Frugi visits in late afternoon, and tells him he's free to take in the sights of the Capitol for as long as the Games are on air, so long as he's back for prep before the final interview. Then she leaves.
He looks out the window. He could go out there. Maybe he will.
He eats dinner alone.
There's a knock on the door.
"It's Seeder."
He releases his knife, pulls his shirt down to hide the handle, and walks over to the door.
Seeder walks in and looks around.
"Never been in 12. I wondered if it would be different."
She doesn't tell him if it is.
"Would you like to sit?"
She smiles. "Yes. And a whiskey. Get one for you, too."
She walks toward the living room, turns back around to look at him when he hesitates.
"District 12? You there?"
"What's whiskey?" he asks.
Seeder laughs.
"You boy, I thought you'd know the name of what you were drinking last night!"
She leaves him in the hallway. He pours two whiskeys and brings them to the living room.
"Thank you," she says.
They drink in the quiet. Haymitch is starting to feel nervous.
"Your kid still alive?" he asks.
"No. He broke his leg and fell during a monsoon. That area flooded, and he got carried away. Drowned."
Haymitch wishes he had not asked.
"It never gets easier," she says.
He's beginning to see how that could be. Even if one of his kids wins every year, he will still walk and talk with a ghost for days, then watch 23 other children be killed. And, being from 12, it doesn't seem likely anyone else will win for a long time. He is the outlier.
"You learn to live with it, or you don't," says Seeder.
He is surprised to see she's smiling at him.
He blushes. She's old, really, an adult, but she's very pretty.
Her black eyes are always opening wide when she laughs, like she's surprised every time. He tried not to look, wanting to spare them both that kind of embarrassment, but he had looked at her body, and always wanted to look longer. It was weird being in a room with someone he had seen on television so many times.
He feels safe around her. Chaff, too, but he hasn't looked at Chaff and felt awkward, not even when Chaff caught him looking at his stump. (He had just held it up for closer inspection, then smacked the back of Haymitch's head so his face fell into the end of Chaff's stump, and then Chaff had laughed and laughed.)
"I didn't think they would die so fast," he says, all in a rush, like he thinks there's a time limit for saying it.
"Sometimes they will, sometimes they won't. But they'll always die. And look at the alternative. You really want them to do what we have to do?"
Haymitch can't speak. He has no idea what's worse, but there has been a part of him, ever since the fire that was engineered by the Capitol to kill his family, his girl, and anyone in the crossfire, there is a part of him that thinks death would have been better.
After a pause, Seeder goes on.
"I've been doing this for 20 years. 21, now, actually." She looks surprised, like she can't believe what she just said. "I've seen more than 500 children go into that arena." She sighs, leans back on the sofa, drinks. "And if I ever run my mouth, or do less than my best, they'll kill my family, crackdown on my community, and they already suffer more than most. And I still don't know: is this life better than death?
"Maybe I'll never know. So, I keep going, and assume it is. But sometimes, I envy the dead ones."
There's nothing to say to this.
He's known since he was old enough to question the Games that they're wrong. There's no argument you can make for killing children. He looks out the window at the Capitol. There's no excuse for letting children die, either. And there's no reason to oppress the districts, except to have cheap labor, and a pool of helpless people for their twisted entertainment.
Somehow, until this Games, he has never thought of why victors and mentors exist at all.
They drink another drink.
Haymitch starts crying.
"Come on, 12," says Seeder. She puts an arm around his waist, and hauls him up. She's tall, but he's taller, and they struggle to the bedroom. She lays him down, saying, "You're just like Chaff, I swear. Neither one of you knows when to stop."
She stands up, looking down at him from the edge of the bed.
"I… I don't want to be alone."
Seeder's face twists into something that might be pity, but her expression clears quickly.
"Well, then, scoot over, you boy. I know you don't think I'm sleeping on the floor."
He scoots.
She takes off her shoes, and slides into bed.
"Don't leave."
"I'm right here. Go to sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up."
He's holding Terra. Part of him can't believe it. The Games, the fire, mentoring, it was all just a bad dream. Her curls tickle his face, and one of his hands is cupping her large breast. He's hard, and it feels good. He presses closer to Terra's warm, soft body. It's strange. She doesn't smell like coal or the lye soap they all use in the Seam.
Haymitch opens his eyes and sees black, tight curls, not Terra's loose red ones.
He quickly lets go of Seeder's breast and rolls away, onto his back. His stupid penis won't settle down. It juts up under the thick duvet.
"I was wondering when you'd wake up," she says.
He can feel that he's blushing.
"Sorry."
"Don't be. You get in bed with a man, you know what'll happen come morning."
He laughs, even though he's more embarrassed than he's ever been in his life, and still wretchedly turned on.
She rolls over onto her back. He looks at her. She's watching the ceiling. She looks happy, peaceful. Totally unembarrassed.
He rolls over onto his side, puts his head next to hers.
"Can I kiss you, Seeder?"
She turns her head, looks at him, and smiles.
"You think you're grown enough for that?"
He shrugs, and she laughs, but not unkindly.
"Come here, you boy. Rest your head."
He lays his head on her breast. She plays with his hair. He listens to her heart, the air moving through her lungs, and falls back to sleep.