Chapter 2

It was the morning after Thanksgiving and the sun shone down on Haymitch's house. A couple of birds had made themselves comfortable on an old maple tree in front of his bedroom window, chirping their songs joyfully. If Haymitch had owned a shotgun, he would have killed the little beasts.

All of them.

With tremendous effort, he opened his eyes, it felt as if somebody had spread sand into them. The bright sunshine was even harder to bear than the trilling birds outside his window. Groaning, he put his forearm over his eyes and wished the fucking birds and the damn sun to hell.

He could hardly remember the last time he had had such an awful hangover. Maybe last Christmas? His personal nightmare of all goddamned holidays on earth. Wonderful when you were surrounded by a loving family and a real nightmare when you lived utterly alone.

He tried to lift his aching head off the pillows. Bad, bad idea, Haymitch figured out. Nausea crawled up his throat and he pressed his palms against his burning forehead, swearing to himself to never touch alcohol again.

His thin lips twisted in a bitter smile. Well, at least, he could try not to touch alcohol again until the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon.

Very slowly, he managed to sit up on the edge of the bed and fought against the feeling of vomiting. As his eyes glanced around the room, desperately searching for something to focus on, to keep the dancing spots in front of his eyes at bay, his gaze fell on an empty whiskey bottle on the wooden floor.

What the hell had driven him to drink so much last night? With both hands on his throbbing temples, his tired mind could not come up with a smart answer.

Finally, he was able to get up and shuffled down the stairs to his kitchen, wanting nothing more as to dip his aching head into a pot of black coffee for the next couple of hours. A brief glance from his bloodshot eyes into the old-fashioned coffee box confirmed his worst fears.

Completely empty.

Haymitch gave the metal container an annoyed push and ran his hand through his mess of greasy hair.

Shit.

He didn't even want to imagine what it would be like to live without coffee for the next three days. All the shops in the surrounding area were closed until Monday. So he could choose to travel twenty miles to the nearest petrol station to fetch some coffee-pads or visit the only remaining coffee shop in Lynch. With disgust, Haymitch chose the second option.

The small shabby coffee shop had seen better days. Probably when Haymitch was still a child or when his parents were. Nowadays, it was the sort of place where visitors should be certain that their last tetanus vaccination was still effective. He opened the door with a light push, greeted the old lady behind the counter with a nod of his head and went straight to the loneliest table.

For as long as the locals could remember, there had only been two dishes on the menu. Hamburger and steak. According to the greasy and worn-out card that lay in front of him, nothing had changed. Fortunately, Haymitch wasn't demanding. These last ten years, he had managed to survive off eating unhealthy cans, and as things looked, nothing would change in the upcoming decades. He could hardly remember the last time he had eaten anything healthy like vegetables or fruit, not that it would interest anyone, least of all himself.

"Have you decided, Sir?"

Haymitch raised his head and stared at the waitress.

"Professor Abernathy?"

He hadn't thought that his day could get any worse but it turned out it could. The last thing he needed was to run into one of his students – here, in the middle of nowhere. And then, finally, the memory of the previous evening hit him right between the eyes. He had given her a lift home. He cursed himself for so much stupidity.

Painfully, Haymitch realized that he must look as if he had spent the previous night gambling with rats in the gutter. The penetrating smell of alcohol enveloped him like a blanket and he wore the same wrinkled, filthy clothes from the day before. His throbbing head was hidden beneath a dark worn-out woollen cap and his untrimmed stubbly beard grew in every possible direction. He must look like a tramp who was desperately begging for food instead of the professor of an old eminent university.

All of this, he was able to read in Katniss shocked expression. In that bitter moment, Haymitch realized painfully what had become of him.

He was a wreck.

An alcoholic who was mentally and physically addicted. Someone who didn't give a damn about other people and – what was even worse – didn't give a damn about himself anymore. He could hardly remember a day in the past ten years when he had managed to stay sober for just a single day. Why his abused liver had not refused the service, he had no clue.

Deep down, he was glad that he had seen his entire family buried over the years. He wouldn't have been able to bear their disappointment over his wasted life.

"Is everything all right, Professor?" Katniss's shocked voice brought him back to the present.

No.

"Yeah." Haymitch tried to look as casual as possible. As if his desolate appearance was perfectly normal on a Friday morning in Kentucky.

Well, maybe it was.

"Did you have a nice holiday, Miss Everdeen?" He asked nonchalantly while his hands started playing with the menu card.

Katniss swallowed and tried to smile. She failed completely and instead a sullen look appeared on her face. Thanksgiving had turned into a nightmare. Her family had been overjoyed to have her home again and envelop her in their arms, but her mother's next mental breakdown had followed shortly afterwards.

Although her mom barely managed to get out of bed and mostly stayed at home, she adamantly refused to take her prescribed antidepressants. Katniss and her younger sister had tried desperately to change her mind – without success. So her mother started crying without giving any reason or gazed endlessly at the blank wall opposite her bed.

"Thank you, it was very nice." Katniss's eyes were fixed on her writing pad. "May I have your order, please?"

He could easily tell she was lying through her teeth. Such a beautiful face, Haymitch thought, but such an incredibly bad actress. She had made a good decision to study economics instead of theatre. With her obvious lack of talent she would have starved to death.

"A pint of coffee and a steak to follow."

"Fine. Thanks for your order." She said stoically, his little joke didn't make any impression on her. Katniss rescued the twisted menu card from his fingers and slotting it back into the table stand.

Haymitch gaze followed the young woman briefly as she turned and walked over to her other guests, and he wondered what had happened to her in the past to make her so cold and unapproachable.

How old could she be, twenty, twenty-one, and Haymitch remembered the time when he was her age.

Back then, it was the best time of his life. He was the first in his family who had been able to leave the poor countryside to study in the capital of Virginia. After arriving on the campus, he had fallen deeply in love with the cleverest and cheekiest student. Up until that moment, he hadn't known that it was possible to be so madly in love with someone. Suddenly everything, had seemed possible.

"But no happiness lasts forever." A cruel inner voice said "Does it, Haymitch?"