go ask someone else."

I knew I was being rude to someone who just needed answers but I found that I couldn't care less.

He scoffed. "Like who? You're the most recent Victor besides me and you're only two years older than me. No one else could possibly understand what I'm going through." He had knocked the bottle away from my hand, making me straighten up with a growl. "You don't have to like me, but I think we would make a good team."

I remember pushing past him, my eyes set on finding another bottle. "You will never understand what it's like to be me." He wouldn't. After all I had been through. He grabs my hand, pulling me back. I shake it off and look him in the eyes like he did to me not minutes earlier. "And I hope you never will."

It took his mother dying of a mysterious illness to make me chose to be his friend. He's been one of the only people to really know me since.

But even after his mother's death, he never turned to the bottle. Maybe it was because she was already old, unlike my little sister, or maybe it's because he's always been the smarter one. I'll never know.

I glance around at the other mentors in the Control Room. The room where we watch over our tributes, sending them expensive gifts we can hardly afford and praying for their lives until they inevitably die. 49 Games have left most Districts with at least 2 mentors. One for the girls and one to take care of the boys. It's useful this year because then you don't have to be stuck mentoring four kids like I am.

About half of them are like me, long gone on some sort of substance, trying to forget the horrors of their past. But unlike me, those half have continued that this year, not seeing the point in trying this year. To them, double the tributes meant half the odds of winning.

Not for me. Not this year. This year I finally have some fighters.

"Reynald," Milo says and I realize that he must have been trying to get my attention for a while.

"Yeah?"

He points at the screen. "Your tributes are doing it again."

I look at the screen, switched to monitor Maysilee and William. They're kissing for the second time in ten minutes. It's been about a half hour since the girl from 10 betrayed them and now that they've found a new hiding spot, Maysilee and William haven't stopped kissing.

Maybe they're doing something right. Because we certainly have a lot more sponsor money now than we did yesterday.

But still, I can't suppress a groan. "They're so dumb. Only one of them can win. They should know not to get their hearts broken."

Milo doesn't seem offended that I'm implying his last tribute, Miller, isn't going to win. We both know he'll die soon. Especially with that poison in his veins.

"I hope one of your tributes win," he says quietly, watching as William holds Maysilee in a passionate embrace. "They should just kill him soon. Put him out of his misery."

We both look at his screen, just next to mine, that shows Miller a few feet away from my tributes, rocking back and forth, his eyes glazed over. "Wouldn't you want the other girl to win?"

I'm talking about Kasha, the other remaining District 9 tribute. Her winning would mean District 9 escapes terrible poverty this year.

But Milo shakes his head. "She's Aluma's tribute. And all she's good at is hiding. But I don't think it'll help her win like it helped me. She isn't too smart. It won't be long until she falls for one of the traps in the Arena." He sighs. "But a win would be good for your District."

That's an understatement. Winning would be huge for District 12. Where most of the kids are emaciated and the adults are barely getting by, a win would mean we could all live a little easier this year.

Speaking of Aluma. I look around the Control Room, finally spotting her talking to Mags from District 4. Everyone likes Mags. Even though she trains the Careers, we all know she is nothing like one. Even though she's only a year older than me, she acts more like my mom than my real one ever did.

Maybe it's because she was a mother herself.

Milo sees where I'm looking and grimaces at the sight of Aluma. "She still hasn't forgiven me, you know. She thinks I've doomed our District."

He's talking about the fact that we sent Maysilee, William, Ana, and Miller an empty syringe to use to end Miller's life. It was Milo's idea. After he realized just how badly Miller was poisoned, he wanted to help his last tribute of this year in any way he could. Which included giving him a less painful death.

It wasn't like he would've made it out of that Arena anway. Physically or mentally. Not after watching his little sister die in front of him.

I can relate to that boy with that.

Once Aluma had seen Maysilee explaining about the empty syringe on the big screen, she had come over and punched Milo so hard, his cheek is still purple. She was fuming even after Milo had explained why it was the best plan. She thinks it's my fault. She thinks I convinced him to let his tribute die so one of mine could win.

I've done many terrible things. But I would never hurt my friend like that.

"I'm sure she'll come around," I say, then wince as my head throbs again. "My head is really killing me." I go back to massaging my temples.

Milo gives me a thoughtful look. "You must really think your kids have a chance, then. I've never seen you stay off drinking for such a long time."

"I have a good feeling about those three." I pause. "Well, maybe not William anymore." I can see Maysilee fretting over his wound. "That cut is deep."

"We can pull together some money for good bandages," Milo says as he checks our amount of sponsor money. "I still can't believe that girl betrayed them like that."

"I didn't know about her plan," says a quiet voice from behind us. "Just so you know."

It's Belinda, victor of the 45th Games. She's District 10's second victor and won with her surprisingly good skills with a mace. It was a stroke of luck for her that her Arena had them as the only available weapon.

I wonder if she's been waiting for us to being up her tribute just so she could cut in like that.

"Really?" I frown. Most mentors help their tributes come up with strategies and fake personalities. It's so rare that a tribute comes up with one all on their own.

"I really didn't," she says, her eyes focused on the screen behind me. "I thought she was just a strong-headed girl determined to go back home. I never thought of her as a killer."

"Thought?" Milo asks. "So you think of her as a killer now?"

I roll my eyes. "Really, Milo? That girl nearly killed my tribute."

But Belinda shakes her head. "She killed someone at the Bloodbath. That's when I realized that she fooled us all."

I frown. I had been too busy cursing at Haymitch to pay attention to the beginning of the Bloodbath.

Milo cuts in before I can ask who she killed. "She said it was in self defense."

Belinda's frown matches mine. "She killed an innocent boy. Just because he was in the way."

She leaves after that and I'm glad, because I wasn't looking forward to apologizing to her because my tribute killed her's in self defense.

"Just take a break," Milo says after another hour of us staring at our screens. He must have noticed that I can barely pay attention. "Go have some lunch or something. I'll look over our group." He pauses. "The boy too."

I shake my head. We almost have enough sponsor money to get a bandage for William. I want to be the one to send it. I need to prove to myself that I'm doing something good in my life.

For once.

Milo shakes his head when I explain my thoughts to him. "We probably won't have enough money until tomorrow. You might as well take a break."

It's my turn to shake my head. "I'm not leaving, Milo. I need to stay here."

I jump when a plate is placed in front of me, containing a sandwich from a restaurant I know is nearby.

Looking up I see Mags holding a couple more plates in her hand. She gives me a soft smile. "Eat up, Reynald." She hands a plate to Milo. "You too, Milo."

I look at the sandwich carefully. I know Mags means well but I don't think I could possibly eat with how terrible I feel right now. If she had given me a bottle however, it would've been a different story.

The stern yet motherly look she gives me makes me take a pathetic bite from the edge. My stomach rumbles with satisfaction. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until just now. When was the last time I ate? I don't remember. Maybe yesterday night?

Even with my pounding headache, I devour the sandwich within minutes. Milo is doing the same beside me. Now that I think about it, he's been with me since the Games started. I feel a distant pang when I realize that he's stayed here to help me.

He's always been the better friend.

"Thanks, Mags," Milo says when Mags returns to our table, her hands now free of plates. Sure enough the mentors around me are happily digging into their free lunches.

She really is too kind.

"Anytime," she smiles, bringing a chair over. Milo scoots over so she can watch the Games on my screen while she talks with us. I can't count how many times it's been just the three of us, watching the Games together and hoping that our tributes will last just another day.

Winning in years so close to one another has made the three of us pretty good friends. After all, there's nothing else quite like bonding about the horrors you've faced in life.

"So, what are your tributes like this year?" I ask. It's not uncommon for mentors to discuss their tributes with one another. However, we're careful not to reveal too much.

Mags shrugs. "Same as usual." Her eyes grow sad like they always do when she talks about her tributes. "I don't think District 4 will have a Victor this year. The three who are left are much too over confident." I give her hand a squeeze and she smiles briefly. "What about you two?"

Milo shakes his head. "They're all goners. I'm not going to get my hopes up."

"I might," I say. "I've got some good ones."

"Yes," Mags says, looking back up at me. "The boy, the one with dark hair. Haymitch, was it?"

I nod. "What about him?"

"He seems like a fighter. The girl too."

I shrug. "Maybe they'll make it far." I'm forcing myself not to get too excited. It's been far too long since District 12 has had a Victor and I've learned not to become attached to anyone who enters the Arena.

Because they never come out.

Mags, like she always does, seems to read my thoughts. Her eyes travel back to the screen. William, exhausted from his fight with Ana, is sleeping fitfully, his head resting on Maysilee's shoulder. Miller sleeps a couple of feet away, occasionally murmuring his dead sister's name. Maysilee looks at them with such sorrow in her eyes that I know she can't bear to see them hurt. Haymitch, who takes up the other half of my screen, is sitting in the same tree he's been in since I sent him food. He's zoned out, looking deep in thought as he fingers a ring in his hand. I think of his girlfriend. That must be his token.

Mags must have noticed it too because she sighs. "Young love. So beautiful yet so deadly."

Milo and I exchange a glance.

Mags has probably one of the worst lives out of all of us Victors. She married two years after her Games, when she was 18. This was a smart move on her part, because her husband was no longer eligible for the Games. She told me later than they had been dating since they were 15 but decided to wait until they were both safe from the Reaping to get married officially.

Mags' token for her Games was a ring too. A ring that later became her wedding ring. I remember how she held it in her hands and cried when she found her husband dead on their sixth anniversary.

But she never took off the ring. She kept it until her twelve-year-old son was reaped and gave it to him before he entered his Games.

He died in the Bloodbath and his younger sister followed in the same footsteps five years later.

It's common knowledge by now amongst Victors that if you have a family, they'll either be killed or reaped for the Games if you don't do as the Capitol says. Mags was unlucky enough to lose her entire family because of the Capitol.

I don't know how she hasn't gone insane. I only lost one person and it was enough to ruin my life.

But I only ever had my sister. I never had anyone else.

"Rhea!" I called, stepping into the living room. "Where's my little munchkin?"

Of course, this makes her pop out from under the couch. She pouts in all her eight-year-old glory. "Hey! I'm not little!"

I pick her up and whirl her around. She instantly forgets about my little nickname for her and starts squealing as I spin her faster and faster before swinging her on my shoulders. "I missed you on my Victory Tour."

She giggles. "I missed you too."

"So what did you get up to while I was gone?"

Rhea sighs loudly into my ear. "It was boring. I had to go back to the home again 'cuz Miss Slatia says I'm not old enough to stay at your house alone. She only just dropped me off when she heard you were back."

I wince. Ever since our mom abandoned us seven years ago, we had been forced to stay at the community home. Since I was only 11 then and couldn't possibly take care of a year old baby on my own, the owner of the home, Miss Slatia, took us in.

Rhea grew up there so although the kids there were mean and the other staff were tormenting at best, she never thought it was too bad. She just stuck around Miss Slatia.

I, on the other hand, hated the community home with every fiber of my being. I waited impatiently for the day I would turn 18 so I could move out and take Rhea with me. It would be just me and her. Just the way I liked it.

Of course, my plans were dashed when I got Reaped a week after my eighteenth birthday.

Rhea had screamed and wailed for the three minutes that I was allowed to take to her. She made me pinky promise to come back home to her. The Peacekeepers had to carry her frail shrieking body out of the room when she refused to leave.

Miss Slatia had been my only other visitor. She was as close to a mother than anyone else I knew. So I begged her to take good care of Rhea until I came back. If I came back at all.

She agreed and Rhea was still the same little girl I remembered when I returned home.

I wasn't though. I would never be the same.

"Reynald?" I'm forced back into the present by Rhea tugging my ear.

I twist to look up at her. She has her face scrunched up the way it does when she's thinking hard about something. "Yeah?"

"You stopped listening." Her voice sounds cross, as cross as a little girl's can anyway, but I know she understands. She knows how I wake up every night screaming in terror. She knows that I'm sucked into flashbacks at even the sight of a knife.

She may not have had to grow up quickly when I was Reaped. But she's matured much more now that I've returned.

"I'm sorry, munchkin," I say. "What were you saying?"

She grins. "We got a package. I saw it before you came. It's from the Capitol. Can we open it? Pretty please?"

I figure it's something my prep team dropped off. Although all I want to do is forget about the Capitol, I can't say no to the adorable girl sitting on my shoulders. "Okay, let's go."

"Yay!" She jumps down from my back, something I've told her many times to stop, and races to the back door. I follow her, not able to stop my smile at her obvious excitement.

The porch of the back door reveals a white package with a purple-coloured label. It reads: For Rhea Guenther.

Rhea gasps and claps her hands together. "It's for me?"

I'm confused. Who would send my sister a package? Maybe it was my prep team after all? They loved talking to Rhea when they came to pick me up for my tour. Yes, that must be it.

"Yeah, munchkin," I hand it to her. "Looks like it's yours."

She grins as she grabs the package but sticks her tongue out at me. "I told you. I'm not a munchkin."

I grin. "Yes, you are. Don't worry though, one day you'll be all grown up and I won't call you a munchkin anymore."

"Okay." She rips apart the packaging and gasps. "I got cookies!"

"Really?" I ask, leaning over to peer inside the box. Sure enough, about a half dozen sugar cookies rest inside the box. I nod to myself, thinking that my prep team must have sent these for sure. Rhea talked about sugar cookies for a full five minutes during her interview after I made the top eight.

"Can I eat them now?" She asks, practically bouncing up and down. Although she's only had them twice before, sugar cookies are her favourite food of all time.

"Sure." I think of all the Capitol citizens who danced with me the past week and involuntarily shiver. "I'm just going to go take a shower, okay?"

She holds one out to me. "Want one before you go?"

I shake my head with a laugh. "Come on, Rhea. You already know that I can't stand sugar cookies."

"I don't know why," she mumbles around a full mouthful. "They're delicious."

I kiss her cheek and stand up. "Enjoy."

I've only just gotten inside and removed my jacket when I hear a scream. "Reynald!"

It's Rhea. Her shriek cuts at me like broken glass.

"Reynald!"

I sprint back outside and spot Rhea instantly. She's standing on the porch, staring down at the cookie crumbs in her hands. A single cookie lays untouched in the package.

"Rhea," I say. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She lets out a little sob. "Something's not right."

I'm confused. "What do you mean?"

"They taste all weird. My tummy hurts."

I freeze. They're just cookies. They can't hurt her. Right?

But they're from the Capitol.

And I know how terrible the Capitol can be.

A sense of terror like no other fills me up inside as Rhea starts to sway.

"Rhea!" I cry as she topples into my outstretched arms. She's gasping. Choking. "Rhea, darling, look at me."

She doubles over, forcing me on my knees, as she starts to cough. I cry out when blood from her mouth sprays across my bare arms.

They're poisonous. The truth dawns on me like a load of bricks.

No. No. No.

"Rhea!" I say, my voice cracking. "No. No. Please don't go."

She looks up at me, tears spilling from her eyes. "It hurts, Reynald."

"I know. I know. You're going to be alright, I promise."

I glance up, looking around desperately for someone who can help us. I curse the fact that my new fancy Victor house is so far away from the rest of the District.

Maybe that's on purpose.

"Help!" I scream, praying that someone is nearby. "Somebody, help!"

There's no reply and Rhea's breathing is growing fainter. Blood dribbles from her mouth and down her chin, dripping onto her cookie crumb covered hands.

"Rhea, just hold on a little longer. I'm going to go get help, okay?"

She nods. Words must be too hard right now. I set her on the floor carefully and sprint to the gate.

"Help! Help! Please!"

I scream until my voice is hoarse. I almost cry in relief when five minutes later, I spot the apothecary, who must have been out and about, walking up the street, no doubt having heard my screams.

The apothecary goes pale as I explain my predicament to her. She rushes inside the gate and heads to the back of my house with me hot on her heels. She stops abruptly with a shriek as she catches sight of Rhea on the floor.

At first, I stare at Rhea's frail body, unable to comprehend anything. Then I'm falling on my knees at her side, screaming, begging for her to wake up.

But I've seen enough in the Games to recognize a dead body.

And I know my little munchkin won't ever grow up.

A spray of water jolts me from the horrors in my head.

I look up from where I've had my head in my hands and sure enough, Milo's holding a half empty water bottle.

I wonder how much time has passed. On the screen, Haymitch is still fingering his ring so it can't have been that long. Belinda's peering at us curiously but it seems that no one else has seen what has happened. They must be too busy keeping their tributes alive.

When I look back at him, Milo looks sheepish. "Sorry. You were—"

I cut him off with a shake of my head. I don't want to hear about what happened. I don't need to hear about how my own thoughts can send me into a flashback.

Mags has a concerned look on her face. It's one that I've seen directed at me far too many times for my liking. I realize distantly that Mags must think her words triggered me.

I don't know how to explain to her that it was my own thoughts that did that.

Milo holds out a hand towel for me to dry off with but I don't take it. My hands are shaking. I turn away from my friends' worrying eyes on the pretense of watching my tributes.

I can't let another one die like Leila did.

I remember how much that messed me up. Leila and Rhea would have been good friends had they been the same age. Both smart and sweet. I knew from the moment I saw Leila that her death would mess me up.

Even now I can see her blood spraying as she succumbed to the poison.

Yet another little girl I couldn't save.

Someone puts their hand on my shoulder. "Do you want to talk?" Milo's voice sounds like it's far away.

I shake my head and realize only then that the rest of me is shaking too. I'm drowning in memories and it's as though the ground is dropping out from underneath me.

It's your fault that they're dead. It's all your fault.

I stand abruptly, my breaths coming in searing gasps.

"Reynald, wait." It's Mags this time who grabs my arm. I jolt away, my mind spinning.

I need a bottle. I need one. It takes away the pain.

It takes away the pain.

I no longer care about the promise I made myself. I can't do this. I can't handle this.

Ignoring Milo and Mags calling after me, I leave the Control room, looking for the closest bar I can find.

It doesn't take long until I'm drinking my memories away.

...

I stumble back into the Control room hours later. All the other mentors take one look at me and move out of my path, returning to their screens. Even in the fog that I'm in, I'm grateful. Because I can hardly keep myself upright.

Milo's shoulders relax when he sees me approach him.

"There you are," his voice sounds like it's coming from miles away. "I was worried."

"It's been hours," Mags adds. "We wondered where you ran off to. We watched your tributes, don't worry. They haven't done anything since you left."

Their half smiles fade the moment I stagger to my chair and almost fall off.

Milo groans. "Are you drunk?" he demands and I can hear the anger in his voice like a whip. "How many bottles?"

Mags puts a hand on his arm, probably stopping him from punching my face. "It's hard for him right now. Give him time."

"He's going to kill himself one day with all that drinking, Mags," he hisses. "And he knows it too."

I can hear the sadness in Mag's voice. "I know, Milo. But seeing that little girl die was really hard for him."

"That doesn't mean he can drink himself to death."

Mags voice is despairing and I would feel bad if I wasn't so out of it. "We can help him but he needs time to heal first."

I can hear the annoyance in Milo's voice when he says, "Whatever."

Mags returns to her screen. She has to keep an eye on her tributes.

Milo refuses to talk at all for another half hour. It's fine by me. The effects of all my drinks are fading away and I just know I'm going to have a massive hangover tomorrow.

William's leg doesn't look any better but it isn't getting worse either. Maysilee did a pretty decent job of wrapping the huge cut with one of their blankets. It would look a lot better if they had some bandages. I decide to send them tomorrow.

Haymitch is still in the same position he was in when I left hours ago. He sleeps on and off and does a good job of rationing out the food I sent him.

The longer I watch him, the more I think that he'd be a good Victor. He's smart, ambitious, and calculating. There's some kindness there but it's hidden under enough arrogance that you'd have to be really looking in order to see it.

Okay, maybe he wouldn't be a good Victor but he'd sure make a great addition to the group that Justyn has going on.

Not that I really know much about that group. Justyn calls us 'The Rebellion' but I know that his dream of a rebellion is a joke. It could never happen. The Capitol can never be defeated.

Still, I think Justyn would like having someone like Haymitch in our little group of angry Victors and so-called "rebel" Capitol members.

Speaking of Haymitch, something has caught his eye. He straightens up for the first time today and jumps down from his tree.

I hear Milo's voice behind me. "What on earth is he doing?"

I guess he's confused enough to speak to me.

But I have no idea what my tribute is doing. My head pounds even trying to guess.

Haymitch walks towards a group of green flowers. At least I think they're green. Maybe it's the grass that's green. Yes, that must be it. The flowers are a bright purple colour.

He has a wistful look on his face and he stops in front of them.

Milo groans. "Don't tell me he's going to pick them or something dumb like that."

Haymitch does just that and even I have to suppress the urge to enter the Arena for the sole purpose of knocking some sense into him.

They must be poisonous. Everything in the Arena is. I bite my tongue to keep from cursing when he takes a sniff of them. Maybe he isn't so smart after all.

I see the exact moment Haymitch realizes that the pretty flowers in his hands have the power to kill him. His eyes go comically wide and he stumbles back, gasping and choking. He trips and winds up on his hands and knees, retching.

Milo groans again beside me. "I really thought that kid had what it took to get far. Sorry, Reynald."

But Haymitch is fumbling with his bag, his hands shaking in effort to undo the zip quickly.

I frown. What could he possibly be looking for?

I get my answer when Haymitch pulls a bottle from his bag and rips the lid off. I stare on in confusion as he shakes two little capsules into his hand and dumps them in his mouth.

"Oh," I say, making the connection even in my intoxicated state. Those must be the poison reverse pills he got from the Cornucopia.

I guess risking his life to get those ended up saving his life.

Haymitch stays on the ground for a few minutes as the capsules do their work. After he stops gagging, he straightens up with a scowl. He takes one look at the flowers he's dropped on the floor and steps on them, grinding them under his shoes

"Really?" he growls, looking right into the camera. He looks livid. "I can't even smell flowers now? How could you make flowers poisonous too? It isn't like you guys don't already ruin everything beautiful."

Milo inhales sharply beside me. "He's going to get himself killed is he keeps talking like that."

But no explosion comes to kill Haymitch. I watch as my tribute rambles on for another couple minutes, before grabbing his stuff and heading off in a seemingly random direction.

I look over to my side and see Milo shaking his head. "I thought he was a goner for sure."

But I'm smiling. I feel excited, giddy even. Because Haymitch is perfect for everything Justyn has planned.

"I have a call to make," I announce to a worried looking Milo, grabbing my phone from my pocket.

Milo reaches out to take it. "Reynald, you're drunk. Think before you make a call."

I pull away. "Relax, it's just a call."

Milo lowers his voice. "Just remember the Capitol can listen in on every call you make."

I shrug. "Doesn't matter. I have to tell Justyn something."

"What, no!" Milo lunges for the phone. "The Capitol isn't supposed to know about the conversations we have with him."

"So what? They've never listened in on conversations before."

Milo opens his mouth to protest again but I've already dialed the number.

"Hey, Justyn." Even Milo's worried look doesn't stop my grinning. Hmm, maybe I'm more drunk than I thought.

"Reynald?"

I laugh. "I found a new member for your dream rebellion."

So I decided to do a chapter from the POV of Reynald since he is such an important person in the story. It's about time you guys knew what's going on in that guy's head. I'm also planning to add way more POVs to this story because it helps tell the story better. And a whole lot of things are about to start happening outside the Arena. You got a sneak peak of it now but the real good stuff is coming in the next chapter.

What did you guys think about Reynald's backstory?

Also for anyone confused, this chapter and the next one (which will probably be a lot shorter) both take place on day 4.

Who do you guys think Justyn is?

I'm not sure if you noticed, but I changed the name and description of this story. Part of the reason I changed the description was so I could include other POVs. It used to be called "The Second Quarter Quell" but I realized that that was really basic and boring. I want my story to cover the aftermath of these Games as well and show how Haymitch became the mentor we see in the Hunger Games. So I decided to change the name of this fic to "Stay Alive: The Story of the Second Quarter Quell" which is probably what you can see now. I kept the Second Quarter Quell in there so people would know it's the same story.