Haymitch, of course, managed to take her advice and stay alive. It was not a pleasant feat, and through the haze of drugs he was given to begin the long healing process, he was almost as nervous leaving the arena as he had been entering it, knowing that finding out about the forcefield would not go unpunished. He was correct, and a week later, his family and his girl from District 12 were dead.
He was numb.
And he drank to forget. To forget the nightmares, to put himself to sleep, to forget the people he loved and how cruelly and unfairly they had died, to forget that it was all his fault. He drank every time he felt guilty.
He passed out at night and woke up with a raging headache more often than not.
Eventually, he was forced to stop drinking himself to sleep by the Victory Tour, but that couldn't stop him from creating a reputation for being emotionless, undesirable, and drunk. He couldn't look at them; he had watched their children die. Killed some of them.
And he had all but forgotten about the Capitol girl called Effie Trinket when he reached the Capitol and was forced to experience a very similar party to the one where he'd met her almost a year earlier.
Everyone wanted to meet him, and those who actually approached him were rather unlucky. Most received a rude hand gesture, but others were threatened by his knife, which was taken away about an hour into the evening. He asked to be escorted out several times but the security guards refused to let him go. When his mentor and escort weren't looking, he drank champagne like it was water.
He didn't care what they thought of him. He had nothing left to lose.
He was drunk and stumbling to his room when he heard a voice he thought was familiar, arguing with some guard.
"I'm going to be an escort, I have to meet him."
"Miss Trinket, I'm afraid Mr. Abernathy is not taking visitors."
"I'm not a visitor! I don't have to go in. I just want to speak with him. Oh, please just let me meet him, introduce myself – "
"I'm taking visitors," said Haymitch loudly as the girl and the guard came into view, standing outside his room. "And I'll be here all night," he added upon seeing her pink dress and orange hair. Her face turned the same shade as her skirt when he spoke, and she was plainly unimpressed. The guard shook his head and said, "Well, there you go," and walked away.
Haymitch unlocked the door to his room and said, "Well?" but she stayed in the hallway, shaking her head. "What?" he asked impatiently, vision blurring as he leaned against the door for support.
"You don't remember me, do you?" It was true; Effie had changed, not just in appearance; her attitude, her job, and her ambitions were different now, too.
"I don't remember you because I don't know anyone here. I don't like it here," he added frankly.
She stepped back, alarmed and annoyed by his drunkenness. "Maybe you'll remember tomorrow," she sighed, turning to go.
"They killed ev'ryone I love," he called after her, watching the orange heels click to a stop, turning to face him again. "There's no one left, so don't be offended. I just didn't really care about anyone else."
She turned away to hide the tears stinging her eyes suddenly. She knew that what he was saying was true, even if he was drunk. She'd heard the rumors. He'd had a girlfriend in District 12. And a family. She was nothing – she had been a mere distraction the night before the Games.
"Good night, Haymitch," said Effie.
Haymitch woke up with another raging headache and severe déjà vu, thinking about a girl with orange hair and pale makeup. What on Earth…?
It took him a few minutes after taking two aspirin to remember the night before the Games. "Before the Games" was not a time Haymitch liked to think about, because it was gone. There was nothing left from before that remained, except, apparently, her. She had managed to escape their notice, probably because she had only known him for about twenty-four hours and meant little to him, compared to those back home. Effie. Finally, he remembered her name.
It took him a few more minutes to feel remotely bad about the way he had treated her. He felt very little remorse. What had she gone through? Had her heart broken? What had she expected, sneaking into a tribute's room the night before the Games? Whatever she was so upset about, it was nothing compared to what he had experienced, nothing next to the nightmares he had. Nothing.
And that was why the next time Haymitch saw Effie, he was caught off guard, because the next time he saw Effie Trinket, she was pulling names at the reaping in District 12.