Chapter 4

Only... that's not the only reason.

I spend the rest of the afternoon in Haymitch's yard, pretending to care for the geese. I suppose, in a way, I am taking care of them, giving them grain and stuff. But they do tend to take care of themselves. It's a mystery to me, but somehow Haymitch has managed to train them and they don't run off far. They stay in their pen and just quack around.

Quack... Prim, my little duckey.

I sigh, and when I look down, I see Buttercup x-raying me with his eyes. It's like he can always tell when I'm thinking about Prim. This cat is odd. I swear he thinks and feels like human. Perhaps he is a mutt and I've never known it... that's the only explanation I can come up with.

The geese don't care much for him, and I have the feeling that is partly why they never leave their pen, afraid that they'll be snatched by this crazy cat here. He'd have a feast on them, but I assume it is an unspoken rule that, if the goose is in the pen, it has been claimed, if it's outside without supervision? It's fair game.

Whatever Buttercup is, he likes a fair game.

The sun is almost setting when Haymitch staggers outside and sits on the steps of his house, a bottle of white spirit in his hand. He looks as bad as usual, except that he looks well fed. Greasy Sae is really getting something into him, and he seems to manage to keep it down even with all the alcohol. He doesn't mind me much, just looks at his geese as if counting them. No idea why he does that, though.

As usual, he doesn't offer me a drink. No, Haymitch knows that once in a while he'll run out of booze, so there's no wasting it. Sometimes I wonder if I'd want some, but then I'm afraid that if I fall into a stupor I'll just make the nightmares worse. And I won't always have Peeta to calm me down again.

"Don't even think about it, sweetheart," he eyes me suspiciously, holding the bottle to his chest protectively. He really is economising it, taking small sips, making it last.

"Last one?" I ask. He nods, and mentally count the days until the next shipping... five. Oh, he's in for a rough ride then. "Don't worry, I'm all set."

"You got alcohol in there?" he asks, almost hopeful, but he knows me better than that. "Nah, of course not."

We're almost in complete darkness, but Haymitch doesn't move from the spot, so neither do I. Greasy Sae has gone into his house, and I can hear her moving around the kitchen. Eventually, the smell of whatever it is she's cooking comes out the windows, and I find myself sighing. Smells good. Really good. I can't tell if I'm hungry though, filled with my dark thoughts as I am.

As if able to read my mind, Haymitch asks: "So, where is lover boy?"

"Don't call him that," I say. If anything, Peeta is no longer lover boy. If Snow achieved something, it was that, killing the very part of Peeta that loved me. I suppose that's a good thing. The Katniss that Peeta loved doesn't exist anymore either. The Katniss that Peeta fed those loaves of bread... she was lost somewhere between the first arena and shooting that arrow through Coin's heart.

"Where is he?" Haymitch asks impatiently. I don't even know why he's asking me. He won't remember once he finishes that bottle of his.

"He ran off," I say at last. "I said something that triggered an attack and he ran for the hills."

"Really?" he almost looks amused now. "What could you possibly have said that made him so upset?" He really is enjoying this. I sometimes wonder if he tortures me on purpose, or if it's the alcohol talking. But no, he is as abrasive as ever when he's sober. Perhaps more.

"I told him why I shot Snow."

"Nah... that wouldn't make anyone run for the hills, not even him. You said something else."

Did I? What had led to me talking about killing Snow? I rack my brain looking for that conversation, and it takes me a while to really find it. Of course, that would certainly trigger an attack in Peeta. His mind could never understand that horror, and I don't blame him, for it haunts me, as my nightmares rightfully prove.

"I voted yes," I say simply, and I can tell Haymitch understands. Then again, he also voted yes.

"We never had those games, did we?"

"No. Paylor never asked for them."

"No, we didn't have them because you shot Coin." With that, he stands up, and I can't tell if he's angry or not that the games never took place. "Bonding time's over, sweetheart."

x-x-x

I sit on the windowsill in my room, looking out into the night. A few streetlamps are lit, but most of the houses are in darkness already. What time is it? Probably close to 1 in the morning. I've been sitting here since dinner, but cannot make myself go to bed. Haymitch's words eat at me.

How is it possible that his words affect me so? He doesn't even say much, but when he does, his words are like daggers. It's like he knows exactly which buttons to push with me. Well, he knows me too well. We are too much alike.

He is right, of course. The last Hunger Games did not take place because I shot Coin. Our vote was supposedly confidential, but I cannot be certain that at least my vote was broadcast. I don't want to know. The weight of what could have happened is too heavy on my shoulders.

It is nights like this one in which I revisit those last seconds before I shot Coin, having Snow in front of me, smiling as if this were just part of his game, the blood on his lips and the intoxicating smell of the one rose I had him wear, where I was going to shoot. My mind was in turmoil then, I could see faceless and nameless children being reaped, torn from their parents, to take part in the same violence that I was forced into. At that moment, something in me snapped, and instead of killing Snow, I went for Coin. That one arrow carried all my hatred towards the Capitol and to her Machiavellian view on things.

Hadn't too many children died already? My sister one of them?

And I feel that anger again, now. That anger I felt looking at Coin's smug face as she saw me train my arrow on Snow, how much she was expecting me to do this, and then possibly having me committed to an asylum, or jail, or wherever it is you lock the people who stand in your way. I couldn't let her bring on another Capitol. I just couldn't.

My shoulders are shaking with my choked sobs, and I hug my knees. This is what they've done of me, all of them. Snow, Coin, Plutarch... maybe even Cinna, although I do not suppose he'd condone Coin sending my sister into battle, or sending Peeta over to kill me. I never did ask him what he thought of the whole arrangement. Surely he of all people knew from the start that I was pretending in the arena. But he wanted me to be the Mockingjay, he believed in me that way.

I'm sorry Cinna. I was not as strong as you believed me to be, and now I am broken. When I look in the mirror, I no longer see the beautiful girl you made me. I am no longer the girl on fire. I was consumed by that very fire, which was my strength. I am an empty shell. That's why I am in exile. There is no other way to describe it, really. Haymitch and I were exiled, and Peeta too. We were not wanted anywhere near government, and I can't blame them. At the same time, I would not want to be there. I want nothing to do with it anymore. I want...

Still shaking, I get down from my sill and go to the study. The telephone sits there, full of dust. I haven't used it in such a long time. I pick up the receiver and dial the number I have somehow committed to memory, even though I have not much use to it. It rings once, twice... three times before the line connects. And there she is, her voice sleepy and detached.

"Mum?" I whisper.

"Katniss!" she is alert now. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I just wanted to hear your voice." How uncharacteristically of me, wanting to hear the voice of the one person I disliked for so long for shutting us out when father died. But here I am, taking in every musical note of it. "How... how are you?" I'm not good at this.

"I'm okay. I had a really rough day at the hospital, but I can rest now."

"Oh... I'm sorry. I should let you sleep."

"No, no! Katniss! I didn't mean it like that. I'm glad you called. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." It's true, I have missed her. "I... I just wanted to say that. Go to bed, we'll talk another day."

"Katniss, are you alright?" The concern in her voice is evident.

"Yes, mother..." my voice, in contrast, is tired. "I'm surviving."

"Are you eating? Are you taking care of yourself?"

"Yes, mother. Greasy Sae makes sure I do."

"Good. I'm glad."

"We'll speak soon."

"Yes, we will. Goodnight, Katniss. I love you."

"Goodnight, mum." I hang up, and then whisper that I love her back.

x-x-x

"You shouldn't sleep here," his voice is as soft and kind as his arms are strong and firm when he lifts me from the chair. I must have fallen asleep at the desk. I pass my arms around his neck, and let him carry me upstairs. How often does he do this? Why is he in my house at whatever ungodly hour of the night it is? How does he even get in?

I don't ask, just let him bring me to my bed and place me gently on the pillows. There is enough light coming in that I can see his eyes as his right hand comes to caress my cheek. I just look at him as his hand continues to touch my face, pushing my hair back, drying the couple of tears I can feel trailing down. He doesn't smile. In fact, his face is expressionless.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice barely a whisper.

"For what?"

"For causing you so much pain." As his eyes harden, I start blurting out things, everything from why I killed Coin, to how sick it makes me to think I would have condemned twenty-three children to die, to how I despise myself and what a horrible person I am. I can't stop. It's all just coming out of my mouth like an avalanche, and he just stares at me like I've gone insane. Perhaps I have. "At least you no longer have the nightmares," I say, and that makes him react.

"What do you mean?"

"You told me once that your nightmares were about losing me, surely that no longer has any effect on you. The Katniss you loved is gone, and all that's left is me, this horrible person I have become."

He stands up then, and looks at me from above.

"I still have those nightmares," he says, "and they are as real now as they were before."