Warning: These one-shots feature heavy subjects, including alcoholism, drug abuse, suicide and torture... so far. Now adding: depression, cheating, heartbreak, underage, implied prostitution, suicidal thoughts, someone having acid thrown on them, smut, implied rape/non-con, self-harm. I'll add more as the story wears on, just in case.
Disclaimer: Credit goes to HannahSongla for the story idea. Please go check out her Hayniss story similar to this - Sweetheart. Credit goes to Suzanne Collins for the verse and the characters. I don't really own anything but the text of these one-shots. And no, that doesn't mean the song lyrics or the playlist. Enjoy c:
Song: Wasted by Tiesto ft. Matthew Koma
You are a glass half empty
Sipping my ocean dry
Emotionally spend me
Till none of our planets could align
"Fuck you, Haymitch!" Katniss bellows, the sound of glass shattering along with her voice ringing in his ears. If Haymitch were more of an asshole, he'd laugh in her face and remind her that yes, that's exactly what she'd been doing. But he maintains some dignity, so he simply snorts.
"Oh, what's wrong now, sweetheart? Can't take the heat? Ironic, considering you're the girl on fire," he retorts, swallowing a gulp of whiskey. "Mad that I don't want to be your boy toy?"
Haymitch anticipates the plate before it whizzes past his ear. He dodges it with a chuckle and a glance of amusement in her direction, but the glass slips from his fingers and onto the floor. Katniss stands in the kitchen, armed with her own arsenal of plates and a glare that could - that did - overthrow a nation. The brunette tendrils that aren't tucked into her braid are stuck to her face with sweat and tears track down her red cheeks.
A part of Haymitch aches to see her this way - angry and yet so despaired at the same time. A part of him knows she deserves the reality check.
"I wish I never pulled you out of that arena alive!" Katniss, and another plate shatters against the wall.
"Keep that up, sweetheart, and I'll have nothing to eat you off of," Haymitch growls. Katniss drops all of the plates before charging at him, her index finger aimed directly at his chest. He's a little surprised that not all of the 'fine china' has been destroyed.
Suddenly, Katniss is pushing him backwards angrily, and his bare feet crunch on the broken pieces of plate. He cringes, but won't back down, pushing her away from him. Rage and pain pump through his veins and he feels more adrenaline than any drug could ever provide.
"I told you sweetheart, that you'd have to choose!" he thunders, sick of her always playing the victim. He shoves her back hard, so hard that she falls to the ground. "I told you that you couldn't ride my dick and his! I told you!"
"You shouldn't make me choose, Haymitch!" Katniss screams back. She's sobbing now, on the floor surrounded by broken glass and porcelain, and her sobs are scratchy from all the screaming. She sobs hard and long, and the only sounds in the house are his heavy breathing and her crying.
Haymitch collapses onto the couch, running a hand over his face. He's never been so grateful for the boy wanting to pursuit a career in art - Peeta's eleven districts away from his wife's adultery and emotional instability.
"I love you both, y'know," Katniss whimpers. "I can't... I owe, Peeta. I owe him. But I'm... I'm mad for you."
"I refuse to keep this from him any longer, sweetheart," Haymitch replies. "You love him, but you find yourself going behind his back to crawl into my sheets? Newsflash, darling, that's not love."
Katniss says nothing, but he knows she's heard him because her breath hitches in her throat.
"You break it off with me right now and he doesn't have to find out a thing," he continues, carefully watching her expressions as he talks. "But if we keep this going, I'm telling him. Whether or not you like it, Katniss."
It's the first time in years that he's ever used her real name. It sounds so different on her ears, scratchy and indelicate, yet somehow melodic and sweet like primrose tea on her tongue.
"Why?" Katniss asks, and he's never heard her sound so pathetic. So miserable. He wants to hold her, but the metallic tang of blood seeps into his nose and Haymitch remembers the shredded state his feet are in. He stands with a grunt of pain and begins walking towards the bathroom, where he knows the aid kit is.
"Because," he calls over his shoulder. "I love him too, honey."
You are a catch 22
Either way I miss out
All of the grief I'd give you
Is energy I can live without