I'm so happy to see this story so well loved. Not much happens in this one but it is necessary for the story to continue with character relationship building. Well, here is the next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 7:

The Process of asking for Help

After President Snow's visit to the cottage, everything changed. Despite our talk about how we are going to protect Prim, Katniss seemed to shut down. She would no longer go for walks or even venture outside the house. It was like nothing mattered anymore to her. It was like Mother all over again after Father's death. Katniss would sit in the corner of the kitchen, looking out the window as the world passed her by. She never smiled, laughed, or spoke. She just stared blankly from her seat, as if she had not a care in the world. The resemblance to Mother's reaction so many years ago scared me.

Mother was the first to give up. She tried for hours to get Katniss to talk, even talking about her days living in the Merchants quarters. She recalled tales of her youth for all of us to hear, despite the pain it caused her. She spoke of her engagement to another man, who she refused to name, that was arranged by her parents. She said she didn't love him, yearning for our Father instead. I now understand why she gave up everything for our Father, even any friendly relations with her family, and how it destroyed her when he died. Still, her tales of the past did nothing to rouse Katniss from her stupor.

Nevertheless, Prim and I haven't given up on Katniss. We felt Mother didn't give Katniss enough time for her stories to work, knowing how much Katniss loved to hear about our Father. Mother's weak constitution is something I've grown used to over the years. She is still recovering from Father's death, even after all these years. I am still waiting for the day she will slip back into her comatose state, giving up altogether on us. If she did it once, she could do it again. It is because of this that I can't trust her to take care of Prim if something were to happen to me.

However, Katniss would be able to take care of Prim in my absence. She won the Hunger Games and can no longer be called into the arena, guaranteeing that she will always be there. Prim has idolized Katniss since we were little and I knew she would be just fine without me. I don't know why I am accepting my potential reaping so easily. It might be because if Katniss can survive the Hunger Games, I might stand a chance of my own.

The only potential problem with my reaping was that I had to snap Katniss out of this depressing state. The time when Prim could be reaped was only two years away. I already knew I would take her place in a heartbeat. I could only hope that Katniss would be up to the job of mentoring me. We would go to the capitol together, and hopefully, return together as well. I would do everything in my power to protect Prim, even risking my own life.

Prim has tried everything she could think of to snap Katniss out of this state. She even tried the Buttercup trick again. I cringe at the memory of fur flying and the yowl that escaped him as he booked it out the kitchen window. Thankfully, neither Prim nor Katniss were scratched during his little freak out. I however was the prime target of his anger. The one time I decide to bake in the kitchen during the afternoon is when Buttercup breaks our mutual agreement. The scratches lining my arms, stopping above the wrapping on my wrist, speak of the painful experience.

I touch the fading scratches in distaste, wishing that I could cook the cat just like Katniss always swore to him. Shaking my head, I glance to the corner window where Katniss sat. Was it worth it to try to talk to her right now? I would just be ignored as usual. I lick my lips before speaking, not knowing if she will respond to me. "Katniss? Do you want to go to the bakery with me?"

The bakery was just an excuse to talk to her. I had run out of things to talk about last week. It had been over a month since President Snow had visited. A month since Katniss had closed herself off from us. I sigh, walking slowly over to her. "Katniss, you have to come back to us. We need you. I need you." Resting my unwrapped hand on her shoulder, I squeeze it reassuringly. I am not sure if she knows I'm talking to her but I refuse to give up.

Dropping my hand, I turn away from her in an attempt to hide my pain. Why was she refusing to answer us? Didn't she care about us anymore? It wasn't worth shouting at her. I had tried that the first week to no avail. Prim had raised her voice at Katniss the third week, getting the same results. It frightened me that Katniss wouldn't respond, even to Prim. Primrose almost never raised her voice. When she does we usually listen and respond immediately, not liking to see the ever innocent Prim angry at us.

I glance back at Katniss, hoping to see a change in her demeanor. She is still the same. Clenching my fists, I push down the hurt. I had to fix this. Katniss has been like this too long and I refused to let it continue. I try to think of something we haven't tried yet. Prim shouting was one of our last resorts besides using Buttercup. Who else could possibly have an effect on Katniss?

Haymitch Abernathy.

As much as I detest involving him in our problems, Haymitch might be the answer. He knew the pain of being a victor of the Hunger Games. I didn't know what Katniss was feeling. I couldn't understand her problems as much as I wanted to. Haymitch could. He has been through the trials of dealing with watching friends die and having to kill to survive. He was the only one who could help Katniss. I was sure of it. He might even know how to deal with Snow.

Knowing this might be my last chance to help Katniss, I reach to grab my jacket before realizing I won't need it. Summer was almost over, so the air was still thick with humidity. Despite the light breezes in the summer heat, a jacket wasn't required to walk over to Haymitch's cottage next door. Stealing myself at the unfortunate task of waking Haymitch from his drunken state, I open the front door and slam it behind me. Maybe that will get a reaction out of her, although I doubt it.

I walk swiftly past the bushes lining the path to Katniss's cottage and out the front gate. I turn left, heading towards Haymitch's cottage. He lived further back in Victors Village, where he was secluded from the rest of us. I reach his front door within a minute, my hand shaking as I knock. The first knock gets no response, much to my disappointment. I wonder if he has already passed out.

Knocking insistently until I get a response, the sound of glass breaking catches me by surprise. I am unable to suppress the gasp that escapes me as I hear grunting and cursing from the other side of the door. A half step back was my initial response to the racket that Haymitch was making on his way to answering the door. The door is wrenched open and a drunk, angry Haymitch greets me with narrowed eyes.

"What do you want?"

I swallow, smiling hesitantly up at him. Even after all these years, Haymitch Abernathy scares me. I had seen him around the Hob and the few glances each year during the reaping, where he was almost always drunk. Waving my hand in greeting, I force my voice not to quiver as I reply. "Can't neighbors say hi to each other?"

He grunts, ignoring my response and turns to close the door. Before I realize it, I had reached out to stop the door from closing with my hand. The distance between us had reduced greatly with my actions, forcing the smell of stale alcohol from inside to assault me. I look up into the annoyed face of Haymitch before smiling sheepishly. "Please don't."

Haymitch glares at me before turning to go back inside, leaving the door open. I watch as he grabs a nearby bottle on the table and chugs it. Shaking my head, I step inside, narrowly missing tripping on an empty bottle. Looking around, I realize that there are empty bottles everywhere in his cottage. The stench of stale alcohol makes me nauseous. Fighting the sickness that begins to overwhelm me, I force the words out before I lose my nerve. "I need your help, Haymitch."

He takes the bottle away from his lips, looking at me questionably through his drunken eyes. "What sweetheart? You finally need help from old drunk Haymitch?" His voice is condescending, the slurs in his speech hard to ignore. I hadn't realized my dislike for him was that transparent to others.

I look away, ashamed that I never really gave him a chance. Then again, he has never given me a reason to trust him. I steel myself against his words, knowing Katniss was the important issue right now. Not my feelings. "Katniss needs your help Haymitch." I look at him pleadingly, hating to appear weak in front of others, especially men who can't go a day without a drink.

He laughs at me, his words slurring at he speaks. "Well now, why would that little fighter need my help. Katniss made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing to do with me after the last Hunger Games." He puts the bottle to his lips, seeking the last drops in the bottle before throwing it against the wall. "How could I help her when I can't even help myself." The sound of the glass shattering causes me to jump.

I lip my licks, knowing I have to make him understand. "Haymitch please. She sits there all day, never moving. She doesn't eat, sleep, or speak to any of us." My voice trembles at the next words. "She was doing fine after the games, recovering with the help of Prim and me. The Snow comes to visit." The name of Panem's president tastes like coal in my mouth.

His hands clench into fists at the mention of President Snow. Did he hate the man as much as I did? "He threatened her, Haymitch. He threatened her with the reaping of our little sister and she could do nothing about it." I look at him pleadingly, trying to make him realize how desperately she needs his help. "Please help her. You are the only one here who understands what she is going through." Turning away, I wipe at the tears that threaten to spill. Why am I getting so emotional after talking about Katniss? I didn't realize how much an emotional toll Katniss's state was having on me.

"Alright, sweetheart. I will talk to her." His voice is quiet, despite the icy tones to his words. "No promises though."

I turn and smile thankfully at him, knowing this was asking a lot of him. Against my better judgment, I run over and give him a hug. This surprises him, his frame stiffening up as I wrap my arms around the middle of him. My own actions surprise myself. Maybe Haymitch was beginning to grow on me. I gag slightly, my nose wrinkling as the putrid smell of alcohol assaults me. "First, you need a bath."

He laughs at my words, the sounds filling the small cottage. I smile against his shirt, hoping this plan will work. It just had to.