The crew is setting up and I'm sitting at the table twiddling my thumbs like an idiot. What else can I do? I haven't had a drink in, lord knows how long, because Cressida told me I needed to be sober for at least two weeks if I wanted this to happen.
I obeyed, for the most part. A shot with each meal doesn't count, right? Especially if it keeps my hands steady. And if it helps me get through talking about the horrors of my life, well I'll thank the whiskey. I'm more than ready to succumb to that strong liquor, but not now. Not yet.
A firm knock sounds on the door. Cressida eyes me curiously.
"Come in," I holler.
I didn't tell her because, what can I say? I need my cheerleaders here to support me. And I'm not admitting that out loud.
Peeta comes in warm and smiling, Katniss close behind him, holding his hand. She shuts the door with her free hand and eyes me and the camera crew with confusion.
"Hey Haymitch," Peeta greets, kindly. He sits across from me as if we talk like this everyday, and Katniss cautiously takes a seat beside him.
The boy is grinning, his face warm and his hair more golden from the sun, even his beard is golden, like wheat. Despite all he's gone through, he's handsome and appears content. It's a beautiful thing I can only admire and envy. I don't think I ever looked good.
Katniss gives me a simple, but kind nod. Motherhood has certainly changed her, I'm not so sure that I like it. Though maybe I don't miss the girl who clawed my face.
"Hey flour boy, and Katniss."
"What are they doing here?" Katniss asks, flashing an uneasy glare at them.
The chuckle escapes me automatically. While her husband has softened her, she's still suspicious, like me.
"Never lose that quality Katniss," I say, as I lean back in my chair.
She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Who wouldn't smile at such a scowl.
"I didn't realize you had a problem with them."
She leans in and whispers, "I like Cressida, but I'm done with presidents and games. I've had enough propos for a thousand lifetimes."
The room is dimly lit and quiet. I try to clear my throat but it's dry. It always is without my liquor.
Flashbacks come to mind as I stare at the two young adults in front of me. How they've grown in the last several years. It touches my heart and makes me want to gag.
Cressida comes over to me and whispers, "What are the kids doing here?"
I can't admit it, especially not while they're here, watching me. But I gotta say something because they're looking at me with curiosity and apprehension.
Despite Panem changing order and all that went down, Victor's around the country seem apprehensive about anyone outside of our little group. We're like our own messed up family. While we don't write or talk on the phone, or stay super friendly, there's an unbreakable bond. We've all been through more than many can imagine, and then some.
It had been just me and my geese for a while here, but seeing the Mellarks and their children made me miss what I can't have. What I should've had. I need to tell people, to remind them of what happened and how it can never happen again.
"Haymitch?" Cressida snaps me back to reality.
"They deserve to hear my story," I say, loud enough for the Mellarks, and the camera crew, to hear and turn to look at me.
Katniss and Peeta raise their eyebrows. No one has really heard my story before, and certainly the only tributes I've ever kept alive would like more details on their mentor.