Haymitch's Pov
I gulped down the last bite
and stood up from the table. I couldn't bring myself to believe a single word Katniss had said. She hated Leila, and she could never forgive me for Prim's death.
"Finnick and Annie's baby was born," she said.
Ours would have been born, too—if I hadn't sent Leila off to war. Maybe, if I had asked her, she and Milly would have been with me from the start. I could have given them a home. Would it have been a boy or a girl? Would I have been a good father? I didn't know—and now, I would never know.
I walked into my half-empty house. I had thrown out every dirty piece of furniture impregnated with my rotten existence.
I had imagined Leila here, redecorating, filling this space with life, making it hers. But she wouldn't come. Why would she? I had nothing left to offer her.
Deep down, I still clung to the faint hope that she would reach out to me again. Since the last letter I sent her, I hadn't heard a word. I replayed each sentence over and over in my mind, searching for a misstep, something I might have said to drive her away. But I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand her silence.
Days turned into weeks, the time stretching endlessly, each moment a dull ache. Working in the kitchen became my obsession—it was the only thing that could distract me from the gnawing pain and the fear that gripped me whenever I thought about Leila. It kept me from reaching for that bottle of white liquor, the one that promised to numb the sorrow but only left me hollow in the end.
The boy would sometimes come to help me. But I knew, deep down, he was just watching, waiting for the moment I would slip, the moment I would collapse into myself again. The girl would look at me from a distance, her gaze full of worry, but I refused to let her pity reach me. I didn't need it.
I collapsed onto my bed closing my eyes, the weight of exhaustion pulling me into its depths. The kitchen was finally finished. The soft yellow of the furniture made it seem like the sun would never leave that room. She would have liked it, I was sure. But she would never see it. She would never come.
A sudden noise jerked me from my thoughts. Someone had entered the house. I glanced at the clock—5 a.m. Neither the boy nor Katniss would be up this early, especially not without warning. The floorboards creaked, the sound barely audible. Whoever it was, they were trying not to make a sound.
I grabbed the knife, my pulse quickening. I moved silently, slipping behind the door and waiting. The sound of the next door opening confirmed it—someone was looking for me. I held my breath as the soft padding of footsteps drew closer, steady but cautious. My grip tightened on the knife, ready for whatever came next.
A flash of red hair peeked through the door, scanning every corner of the room. The knife slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor.
"HAYMITCH!" Leila cried, launching herself into my arms. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I buried my face in her neck, the familiar scent of her skin intoxicating me, pulling me back into her like I had never left. She was laughing, and the sound of it—pure, unrestrained—made my heart beat faster.
"So sneaking around is what you learned in 7?" I teased, my voice barely a whisper as I struggled to steady myself in the whirlwind of emotions.
"I love you," she whispered, pulling back just enough to meet my lips.
"I love you so fucking much," I breathed, and she smiled, a smile that melted every ounce of doubt and pain inside me. For that one fleeting moment, I was the happiest man alive. The woman I loved was here, with me, in my arms. Just the two of us, lost in the world of each other.
But then, a thought struck like a lightning bolt. My heart clenched in panic.
"Leila… where's Milly?" My voice cracked with the sudden fear.
She looked at me, confused for a brief moment, as if the answer wasn't clear. Then, slowly, the reality of it settled in.
"She's waiting outside."
I hugged her tighter, as if the mere act could make everything okay, but a hollow emptiness gnawed at me. My Leila—my beautiful, fearless Leila—would never let her little sister out of her sight, especially in a place she didn't know. But where was Milly?
I buried my face in her hair again, trying to pull the warmth of her closer, to make the feeling last, to make it real. But as I clung to her, a gnawing, impossible ache began to settle into my bones. Slowly, reluctantly, my arms began to feel emptier. I could already feel the distance between us growing, as though she might slip away again. This was just a dream, no, a nightmare
It was barely 6 a.m. I jumped out of bed, determined to catch the next train. I grabbed some clothes, snatched a loaf of bread, and tossed it to the goslings before heading straight for the train station.
"It was supposed to have come a week ago!" an angry woman shouted at the train ticket saleswoman.
"I know," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "But we have no control over it. It's the Capitol that organizes the delivery of supplies. This isn't the only place that's had delays or cancellations."
"It's unacceptable!" the woman snapped, her voice thick with frustration. "They know this district is in ruins. We don't have much to work with, and now they're going to starve us!"
The saleswoman gestured for me to come forward, her patience clearly running thin. "I repeat, the train should only be a few days late. You just have to be patient."
The woman slammed her hand down on the saleswoman's table and hissed in anger before storming out. The saleswoman, looking tired, turned to me.
"What can I do for you?"
"A ticket to District 7," I said, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest.
"The train leaves in an hour," she replied. I nodded, paying for the ticket, my mind already elsewhere.
"Why is the supply train late?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.
She sighed again, the exhaustion in her eyes evident. "Apparently, the Capitol's having trouble delivering supplies evenly across the districts. It wasn't always this bad. Each district used to subsist on what little it could manage—just enough to get by. But now... with the majority still under reconstruction, the whole system is fragile. Add to that the demand for passengers traveling between districts—there aren't enough trains. But no one seems to understand that."
"I see. Thanks for the information," I muttered, trying to process her words.
I sat on a bench, my gaze fixed on the train. A few passengers were already boarding, but I wasn't ready. I wanted to delay this moment as long as I could. My mind raced with all the possible outcomes when I reached District 7. Would Leila be happy to see me? Or would she be angry? Maybe she wasn't even there anymore—maybe she was still in District 4. If she wasn't with Johanna... I'd have to get back on the train and go somewhere else. How many hours would that take?
The loudspeaker crackled, announcing the final call for boarding. In ten minutes, the train would leave. The heat in the station was suffocating. I stood up, determined to get on the train, but my heart pounded so loudly in my ears that it drowned out everything else. How far was District 7? Not far from the Capitol, I was sure of that. But it didn't make the weight in my chest any lighter.
I searched for my seat, my stomach twisting with nausea, and the world around me felt like it was spinning. The loudspeaker came on again—last call for boarding. Two minutes, and the train would be gone.
The pressure in my chest was unbearable, and I couldn't breathe properly. I was going to faint or vomit. My vision blurred as I stumbled out of the train. I felt the cold rush of air hit my face as soon as I stepped outside. Only then did I feel the air return to my lungs, sharp and fresh. The train had already left, and I was standing alone on the platform, empty and still.
Defeated, I returned home. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to break down. I cried for every loss, for every dream I'd lost, and for everything I would never get back. I cried with the weight of rage and pain, for the cruel, unforgiving life that had been handed to me.
I was a failure. Always had been. What have I ever achieved in my life? Nothing. Nothing but sorrow for anyone who had dared to get close to me. If I had perished in the arena, maybe Mom and Laith would still be alive. My sweet Cassie would have had a full life, surrounded by her brothers, maybe even finding love with someone better—someone braver than I could ever be.
My district wouldn't have paid with blood for all my mistakes, the ones made in that arena—the mistakes that would forever be etched in the memories of every soul who lived there. Forty-six children had placed their hopes in a worthless drunk, and maybe, just maybe, some of them might have survived. Now, I lived in the agony of remembering each of their faces, each of their deaths, and every shattered family that would never be whole again.
Peeta wouldn't have lost his family or been tortured if I had been smarter. Katniss wouldn't have been manipulated while still a child. Maybe Prim would still be alive. Every decision I made had only caused collateral damage to those I cared about.
And Leila. Like a light in the darkest of places, she had given me so much, without asking for anything in return. Every hug, every kiss, every touch, every laugh—everything I took, took, and took without ever giving anything back. Why couldn't I just tell her how I felt? Why didn't I tell her I loved her, too? Why didn't I thank her for every moment she made me forget my own pain and inspired me to hope again?
I was a coward. I couldn't even fight for her. I couldn't even get on that damn train.
I imagined her with that man, the one I didn't even know—just happy. He wouldn't cause her pain, I was sure of it. He'd love her in her joy and sorrow. He would give her the happy home she always dreamed of, the one I could never provide. And if Leila was happy, Milly would be, too. He would be the father she never had, showing her what it was like to grow up in a home full of love, not violence.
The thought of it crushed me. Every image, every scenario in my mind hurt more than the last. I couldn't stop the tears, couldn't stop the anguish from consuming me. I had nothing, and I deserved nothing more than this.
Today, a year ago, she brought me that cupcake. I smiled bitterly, remembering the horrible taste of it and her bright, happy smile.
Still, with the faintest spark of hope lingering in me, I waited for Peeta's phone to ring. I knew she wouldn't call my number—she didn't even know I'd repaired it. But the call never came.
Who was I kidding? She had moved on with her life, and honestly, that was for the best.
For the past few days, I had become a pain in the ass to the train ticket saleswoman. Every day, I showed up, asking when the supply train would arrive. The white liquor that was supposed to come had already found a buyer. "Tomorrow," she had said the day before my birthday.
But the train didn't come. Not then, and from the looks of it, not today either.
"The last information we received is that it stalled at 11. It might arrive tonight, or maybe tomorrow morning. But supplies will only be delivered to authorized suppliers. So I don't know what you keep coming here for, Abernathy!" she snapped, clearly tired of me.
Muttering a curse under my breath, I turned and left, my frustration building with each step.
I walked to one of the 'authorized distributors,' desperate for something to numb the ache inside me.
"I only have a few beers, Haymitch," Liam said, eyeing me cautiously.
"Sell them all to me," I demanded.
He widened his eyes in disbelief. "That's gonna cost a fortune. With the shortage, prices have gone up a bit…"
"I don't care," I muttered, pushing enough money onto the counter. Liam hesitated, then reluctantly packed what I guessed were about twenty beers into two bags.
I cursed under my breath. Twenty beers? That wasn't going to be enough, but at least it would get me through the night.
Trying not to break the bottles, I managed to get inside the house. The scent of citrus hit me immediately. Cedric must have been cleaning up.
The phone rang. I ignored it.
It was probably Aurelius. Peeta had been worried about me lately and had told who-knows-what to the shrink, and now he was trying to talk to me once a day.
I placed the bottles of beer in the fridge. I wasn't a fan of the drink, but cold was better than room temperature. The phone rang again.
"Phew, hi, Haymitch. Glad you're here," the boy said. "The phone hasn't stopped ringing. I wasn't sure if I should answer it, so I didn't."
"Ignore it. It's nothing important. Are you done?" I asked. The boy nodded, "Do you want one?"
"Thom is supposed to wait for me to work" he said doubtfully "just one, with this heat I don't think he'll be mad" The boy was chatty but he meant well.
"Enjoy it, then"
I replied, pulling out some money to pay him. I handed it to him, watching as he took it with a smile.
"Thanks, Haymitch! See you Monday!" he said cheerfully, leaving the house in a burst of lightness. How I envied that joy, that careless happiness.
And then the phone rang again.
With every intention of ripping it off the wall, I marched toward it, but not before muttering to the shrink exactly where he could shove his useless advice.
"What?!" I growled angrily as I picked up the phone.
"Haymitch?!" A tearful voice answered me, and I froze. It was Leila.