#finnick x reader

There’d been a hunch in place of hard evidence that the lot of you were being tortured in the Capitol, though to what extent no one knew. And absolutely no one was prepared for what awaited them by the time the three of you were safe in District Thirteen.

Peeta had promptly tried to off Katniss which was very off brand of him; Johanna’s head had been shaved, she was emaciated, and had a plethora of evidence of gruesome physical torture, and you…

You weren’t filled with the same loathing, hatred, and disgust that Peeta seemed to carry for Katniss. No, you were completely and utterly terrified. 

Medics had to sedate you when Finnick rushed into the room upon hearing of your arrival because you’d thrown yourself against the wall so violently you’d split your head open, then nearly ripped your nails clean off your fingers in your desperation to open a locked door in an attempt to escape from him. And if that hadn’t been devastating enough, the sounds of your guttural screams and desperate cries caused by him still haunted many of Finnick’s nightmares.

Finnick had been hesitant to return to you after that; he didn’t want to ever cause you that much distress again. 

Haymitch tried to reason with him; Finnick wasn’t the one causing you this much distress, it was the Capitol. The medics tried to reason with him; it was to be considered exposure therapy, they hoped that - over time - as you regained some familiarity and comfort with him and worked through your memories and trauma with the doctors that you’d start to remember.

He reluctantly agreed. So, he was horrified when, the first day he returned, you’d been strapped down to your bed in preparation for his meeting. 

“This is sick!” He’d shouted at the medics as he gestured at your current state. “This isn’t exposure therapy, this is torture!”

“Mr. Odair, the hope is that once she begins to realize there’s no need to fight or run, we’ll be able to take the restraints off.” One of them explained in a bored manner. 

“Fuck whatever you’re hoping for! You’re torturing her; she’s not going to feel any safer here than she did in the Capitol!” 

They’d tried calling after him, but he simply looked over at you and offered a pathetic “I’m sorry, honey” that you probably hadn’t heard over your own desperate wails before he fled.

The next day he returned, you hadn’t been strapped down, but you had been heavily medicated with some kind of sedative before his arrival. He swallowed around the bile in his throat as he took a seat in one of the chairs, pretended to read his book and tried his hardest to ignore the extremely wary and haunted gaze that stayed glued to his side for the entirety of his visit. 

The third visit went much the same, except about halfway through his scheduled ‘visit’, he noticed that your eyes seemed to fall extremely heavy. 

“Are you tired, sweetheart?” He murmured quietly, though you would have thought he’d screamed at you with the way you bodily flinched and your eyes snapped open. 

He just continued watching you as you fought to convince your heart to return to its normal tempo, slowly, cautiously nodding your head yes to his question when you seemed to realize he was earnest in his question. 

“Would you like me to leave so you can get some rest?” 

Your brows furrowed ever so subtly, eyes darting across his face as you searched for any hidden meaning or potential threat. 

You must not have found one. 

“Please.” You whispered, and - though it was still but a whisper -  it was the first time he had heard your voice since the Quarter Quell that wasn’t shrieking and sobbing in fear, causing a lump to form in his throat.

“Okay, honey, I’ll go.” He whispered back, smiling at you through tears as he stood and swiftly left the room, hardly closing the door fully behind him before he let out a sob. 

Over the weeks, you began finding your own routine and schedule outside of the time you spent working with doctors and medics. You were hardly ever seen without your journal on your person, and one of your doctors explained to Finnick that you were beginning to compile notes to differentiate between things you knew, things that you didn’t know, and what was real or not real. Many times, Finnick could find you working in your journal when he arrived, and though you still managed to keep a concerned eye on him at any given point and your body never fully relaxed while he was there, he was grateful you were becoming more or less accustomed to his company. 

And then one day he showed up to your room to find one wall completely transformed into a giant drawing board. The board was divided into two equal sides; one side was labelled REAL and one side was labelled NOT REAL. The only thing that had been written down so far was on the NOT REAL side, which read “Finnick did not set you up and leave you there to die.”

“She’s been struggling to sleep without the aid of sedatives; she wakes up quite violently from nightmares, struggling to differentiate between what is real and what is not, even when we’re standing right there in front of her.” One of the medics told him. “We tried once to have her look through her journal, but she threw it across the room and told us to get away from her. We thought maybe having a very large visualization in front of her in her own writing would be helpful to tether her to reality upon waking.” 

And that seemed all well in good, but Finnick found himself sick over some of the things the Capitol had convinced you he was guilty of more than once. 

But, if this is what you needed, if this was helping you, Finnick would stomach it, no questions asked. 

So, Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book that he brought with him to your hospital room every day which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop. 

He knocked twice gently on your door before stepping inside, watching as you stepped quickly away from the board and hid the marker and eraser behind your back as if you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to, watching Finnick as though you were waiting for him to attack. 

“Hi, honey.” He greeted quietly, nodding politely at you before he pulled out his chair and took his place, flipping his book open to an arbitrary page as he pretended to read. 

You didn’t move; your feet seemed to be glued to the spot as you watched Finnick pretend to not be watching you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had missed your gaze, quite selfishly, and found that while the atmosphere wasn’t exactly relaxed, he was happy enough just to have your eyes on him again. 

Finnick wasn’t sure how much time had passed before you ended up breaking the silence.

“F…Finnick?” You asked, barely above a whisper; question so quiet that Finnick was sure if he hadn’t only been pretending to read, he would have missed it entirely.

You sounded as though you were trying his name out for size, just to see how it felt on your tongue. Finnick missed the days when you used to squeal his name in laughter, or groan his name in frustration, or call his name in excitement. But even though it came out cautious and stilted, he didn’t think he’d ever heard as pretty a sound as the sound of his name falling from your lips. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” He asked eagerly, fighting to keep his tone, face, and body language calm as he saved his ‘place’ with a finger and leaned forward in his chair, resting his knees on his elbows. 

You swallowed thickly and fiddled with the marker in your hands as you stole yourself to speak. “Can I ask you something?” 

He wanted to be an ass; he wanted to say ‘you just asked me two things’, he wanted to whoop and holler at finally having an actual conversation with you after weeks of finally having you back, yet not really having you back at all. 

Instead, all he said was “of course.”

You cleared your throat before gaining the courage to ask what he heard as “you love me; real, or not real?” 

Finnick wasn’t sure an answer had ever come to him so fast. “Real.”

You seemed somewhat surprised by his answer even though it was clearly the answer you’d been expecting. After a few moments, you simply nodded at him before turning back to your drawing board’s REAL side. 

Finnick loved me you wrote, adding bullet points underneath it...

He told me so

He acts like it

Gut feeling

...is what you cited as proof to this revelation. Finnick wanted to weep. A gut feeling; you were still in there, somewhere. There was still a version of you that knew deep down that Finnick loved you.

“It’s not quite right, honey.” He offered softly, fighting the urge to smile when you turned at his interruption, yet didn’t flinch at the sound of his voice as you often did. You simply looked at him in confusion. 

“Do you mind if I make a minor adjustment?” He asked as he carefully placed his book on your empty bed and slowly stood, holding his hands out in ask. 

You looked between him and the marker and eraser in your hands before holding them out for him; an invitation. 

Finnick smiled at you as he slowly walked towards you, hyper focused on remaining as unthreatening as possible as he gently took the items from you, careful not to touch you unnecessarily. 

He moved to the REAL side of the board, using the edge of the eraser to remove the d from the end of loved and replacing it with an s. The sentence now - properly - read Finnick loves me. 

“There, now it’s perfect.” He offered you with another smile as he held the items back out to you, gently placing them in your hands when you held them open for him before he turned back towards his chair, retrieved his book, and sat back down. 

Your eyes stayed glued on the correction he made to your board as the marker and eraser hovered uselessly midair; moments dragging on before your arms finally lowered to your sides. 

Finnick didn’t bother pretending to read, so when you turned to look at him - face full of confusion, curiosity, concern, and what looked to be devastation - you found him already looking at you. 

“Still?” You asked, voice cracking painfully as a heavy tear fell down your face. 

And if Finnick thought that no answer had ever come faster to him before, he was sorely mistaken. 

“Always.” He promised.

There’s a shift in the air.

You could feel it from a thousand miles away. Hell, it’s like you have a sixth sense when it comes to Finnick—an internal alarm that goes off the second something is off with him. And this morning, it rang the moment you woke up.

Finnick’s arms were wrapped too tightly around your waist, his body practically fused to your back, his nose buried so deep in the crook of your neck it felt like he was trying to melt into you. You didn’t even have to open your eyes to know: he’s hiding something.

The problem is, you can’t figure out what.

It started with how hard you had to work just to get him out of bed. He clung to you like a lifeline, whining and pouting like a lovesick teenager. His sea-glass eyes held a look that was too intense for just morning cuddles, and when you cupped his face and asked what was wrong, he only gave you this goofy, love-drunk smile before pressing soft, distracting kisses to your lips. “Breakfast can wait,” he mumbled, flipping you over with too much ease for someone who looked so emotionally frazzled.

Then came the kitchen.

Your house is small, especially the kitchen, tucked into your inherited little wooden beach cottage, filled to the brim with mismatched pots and hanging herbs. Two people don’t fit in there, not without bumping hips and brushing arms—and Finnick? He was practically glued to you. Wherever you moved, he followed, hands around your waist, his head nestled in the crook of your neck again like he was trying to memorize your scent.

It would’ve been sweet if you weren’t so damn hungry. And if you weren’t still recovering from the thirty minutes of relentless affection earlier.

At one point, you spilled batter down your shirt from how many times you bumped into him.

That was the last straw.

You turned around, firm hands on his broad shoulders, brows raised in tired disbelief. “Baby,” you said, tone edged with warning. “Will you please just sit here and look pretty?”

He let out an exaggerated huff but nodded quickly the second your brows lifted higher, that signature ‘don’t test me’ look you’ve perfected over the years. He pressed a kiss to your nose—loud and wet and obnoxiously smug—and plopped himself down in one of the wooden chairs with a dramatized sigh. You backed away slowly, eyes narrowed, watching him as if he might leap right back up again the second you turned around.

He sat there like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t been acting weird as hell since he got back last night.

Now it’s afternoon, and you’re curled up in the pink nook by your bedroom window, knees tucked under your chin, your fingers holding a book you’re not really reading. You’ve been trying to research flowers for your garden. Finnick built you a greenhouse just last month—white picket fence and everything—because you mentioned once, half-asleep, that you wanted to grow your own vegetables. Tomatoes. Garlic. Onions. Anything so you wouldn’t have to keep hauling yourself down to the market every few days.

It took him a day and a half to build it. Just showed up grinning with dirt on his cheeks and a ribbon tied to the gate latch.

But today, your mind can’t focus on gardening.

You keep replaying everything from the moment you woke up. The bed. The kisses. The slow, almost too tender sex. The shared shower—where Finnick insisted he wash your hair. The way he kept looking at you like you might disappear if he blinked too long. He’s always been affectionate, yes, but this was different. This wasn’t just clingy. This was like he was terrified.

He finally left the house an hour ago to swim, saying something about not missing his daily laps. It took you twenty-five minutes to get him out the door. He kissed you repeatedly. Begged you to come with him. Told you it wouldn’t be fun if you weren’t there. And when you refused—because, frankly, the ocean is freezing and you’re not trying to die today—he pouted like a child and dragged his feet all the way down the porch.

You shake your head, trying to will the thoughts away. Surely, if it were something serious, Finnick would’ve told you by now. He’s never kept things from you—not since the night he finally told you what the Capitol really made him do during those long absences. Not since he looked you in the eye and admitted the truth with shaking hands and a voice that barely held together.

You didn’t flinch, judge or looked at him differently. You just held him. Because you were glad that he let you in. That he trusted you enough to share the darkest parts of himself.

You love Finnick. That much is undeniable. Sometimes you think about where you’d be if you hadn’t met him two years ago—and the image is always darker. He pulled you out of a hole you didn’t even know you were sinking into after your parents died in the fire at District 4’s fish market. It was a freak accident—took several others too, including Finnick’s uncle, the last family he had.

So yeah. It’s an understatement to say you’re worried about him.

You glance down at your notebook and realize, with a tired blink, that you’ve scribbled “causes of Finnick’s sudden clinginess” instead of “causes of pest infestations in a garden.”

Your pen stills, and you blink—once, then again—staring down at the page as the weight of it all finally settles in. Even now, with two rooms and a closed door between you, you can still feel him—his presence like gravity tugging at your chest.

Before your thoughts can spiral deeper, the door creaks open and Finnick steps into the room.

He’s a mess. A towel is draped over his head, soaked and sliding halfway down his neck. His bronze skin is glistening with seawater, droplets trailing down his bare chest and soaking into the waistband of his shorts. He’s left a winding path of damp sand from the hallway, every step tracked in prints that smear slightly with each move he makes. His feet are bare and his curls are still dripping, little beads of water falling onto the wooden floor.

You stare at him from the window nook, frozen for a second, your book slipping slightly from your lap.

He looks at you like he hasn’t seen you in years.

Then, without a word, he crosses the room, moving with that same effortless grace he always has—except this time it’s less like a flirtation and more like a need. When he reaches you, he doesn’t pause or ask permission. He just climbs right in, damp and heavy and all saltwater heat, stretching himself across your curled-up body like he belongs there. Like he has to be there or he’ll unravel.

You grunt under the sudden weight, your hands instinctively bracing against his slick shoulders. “Finnick—”

He silences your protest with a peppering of kisses across your face. Cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, lips—he leaves no space untouched. Each kiss is frantic, uncoordinated, wet with ocean and something deeper—something you still can’t name.

“I missed you,” he mumbles between kisses. “God, I missed you. I was only gone for an hour and I missed you.”

“Finnick,” you laugh breathlessly, tilting your head back as he continues his unrelenting affection. “You were literally just—hey! You’re soaking the cushion!”

“Don’t care,” he mutters into your neck, arms wrapping tight around you like you might disappear if he lets go. “You smell better than the ocean.”

“Finnick,” you say again, softer this time. There’s a flicker of something uneasy in your chest, something too big to ignore anymore. 

You push him back just enough to see him clearly, your hands moving up to cup his cheeks—firm, steady, squishing them together until his lips pout in that ridiculous way that practically begs to be kissed. It takes everything in you not to give in to the urge.

Instead, you hold his gaze.

His sea-green eyes blink at you, wide and soft, still wet at the lashes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Finnick blinks at you, lips still squished between your palms. He gives a pitiful little hum, eyebrows raised innocently like he’s got no idea what you’re talking about.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, words slightly muffled through his puckered mouth. “I just love you, that’s all.”

You narrow your eyes. “Mmhmm.”

He tries to lean forward again, aiming another kiss at your jaw, but you tighten your grip on his cheeks and pull back just enough to stop him.

“Nope,” you say firmly. “We’re not doing that.”

His brows knit together, the pout deepening. “Doing what?”

“You trying to distract me with kisses and charm so you don’t have to answer.” You tilt your head, voice still teasing but firm beneath it. “We can sit like this for the rest of our lives if we have to. I’ll hold your face hostage, Finnick Odair. Don’t test me.”

A beat passes.

Something shifts in his expression. The smile fades. His mouth relaxes under your hands, and his eyes—those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes—drop slightly, losing the usual glint of mischief. He swallows hard, and when he looks back up at you, it’s like something inside him finally gives way.

“I had a dream,” he says quietly, almost like he’s ashamed of it. “Last night. You died.”

The words hit you like a jolt, but you don’t move, don’t flinch. You just keep your hands on his face, grounding him.

“You died,” he repeats, voice cracking slightly. “And it felt so real. I woke up and—I couldn’t breathe. I thought I lost you. I thought—God, it was so stupid, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how I waste so much time just… assuming you’ll always be here.”

He leans into your touch then, like he needs it to keep going.

“I realized I can’t do that. I don’t want to waste a single second. I don’t want to go another day without making sure you know how much I love you. How much you mean to me. Because if something happened to you and I didn’t say it enough or loud enough or clear enough…”

His voice trails off, and then he breathes out—soft and hoarse, like the weight is finally leaving his chest.

“I’d rather spend one tomorrow with you, making sure you know I love you,” he whispers, “than a thousand tomorrows without you… and never get the chance to say it.”

You stare at him, heart squeezing painfully, lips parted—but the words don’t come. Not right away. Because what do you even say to that?

You don’t say anything right away. You just release his face with the gentlest touch, then open your arms and pull him into you—tugging him into your chest like you're trying to shield him from the very world that haunts his dreams.

He doesn’t resist. He folds into you like a tide pulled home, arms locking tightly around your waist, his cheek pressed into your shoulder. He holds you like he thinks you might vanish again. Like it’s your last night together. And it breaks something inside you.

You run your fingers through his still-damp hair, slow and steady, the same way someone might soothe a frightened animal or calm a child after a nightmare. He trembles once. Just once. But you feel it. And it makes your chest ache.

“Finnick,” you murmur softly, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “I know you love me.”

His arms stiffen slightly, like he’s unsure if you’re just saying it to soothe him, but you pull back just enough to see his face, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders.

“I know it,” you repeat, firmer now. “Not just because you say it. But because you show it.”

You smile faintly, eyes locked on his. “You built me a greenhouse in less than two days just because I said I wanted to grow tomatoes. You kiss my forehead every time I fall asleep reading. You get up before sunrise to untangle my wind-chimes when the sea breeze knots them up. And when you think I’m not looking…” Your voice catches a little. You look at me like I hung the stars in your sky.

His eyes are glossy now, red at the rims, but he doesn’t look away. You don’t let him.

“You’ve already told me you love me a hundred different ways, Finnick. Even when you don’t say it.”

You rest your forehead against his, nose brushing his as you close your eyes. “So next time you have a dream like that… just wake me up. You don’t have to wait. You don’t have to hold it in. I want to be the person you can fall apart with. Okay?”

Finnick nods, slow and silent. And then he kisses you—not with urgency this time, not to dodge or distract—but like he’s memorizing the shape of forever on your lips.

It’s warm and slow and almost shy, like he’s still trying to believe you’re real. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that steals your breath, his hands trembling slightly as they cradle your waist, holding you like something precious. Like something breakable. Like he’s scared he might crush you if he holds too tightly, but terrified you’ll slip away if he doesn’t.

You kiss him back just as slowly, threading your fingers into his damp curls and brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones, tasting salt—maybe from the ocean, maybe from him. Neither of you pulls away. Time stops. The only sound is the faint ticking of the old wall clock in the corner and the hush of waves crashing somewhere in the distance, just beyond the house.

When you finally part, it’s only because you both need to breathe. Finnick leans his forehead against yours again, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers. “Ever.”

“You won’t,” you whisper back, just as fiercely. “You’ve got me. For as long as you want me.”

His eyes flutter open. “Forever, then.”

You smile, tears burning quietly at the edges of your vision. “Forever sounds just right.”

He pulls you in again, tucking your head under his chin, wrapping himself around you until you can barely tell where you end and he begins. His heart beats against yours like it’s trying to speak a language only the two of you understand. The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. Heavy with everything that didn’t need words.

You stay like that for a while. Wrapped in each other. The sun dipping lower through the bedroom window, casting everything in a soft amber glow. Outside, the waves keep crashing. Inside, he’s holding you like he’ll never let go again.

It was hard enough watching one of my only friends be practically driven mad after he won the games. I reminded myself to keep my eyes shut when he stumbles up on the stage this year. There’s nothing I can do to help him.

I dressed, continuously flattening my dress and trying to ignore the lasting chill in my bones. It was the last year that my name would be placed in the reaping ball. The last year that I would ever have to face the fear of myself being sent to the Hunger Games. I had just turned 18 last month, and couldn’t wait for this horrid day to just be over. My name was only in there 7 times, so the odds were certainly in my favor. A girl I went to school with had hers in at least 39 times.

My family ate a small breakfast of eggs and bread from the bakery. It was hard to eat much on a day like today.

By the time we got to the town square, it was almost completely full. I hugged my parents, agreeing to meet at home when this whole thing was over.

The section of 18 year olds was packed full and I imagined that on the screens in the capital we all appeared like cattle. I squeezed in between two girls who I knew from school and gave them a quiet greeting as we all settled into place.

It was only minutes until the mayor began speaking about the significance of the Dark Days, and how the Games help us remember. He introduced Haymitch, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I could hear clumsy footsteps walk across the stage and mumble out some sort of greeting.

For the rest of the introductory speech, I kept my eyes on the floor.

Haymitch used to be one of my closest friends in the world until he went into the Games just two years ago. I still remember it like it was yesterday. Burdock and I couldn’t believe he actually had done it— he had won a Quarter Quell where there were double the tributes! The odds were never in his favor, but he did it. Truly, I had never felt such relief and joy in my life.

A horrible accident happened just before he got home. His house caught fire and he lost his family. Myself and his closest friends tried to help him pick up the pieces, to be there in any way we could, but he refused our help. He pushed us away until he had no one left. My heart shattered, and I was still trying to put it back together. Haymitch always meant the world to me.

The next year, he practically face planted on stage and that was when we learned that his new best friend had become a bottle of white liquor. Burdock and Astrid cried with me that day.

Since then, I only see him occasionally in town, but he doesn’t come anywhere near me. Not even close.

My thoughts vanish quickly when I hear a new announcer speaking into our stage microphone. A ridiculous looking woman has taken the place of our old Capitol lady— Drusilla. This woman has very large, very purple hair. Her dress appears to be made of some sort of animal skin, and she has heels that click loudly as she walks.

She doesn’t say her name, but seems excited to get started with the drawing of the names.

“Ladies first,” she announces, crossing the stage with loud clicks in each step until she reaches the large glass reaping ball. She digs her hand around for a few seconds, before removing it and heading back to the microphone. She announces a name so clearly and I swear I black out for a second.

My name has been called.

I hear chatter around me, but I don’t understand a single word. I can’t think straight, I can’t think at all. My name has been called.

Slowly, I exit the cattle heard of the 18-year-olds and head toward the stage. There is nothing else I can do. I glance back to my group and see Burdock and Astrid looking at me desperately.

When I reach the stage, the mayor shakes my hand and the woman with the large purple hair heads to the other reaping ball and calls out a boys name.

“Ash Avett.”

The name doesn’t process, nor does Haymitch throwing up behind me. Nothing processes until we enter the Justice Building and have a few moments to say goodbye to our loved ones.

My parents come in, and it seems much more like a goodbye than a good luck. Tears are shed, hugs are exchanged, but I refuse to believe it will be the last time I will see them. Burdock and Astrid come in next. They tell me to listen to Haymitch, to which I laugh.

“He hasn’t had a coherent thought in two years,” I dismiss the idea as outlandish.

Burdock and Astrid exchange a nervous glance, but beg me to try to have him help me. I agree, but have no expectations.

Nobody else comes to say goodbye. I never had many friends in District 12, but it never seemed to bother me too much until now.

We rode in a small car from the Justice Building to the train station, and the only thing on my mind was that if Haymitch could win, then so could I. I had to. For my parents, for myself, for Burdock and Astrid— for Maysilee. I was not going to let Burdock and Astrid lose another friend to these Games. I was not going to let me lose myself to these Games.

The train was a weird sort of transportation. I had never seen so many bright colored plastic furniture pieces in one place. I wondered if they’d always been that way, or if they’d changed everything to plastic because Haymitch couldn’t stop vomiting on everything.

Ash and I have our own rooms in one car of the train. The rooms are decked out with unique art, bright colors, and weird technology unlike anything I’d ever seen in 12.

I sit on my bed for maybe an hour, maybe two, thinking of everything I know about the Games. In District 12 we don’t always watch. Usually our tributes get killed pretty quickly, and after that nobody wants to watch children killing each other. We all watched Haymitch’s year. If only he were sober enough now to be a reliable source.

There was one other Victor from my District, before I was even alive. People say they died a long time ago. We never learned anything about them. Not even how they won.

The lady with the purple hair— whom I now know to be Effie— interrupts my thoughts again with a knock on my door and an invite to dinner. I may as well join them. Maybe at least Effie knows something.

I enter the dining car and find Effie, Ash, and several Capitol servants in the room. Ash is a small boy, maybe 15, and based on the general malnourished look to him, I assume he’s from the Seam.

The moment I sit down several Capitol servants swarm the table, laying out many large plates with more food than I’ve ever seen in my life. Bowls with lamb soup, trays with brightly colored vegetables in unique arrangements, baskets of some type of bread that I’ve never seen before.

My first instinct is to be angry. I’m angry that the boy in front of me has starved his whole life, and now we’re getting served loads more than we could ever eat in one meal. I’m angry that I’ve never gotten to eat such a luxurious meal in my life, and now I am eating it on the way to this living nightmare. I am angry that Haymitch isn’t eating with us, and that he will likely be no help to me in the arena if he stays this drunk every day.

I force myself to push down these feelings of anger, and load up on food that will hopefully provide me strength in the arena. It doesn’t take long for me to receive some disapproving looks from Effie as I eat.

It is nearly the end of the meal when I hear a loud crash from the door behind me. I don’t have to turn my head to know what’s happened.

“Well, look who’s finally decided to join us!” Effie says in a tone thick with annoyance.

“I was freshening up,” Haymitch argues, and it is clear that some of this ‘freshening up’ included having more to drink.

He sits down clumsily in the spot directly across from me, tucks his napkin into his shirt, and begins eating messily. Effie scoffs and stomps out of the room.

Ash speaks up, quietly, “Can I go to bed?”

Haymitch shrugs, wiping sauce off of his face with his napkin. Ash just sits there, staring at him with evident disappointment.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I speak up, “Effie said she will wake us in the morning when we need to get up.”

He nods, heading quickly out of the dining car and back to the one containing our bedrooms. I sit there for a few minutes, waiting for Haymitch to say, or do anything. He does nothing except continue to eat, only pausing to take sips from his wine glass.

“Haymitch,” I finally say. I am ignored. I sigh, watching him for another moment before repeating it with more insistence this time. “Haymitch!”

He ignores me again, only pausing for a second before taking a long sip of his wine.

“Listen Haymitch, I know you’ve decided you don’t want me in your life anymore, and that’s fine. But at the very least could you give me something to work with here. I want to— I need to make it back home.”

Instead of ignoring me again like I expected, he looks up at me and slowly says, “I can’t help you.”

“You can. You won the Games with twice as many tributes. You have to have some sort of advice for me. Anything.”

Before I can take another breath, Haymitch stands from the table, simultaneously spilling his wine and knocking his plate off the table, and shouts at me, “I can’t help you! Okay? I can’t!”

I take a slow breath, familiar with his bursts of rage from the long months I tried to help him after the accident.

“Haymitch, please.” I say quietly.

He looks around, everywhere in the room but not at me, almost like he’s talking to someone who isn’t there, “I knew it! I knew they’d do it. But why— WHY HER?”

Before I can process anything that just happened he is gone from the dining car and back out the door that he came through. I almost go to follow him, but the door locks behind him.

For the first time, I realized how much he truly had lost it. I am completely and utterly alone.

I don’t get much sleep that night. The next morning, Effie knocks on my door early and calls me for breakfast. When I get dressed and arrive in the dining car, it’s just Effie and Ash again. No sign of Haymitch. There’s another grand meal laid out for us. This time it’s eggs cooked in any way you could imagine. Slabs of breakfast meats, various breads, large bowls of fruit, you name it.

We make small chatter over the meal, and Effie assures us that it’s not our fault that Haymitch isn’t a good mentor.

“He just is that way.” She says shaking her head with disapproval.

It’s a travel day, so we’re not expected to do much. Ash and I spend the day reviewing footage from the old games. We take notes, and I discover that Ash is extremely perceptive. He picks up on the smallest details about the tributes, and can almost guess their moves before they make them.

We sit on the couch in the dining car staring at the television screen for hours. We discuss strategy, how tributes find food, how they outsmart their competitors, anything that can possibly give us a leg up in the games.

I knew from past games that Districts 1, 2, 3 and even sometimes 4 tend to form alliances and take out the weak tributes first. They call themselves the Careers. What I didn’t know, was how ruthless they are. In nearly every single one of the games— they win. They kill mercilessly, they show little fear, they stay strong until the end. I decide that the Careers are the ones I need to be most afraid of.

By the time the sun starts setting, Ash and I have barely moved for the entire day. We managed to watch the highlights to nearly every Hunger Games in history with the exception of two. We couldn’t find the 10th. There was no highlight reel, and apparently no recorded footage. We also decided not to watch Haymitch’s games because we were both too familiar with that one already.

When dinner rolled around we were both too tired of talking to make any conversation, so we ate quietly with Effie. Haymitch only made a brief appearance to raid the liquor stash before returning to his room.

“You should eat!” Effie calls out in a reprimanding voice but is ignored. She shakes her head and scoffs, “I swear, that boy has no manners.”

We arrive in the Capitol early the next morning. There is a large crowd waiting for us, but we have no time to take in all of the new scenery around us because we are quickly ushered to our next location.

I spend the next few hours getting every pore on my skin closely examined and messed with until perfection by my ‘prep team’ as Effie calls them. The team is a group of young adults who are the most ridiculous looking people I’ve ever seen. They all have the most ridiculous colored hair, eyes, and nails. One of them has teeth so white that I have to squint every time I look at her as to not be blinded. Another has such an abnormal face that it unsettles me. The lips are large, the skin is pulled tight across the face, almost like it’s swollen from an allergic reaction.

I guess eventually they believe that I look satisfactory, because they all nod and smile before leaving the room. Effie comes in shortly after, handing me a robe and bringing me to a different room.

The room is filled with bright colored plastic furniture, similar to the train. Ash is sitting in a similar robe across the room, and Haymitch is passed out on a couch. I can’t help but roll my eyes. When I’m sitting Effie begins to speak.

“Now, usually you would have a stylist, but, due to some issues with the prior stylist you will have to rewear some of the costumes from previous years…” she frowns, looking between us, “I know it’s not much to be working with but we will try our best to make you both look amazing. Right Haymitch?”

No response.

“Haymitch!” Effie raises her voice. He groans from the couch.

“What?”

“The tribute parade. Styling them,” she announces.

He sits up, rubbing his head and frowning, “The tribute parade is today?”

She sighs, shaking her head and going to the other side of the room where a large bag sits. I already know what’s in the bag before she brings it over. District 12 has only ever been dressed in coal miner outfits. I am going to be dressed as a coal miner in front of all of Panem. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Ash’s shoulders drop in disappointment.

We dress in the ridiculous overalls and hats before returning to the main room. I feel humiliated. Effie kisses her teeth and Haymitch sits up, looking more sober now, and shakes his head.

“Again?” Haymitch asks.

“We couldn’t do any better,” Effie replies.

Ash’s overalls hang a little bit too loose so Effie takes him into the other room to quickly try to pin it for him. Haymitch lays back down on the couch and I stand still across the room.

“You know you can come sit,” he says, gesturing to the spot next to him.

I huff, suddenly realizing just how angry I am at him. For shutting me out, for becoming a drunk, and most of all— for not even being able to get it together when I need him most.

I shake my head, keeping my voice even as I say, “I don’t want to sit next to you.”

He sighs, “Well at least sit somewhere. I want to talk to you.”

My anger doesn’t go away, but I sit anyways because if he has even one piece of good advice to give me, I’m not going to take it for granted.

He sighs, his hands running down his face and I notice how his fingers shake. I wonder how long that’s been going on. I can tell he’s still a little bit under the influence, but he looks me right in the eyes.

“When you get on the chariot…” he starts, pausing for a moment.

“Yes?” I ask, urging him to continue.

He shakes his head, “Hold on tight. I don’t want to have to meet your doppelgänger tomorrow.”

My immediate reaction is that he’s had too much to drink and is now spewing incoherent garbage, but the way that he looks at me with such a serious look in his eyes leads me to believe that his words do have meaning.

“What do you mean?” I ask, hoping he can explain.

He shakes his head, looking away now, “Just hold on tight, okay?”

I nod, still unsure what his words meant but agreeing to his request.

The evening goes by quickly. We go upstairs to a larger room where there is a line of horse drawn chariots waiting for us. The rest of the tributes are mostly mounted on theirs already, paying no attention to us. The tributes from District 1 only briefly size us up when Haymitch enters the room.

The parade is over before we know it. Haymitch was right, we did need to hold on tight. The crowd hardly reacted when they saw us, which lessened any nonexistent confidence that we already had.

After the parade, Effie escorted us to the building that they call the Tribute Center. It is a gigantic building with 12 floors, each floor for each district. We’re on the 12th floor, of course.

Our room is large and spacious. It’s larger than even the biggest house in District 12, and filled with fancy furniture and television screens. We all have our own rooms, with showers, huge beds, and voice controlled remotes that make food appear any time we’d like. It’s absurd.

Ash and I spend some time in the living room and he recounts all of his observations about the other tributes from tonight. Districts 1 and 2 are overly cocky, but not as strong as they think. District 3’s male tribute has a limp. District 6’s female tribute is skittish and jumps every time someone speaks to her. District 8’s tributes are strong. District 10’s male tribute has a large scar on his right arm, and District 11’s tributes are both small with little muscle.

It is a great advantage to be so close to someone who notices these things, but all I can think of is how dreadful it will be if one of us has to do the unthinkable in the arena.

Ash goes to bed shortly after we finish talking, but I stay in the living room. I need time to reflect on the past few days.

I don’t get that time however, because as soon as I start to think about how my parents, Burdock, and Astrid might be feeling, Haymitch hobbles into the living room.

“Well, well, look who’s still up!” He says louder than he should.

I say, “Drink some water, Haymitch.”

Surprisingly, he goes to the kitchen, fills up a glass of water— and a glass of some clear liquor of course— and comes to sit next to me on the living room couch. I just start to get up to leave when he lightly grabs my wrist to stop me.

“Hey, just wait a second,” he says, taking a sip of water then placing both glasses on the coffee table.

I sit back down, staring at him, waiting for him to say something. He takes a breath, opening his mouth to say something, but says nothing.

I consider leaving and going back to my room, but then I glance at his glasses on the table. It is hard to tell which is which, but the liquor has a slight yellow tint to it that is almost imperceptible unless you look closely.

I’d never tried alcohol before. There was really no need to drink for most people in District 12. I’d seen some of the coal miners grabbing some after work, or even the occasional peacekeeper, but the average person doesn’t drink. Feeling the after affects of liquor isn’t something most of us can afford, nor is the recklessness that the alcohol brings.

When Burdock and I first discovered the extent of Haymitch’s indulgence, we couldn’t figure out why. After some time, Burdock started saying it was to ‘numb the pain he’s been through’. I always disagreed, saying if he really wanted to numb the pain that he would let us help him.

Now, I wonder if Burdock was right. The glass stares back at me, and I’m tempted to see if it really will help me with all of the horrible feelings that I’ve had since my name was called at the Reaping.

In the heavy cloud of silence that sits over us, I decide to reach out and try it. What harm could come now? I might as well try it once in my life. Who knows if I’ll ever have another chance.

I reach out, taking the glass in my hand and bringing it to my lips. Before it reaches, it’s hastily grabbed out of my grip and taken away.

“What are you doing?!” Haymitch asks harshly, a distraught look covering his features.

I shrug, shaking my head, “It helps, doesn’t it? To numb the pain?”

His mouth falls open a bit before closing again. He stares at me for a moment, scanning my face. He closes his eyes in resignation and sets the glass back on the table.

“Don’t do that.” He says, shaking his head, “Don’t.”

I frown, “Why not? You do it all the time.”

He frowns back at me, “That’s different.”

I roll my eyes at him, getting ready to return to my room for the night. This might be the longest conversation I’ve had with him since he changed. I was beginning to realize that I will never again have my friend back. My Haymitch was really and truly gone.

“Wait,” he says, although from the look on his face he isn’t even sure why he said it.

“Why, Haymitch?” I ask, feeling all of my emotions starting to rise to the surface, “So you can continue pushing me away? So I can suffer a little more before I’m sent to die?”

Neither of us say anything so I stand up to leave and say, “No thanks, I’m going to bed.”

“Wait,” he says more surely this time, his eyes pleading in a way that doesn’t completely carry in his voice.

“You don’t get it,” he says, shaking his head and looking away from me.

“Then explain it to me,” I say, tears brimming my eyes now.

He looks around, frowning, before grabbing his glass of liquor and standing up with me.

“Come with me,” he says.

“What? No I’m—“

“Just come,” he says and grabs my wrist, pulling me behind him as he walks toward the elevator.

I follow him, but have no idea where he’s taking me. We get in the elevator and he pushes a button labeled “R”. When the elevator doors close, he lets go of my wrist and runs a hand across his face. I instantly shiver when he lets go, not realizing how comforting it was to have him close to me again.

Seconds later, the elevator doors open to what appears to be the roof. He walks out and around to the edge of the rooftop, and I stumble as a gust of wind hits me. Was this his plan? To let me get blown off of the roof before I even make it to the arena?

We stand at the very edge and I can’t hear anything other than the strong wind in our ears. He looks around, a few times, before he finally turns to me.

Words come out of his mouth, but I don’t hear them.

“What?” I ask.

He steps closer, speaking louder, “You’re not going to make it out of the arena.”

The words startle me. Immediately, my chest clenches and I feel defensive. Does he doubt me so much that he truly thinks I have no chance to survive this?

“What the f—“ I begin.

“They won’t let you,” he cuts me off, shaking his head.

My anger is replaced by confusion. Who is they? The Gamemakers? The other tributes?

“What are you talking about?” I ask, crossing my arms protectively over my chest.

He shakes his head, looking over the edge and down into the city. Even at this hour, there are cars and people scattered throughout the streets. Lights are on everywhere. It’s an odd sight to see. Back home, everyone would be in bed hours ago.

“You don’t know?” He asks, and I look up into his sad eyes, even more confused than before.

“Know what?” I ask, “Do you really think I have no chance at winning?”

He looks down again, shaking his head. “It’s not about winning.”

I sigh, feeling exasperated, “Then what is it about, Haymitch?”

He looks at me again, his frown cutting deep lines into his face in the dark of the night, “They won’t let anyone that I love survive.”

I step back, trying to understand what he’s just said. Who is he talking about? He steps toward me again, speaking before I get a chance to think any more.

“The fire. Remember? You think that was an accident?”

“Haymitch,” I whisper, knowing he won’t even be able to hear me over the wind.

He points somewhere in the distance of the city and his voice gets louder, “They did that. They want me to suffer. It was over for you the moment your name got picked.”

I shake my head, tears starting to run down my face but immediately drying with the wind blowing in my face, “Haymitch, I don’t understand.”

“If I help you, you’ll die. They’ll make sure of it,” he says, his voice cracking, “The best chance you have at surviving in there is staying away from me.”

I step back again, trying to put the pieces together in my head. By they does he mean the Capitol? Could they have been responsible for the death of his family? My heart sinks as I process.

“Is that why…” I trail off, sniffling before continuing, “Is that why you pushed us all away? Me? Burdock? Astrid?”

He turns away and takes a long gulp, and I know the answer. But how? How could the Capitol do all of that? All of us in District 12 know that the house fire was an accident. Wasn’t it? And how would the Capitol know who he loves at home? They’re so far away…

Then it hits me. He’s telling me all of this on the roof where I can barely hear him. He’s avoided us for two years. He’s barely even spoken to me since I was reaped.

They must be watching him.

The only way that he thinks I will be protected is staying away from me.

He finishes the contents in his glass, throwing it across the roof and it shatters.

“Haymitch,” I say, taking a step toward him. He shakes his head, taking a step away.

“Please,” he says desperately, and in the moonlight I can see that his eyes are red.

“Please, just stay away from me. That’s the only way.”

I shake my head, my throat hurting from the lump in it, “Haymitch.”

He takes on step closer, quickly saying, “When you get in the arena, find water. They won’t poison it like in my Games. It’s too soon. You can run fast, can’t you?”

I nod, taking in the information to the best of my ability with tears still running down my face.

“You can outrun them. I know you can. At least find somewhere to hide until most of the other tributes are dead. Got it?”

I nod again.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He says desperately, hands twitching like he wants to reach out to be but won’t.

My chest aches with the nickname he’s used. He used to call me that when we were young. Back in early grade school it started, then continued through the time he left for the Games. He hadn’t used that name once since then.

“No,” I say, shaking my head, “I’m sorry, Haymitch. You deserve so much better.”

I don’t sleep that night.

The next morning was the first day of training. When I woke up, a black shirt and pants were hanging on my door with the number 12 on them. I quickly got dressed, assuming these were the training clothes provided.

When I arrived at breakfast, I was surprised to see both Effie and Haymitch already sitting there, discussing the plans for the next week. Haymitch looked rough, and I wondered if he’d gotten any sleep last night either.

“Where’s Ash?” I ask as I sit down.

Effie responds, “He’s still sleeping. I wasn’t going to wake either of you for another thirty minutes.”

I nod, filling my plate and beginning my meal.

“Since you’re here, Haymitch and I were talking about strategy,” Effie says, “Do you have any special skills, dear?”

“I can run,” I say, and my mind flashes to the conversation of last night.

Effie nods, lips pursed, “Anything else?”

I put my fork down, thinking for a minute. Do I have any special skills? I mean I’ve always helped my parents with their business, but they just fix people’s clothes, and that doesn’t feel like a skill that could help me in the arena. I’ve picked up some herbal medicine practices from watching Astrid overtime, but not enough that I’d call it a skill. I could climb pretty well. Since I was little I’ve always liked to climb the trees in District 12 so I could see the whole town square in action. Does that count for anything? It’s certainly not deadly.

“I can climb…” I say, hoping it doesn’t sound as pathetic as it feels.

Effie sighs, glancing quickly at Haymitch before returning to me, “Well, we’ve got a few days to work on that.”

Before she can say more, Ash exits his room, dressed in an identical outfit to mine, and takes his seat at the table.

The rest of breakfast is filled with small chatter about basic instructions for training, and how we should avoid showing off any skills that might make us a target. Haymitch explained how it would be useful to make some allies, but to avoid the Careers.

An hour later, we are all heading to the training center together. The elevator moves too quickly, bringing us to a floor labeled “T”, that is deep below ground. When we step off the elevator, there is a short hallway that we walk through before Haymitch and Effie depart.

The training center is like a large gymnasium. There are racks of weights, ropes, and weapons of all shapes and sizes. Along the walls are small stations set up. Each one has one person working who is there to show us how to perform different useful skills that we will use in the arena. There’s a knot tying station, a wild plants station, a woodworking station, and many more lining the edges of the room.

Ash and I decide to stick together, making our way through the different stations. We thought about trying our hand at physical training today, but the Careers had already taken over most of the training stations and I could tell that Ash was pretty freaked out by that.

I learn just about every knot I could ever need, how to make a sharp weapon out of a tree branch, and what plants I should absolutely avoid in the arena. When lunch comes around we are taken to another room that looks similar to a school cafeteria. Ash and I sit together, and the tributes from District 6 and 8 join us. At first I think they might want to be allies, but I quickly learn that they’re more interested in learning about Haymitch. Since he defied the odds by becoming a District 12 Victor, it seems that he’s still pretty popular among the other Districts.

For the rest of the day, Ash and I practice our knife throwing skills. His throwing needs a lot of work, but I catch on quite quickly. I hit the target about eighty percent of the time— usually missing the correct points— but I manage to hit an arm here, a leg there, and one time I even hit it right in the neck.

We are eventually let go from training and told to return to our rooms. On the way to the elevator, I get shoved by the boy from District 3. He doesn’t even look at me, just keeps walking. Instead of fighting back, I take a deep breath and remember to store this knowledge about the District 3 boy’s carelessness in my mind for later. His cockiness is likely a weakness.

When we return to our floor, Haymitch is passed out on the couch with vomit staining his shirt. My heart aches. Effie is nowhere to be found. Probably got tired of dealing with him.

“How did this guy ever win the Games?” Ash said with underlying disgust in his tone.

I sigh, shaking my head. “He didn’t used to be this way.”

We both frown at the sight before us for a full minute before I sigh—remembering that I have to stay away from him— but I can’t just leave him there. He’ll be no help to Ash in his current condition. I felt a twist in my gut as I got a wave of Deja vu.

After he moved to the Victor’s Village, Burdock and I tried countless times to help him. We did everything we could. Eventually we realized he didn’t care what we did, he didn’t even want to have us around.

It was a year later the next time I was back there. I’d heard from my neighbor that Haymitch was wandering around town looking even more ridiculously drunk than normal. My parents came home that day with a sad look in their eyes, and I decided that even if he didn’t want me around, I wasn’t going to leave him to keep doing this to himself.

I headed into the square, finding him slumped next to the Bakery, covered in his own vomit. With a lot of coaxing, I finally got him to stand and walk back to his house in the Victor’s Village with me. No words were exchanged on the walk. No words were exchanged when I spent the next half hour washing his face and shirt. Not even when I made him go to bed and drink a large glass of water. I swore at one point I watched a tear roll down his cheek, but I pushed the memory away for my own sake.

Now, a year later, staring at him, I wonder if he will ever be the way he used to. My Haymitch. Unfortunately, there’s no time to think that way.

I sigh, and against my better judgment I say to Ash, “I’ll go clean him up. See you at dinner?”

Ash looked perplexed for a moment, but still nodded and headed to his room.

It wasn’t difficult to wake Haymitch, but it was difficult to get him to agree to go take a shower. With my help, he eventually stumbled to his room. I sat on his bed and laid out some clean clothes for him as he cleaned himself up. I should have left and gone back to my room, but I realized that if this truly is my last few days— as he says—I wanted to spend as much time as I possibly could with the boy who once meant the world to me. Even he isn’t that boy anymore. I couldn’t die in the arena knowing that I didn’t try to help, even just one last time.

I turn to face the door when he finally exits the bathroom and dresses. Eventually, he takes a seat a few feet away from me and takes a deep breath. I turn to face him.

“You sober yet?” I ask, scanning his face. His eyes are red, and I can tell just by his pupils that he still has some alcohol in his system.

He shakes his head.

“Haymitch,” I say, unsure of what else to say.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly.

I nod, “I know. But I couldn’t leave you there like that.”

The look in his eyes destroys me.

I take a deep breath, standing from my place on his bed, “I can’t die in a few days without being there for you. I just can’t.”

I don’t wait for his response. Instead, I make my way back to my room, shutting the door and letting myself cry for the last time. If I want to even have a chance at winning, I need to be strong. And I need to stay away from Haymitch from now on.

It doesn’t take long to regain my composure, and shortly after I wipe the last tear I am called to dinner. Haymitch never shows.

The next two days are tedious. Ash and I have gone through every single station in training. I have gotten better at knife throwing— hitting lethal points at least sixty percent of the time. I hit the target somewhere on the body almost every time. I’ve also learned that I can be quick enough to escape from most of the official Capitol trainers who I’ve been sparring with.

Ash has had decent luck too. He’s gotten quite good with a sword, and can anticipate the moves of his opponent easily. He is extremely perceptive.

After three full days of eating well, training, and learning new skills, I’m feeling significantly more confident that I can win this. The Careers are still a major threat, but if I can get away fast enough, I can just wait for them to take each other out.

We haven’t made any allies. Nobody has been interested in partnering with us unless they get a shot at getting advice from Haymitch, who of course hasn’t been around much at all. He’s been slightly more coherent the past few days— seemingly not drinking to the point of being incapacitated. And yet, every time I walk into a room he finds his way out of it.

Tomorrow we have a full day of preparing for our interviews, then the next day is the Games. The interviews are done on a stage outside of the Tribute Center by a man named Caesar Flickerman. Caesar is a ridiculous looking man with hair that changes colors for each Games. This year I think it’s a pale yellow. Ugly. But from what I’ve heard, he is very charismatic and helps the tributes out. Which I will need.

At dinner, Haymitch and Effie discuss with us the possible angles we can go with. Every tribute apparently has an angle to make them likeable. Some choose strength, some smarts, some beauty, some even choose humor.

Ash decides he wants to show his smarts, with a bit of humor. Effie and Haymitch nod, agreeing that they can work with that.

“And you?” Effie asks me while I’m halfway through munching on a chicken leg.

I shrug, setting the leg down on my plate, “I don’t really know.”

Effie says, “I’m sure we can put something together. You’re such a lovely girl.”

I almost blush, grateful to receive a compliment from someone who is so hesitant to give them out, until she adds: “For a girl from the Districts.”

Haymitch looks at me for a moment, as if doing a difficult calculation in his head. Eventually a small smile tugs on his face and he says, “Why don’t you just be the sweetheart from District 12? Show them how nice you are, they’ll love you.”

Effie rolls her eyes, and I’m sure he’s joking.

“Yeah, right,” I say, “I don’t think that’ll sway the people of the Capitol.”

“Well, have you got anything else?” Haymitch asks but doesn’t wait for me to respond, “We’ll work on it tomorrow.”

No more discussion happens that night. The next morning Effie wakes us up early to spend the first half of the day working on manners. Apparently my manners aren’t even half as good as I thought they were. Effie teaches me how to sit properly, how to laugh like a lady, and worst of all she teaches me how to walk in heels.

Ash nails it all right away, but he doesn’t have to walk in heels. He laughs at me as I stumble for the fifteenth time.

The early afternoon is spent with Haymitch as we figure out what angle we want to take. For two complete hours, Haymitch is entirely focused on Ash. He doesn’t even glance at me once. I know why he’s keeping his distance. Still, that doesn’t stop the annoyance from raising within me when I think about just how unprepared I am for tonight.

After Ash nails his intelligent-yet-witty routine, the attention is on me. Haymitch practices asking me questions like “How has training gone for you?” and “Anyone special waiting back at home?”

My responses must not impress him because he sighs and takes a drink out of a flask he has been keeping in his coat pocket. By the end of the session I am so exhausted from having to put on a show, and so on edge because in less than 24 hours I will be in the arena.

When our prep teams arrive, Haymitch takes a long drink and leaves the room. I am fussed over for nearly two hours before they deem my hair and makeup to be satisfactory for tonight. My makeup is simple, yet they have perfectly managed to accentuate every feature that should be accentuated.

“Thank you,” I tell them.

Effie steps into our room shortly after, with two large bags in hand. She hands me one, and hands one to Ash.

“Clothes for tonight,” she says, “I thought since neither of you have a stylist you would need something to make you stand out.”

“Thank you, Effie,” Ash says and goes to his room to change.

I open my bag, revealing a stunning orange dress unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It is a soft, shiny material that reflected light in every direction. The waist is cinched in a way that I imagine to be incredibly flattering, and the long skirt is draped in such a unique way that it almost looks like water falling. I quickly went to my room to change as well.

When I return to the living room, Ash is standing with Effie and Haymitch in a suit with the same beautiful orange color that I am wearing. They all look up and Effie is the first to speak.

“It’s stunning! I knew I had a good eye,” she says.

“You look great,” Ash says, smiling at me.

“You too,” I say.

Haymitch is silent and doesn’t look at me for longer than a few seconds. I let myself wonder if he thinks I look pretty.

We all head downstairs to where the stage is supposed to be set up. When we arrive, Effie departs for her seat but Haymitch escorts us until we are backstage. All of the other tributes are there looking absolutely amazing.

Haymitch nods at us, “Remember what we went over.”

We both nod before he departs and goes to find his seat as well. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves before we have to walk out on stage. I hear Caesar Flickerman’s voice introducing the 52nd Annual Hunger Games and the anthem starts to play.

Ash reaches out and squeezes my hand gently before we walk out on stage together. All of the tributes sit at different parts of the stage, and take turns being interviewed by Caesar. Each interview is about three minutes long, so I know by the time they get to me that the audience will be bored out of their minds.

Ash pays close attention as each tribute is interviewed. I find myself staring through the crowds of the audience. So many strange colors, some of the people don’t even look quite human. I know they are of course, it’s just so different. I don’t know why anyone would ever want to change their appearance so much. Things work so differently in the Capitol.

I get called up while I am staring straight at a woman who has leopard print skin, and I make my way across the stage to the seat across from Caesar.

“Welcome, welcome,” he says, “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

I shrug, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Caesar smiles at the audience and exclaims, “Ahhh! I love that! Love the confidence in this one. And how has your mentor been?” He asks, looking at the audience knowingly.

Of course, Haymitch is known well by the Capitol now. They’re all well aware of his tendencies.

I smile nervously, “He’s been fine.”

Caesar pauses, waiting for me to continue. When I don’t, he says, “Just fine? Do tell.”

I sigh, feeling the need to defend him. If what he says is true, the Capitol has been horrible to him. I’m angry at them for him.

“He’s doing the best he can,” I say, forcing a smile.

Caesar laughs, “Ahhh, I’m sure he is. Did you two know each other before you were chosen for the Games this year? Back in District 12?”

I pause. If I answer honestly, they will have even more of a reason to kill me. If Haymitch were here, he would tell me to lie. So that is what I do. “No,” I say, “We didn’t know each other.”

Caesar nods, leaning toward me and getting more serious, “You didn’t know each other?” He pauses, leaning closer like he was going to tell me a secret, “And yet he threw up on stage when your name was called?”

I completely blanked for a moment. I had forgotten that that even happened. I shook my head, thinking of the right words to say.

“He’s always throwing up,” I say, forcing another smile as if it’s some sort of joke.

Caesar laughs toward the audience, “Classic Haymitch. Well it is a shame to see you go, but may the odds be in your favor.”

Before I know it, I’m sent back to my seat. I don’t even pay attention during Ash’s interview because I’m so caught up in his wording. A shame to see me go? Does he know something? If what Haymitch said was true, does that mean that the Capitol is already planning to kill me in the arena? Or does he just have such little faith in my ability to win?

When we return to our room for the night, Haymitch and Effie congratulate us on our successful interviews.

“I thought you two did know each other before,” Effie says to myself and Haymitch.

“Not really,” I say, not explaining myself further. Haymitch is still refusing to look at me.

Effie nods, and the look on her face seems that she doesn’t believe me. She must ignore it, because she looks between Ash and I, smiling gently, “I guess this is goodbye. I will be rooting for you both.”

We take turns giving her hugs and saying goodbye. When she reaches the elevator she says, “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

“Thank you, Effie,” Ash says, and she’s gone.

We both turn to Haymitch, “Will we see you in the morning?” I ask.

He shakes his head, “Your prep team will collect you in the morning and take you to whatever transportation they have arranged. Then you’ll be off to the arena.”

We both nodded, knowing this is it. My heart tugs, and I have so much that I want to say. This might be the last time I will ever see Haymitch, and I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know if I should say anything at all.

Ash shakes Haymitch’s hand and thanks him for his help, and soon he is off to his room. I stand still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Before I can figure it out, he pulls me into his arms. His hands wrap tightly around me, one around my waist and one on the back of my head. I instantly reciprocate, wrapping my arms tightly around his back. We stand like that for nearly a minute— his face tucked into my neck, holding so tightly that I almost push him away for a breath. But I don’t.

He loosens his grip but doesn’t pull away. He gets close to my ear and says so quietly I can hardly hear, “Stay alive.”

I nod, still holding him tightly. I take a shaky breath in and out, willing myself not to cry.

“See you on the other side?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t respond. He pulls me tightly against him one last time and when he pulls away he is already headed for his room. I can feel the tears running down my face, but quickly wipe them and head to my room as well. I can’t get upset now. I have to stay alive.

Part II: The Games

After a sleepless night, my prep team wakes me up before the sun. They make last minute touch ups to my eyebrows and hair, before giving me clothes to change into. It’s a light, airy material that is completely black except for a small number 12 in silver on the sleeve. The pants are the same material, only slightly thicker.

Surprisingly, my prep team takes me up to the rooftop after I’m done. My mind flashes back to the last time I was up here. Soon, a jet comes near the roof and lets a ladder down. I am told to grab onto the ladder, but as soon as I do I am paralyzed. I can’t move a muscle until I’m completely inside of the jet. Once I’m inside, they place a tracker in my arm.

The ride is short, and when we arrive I am brought to a small room with a tube in it. I assume that the tube is what will take me into the Games.

I stand there for a few minutes, breathing deeply, before I realize that I am shaking. Every muscle in my body feels like it is contracting and un contracting over and over again. I can’t enter the games like this, but it won’t stop no matter how many deep breaths I take.

I think of home. I think of my parents who will be watching me, I think of Burdock and Astrid… I think of Haymitch. The shaking stops. I can do this, and I will. I have to win. For them. For Maysilee. For Haymitch.

A peacekeeper enters my room, making me jump. I am told to enter the tube, and I listen. Within a minute, the tube closes, and I am rising up like I’m in an elevator that takes me above ground.

Suddenly, I’m in the arena.

I look around me, trying to gain awareness of my surroundings as fast as I can. Below me is a raised metal plate, and I see that all of the tributes are on one. Ash is just a few plates away from me.

The ground in front of me is some sort of small rocks… gravel? There are small puddles and ponds in the gravel, but that water does not look drinkable. Directly in front of me is the large, golden horn that they call the Cornucopia. It holds the most dangerous weapons, and the best supplies. Haymitch told us to avoid going straight there.

To my left, there’s a field of dirt with large piles rising and falling as far as I can see. To my right, there’s is a corn field that seems to be endless as well. Behind me is a small patch of woods, but I can’t tell if they’re thick— or deep enough— to hide in. That might still be my best bet.

Before I’m ready, a clock begins counting down in front of me. 30, 29, 28…

I look around, deciding where will be the safest for me to go. I spot a small green backpack just 10 feet in front of me. Would it be too dangerous to grab? Have my opponents already spotted it?

15,14,13…

I take in my surroundings one last time before deciding. The best bet for my survival is to grab the green backpack and take off in the woods as quickly as I can. With my speed, I can surely outrun any attacks. Plus, most of the violence will be near the cornucopia.

5,4,3,2,1.

I take off as fast as I can, straight to the backpack. I don’t look to see if anyone is already fighting. I turn and I run to the woods as quickly as I can. I run and run until I can hardly breathe, and even then I don’t stop.

Only once I’ve finally gotten far enough away that I can’t hear, nor see any other tribute, I stop to assess my situation. The trees aren’t nearly as dense as I need them to be. Someone could see me from 200 yards away if they stood in the right spot. They’re also dry and thin with hardly any branches until the very top. Not trees to be climbed.

I find a big one and sit down against it, at least then my back will be covered while I examine the backpack I’ve taken. It’s a very small bag. Inside, I find a water bottle, luckily filled with water, a pack of crackers, a flashlight, a thin rope, and a knife. The knife isn’t as sharp as the ones we trained with, but it should at least provide me some defense.

I try to recall what Haymitch told us about basic survival. Find water, don’t let yourself starve, find shelter, and stay alive. He’d told me specifically to try to find somewhere to hide. Got the water, the crackers should at least last me today, but I’ll have to find some sort of shelter. I decide to continue walking through the woods to see if I stumble upon anything.

I lost count of how many cannons I’d heard over the next few hours, preoccupied with finding shelter. There had been at least five since I began searching, but any that went off right at the beginning were lost in the adrenaline rush.

As I got deeper into the woods, I’d found some large rocks that I considered hiding behind at least to keep my back covered. Ultimately, I continued walking in hopes of a real shelter.

Just when it started to get dark, I came across a water fall. I’d only taken sips from my water bottle all day, but I figured this would be a good place to stop and drink. Maybe there would be some fish in the pool at the bottom.

The waterfall was maybe 12 feet high, and the stream was strong. Water was rushing over the edge, crashing down below. There were large rocks around it, like the ones I’d seen earlier. They were dark with thick moss growing on them.

I finished the rest of my water bottle, trying to stay relatively hydrated before filling up again. I crossed some smaller rocks that were covered in moss. I walked carefully, knowing how slippery moss can be when it’s wet.

I reached out to press my hand on the rock behind the waterfall so I could support myself when I refilled my bottle, but found no purchase. Instead, I found myself falling directly into the waterfall and onto damp ground.

Mud was streaked across my face and I reached up to wipe it off when I realized how dark it was. I looked around and realized what had happened. Above me and all around me was solid rock. I hadn’t just fallen onto the ground, but I’d fallen through the waterfall into a small cave of sorts.

I’d done it! I’d found shelter.

I smiled to myself. The cave provided perfect shelter against the sun, and I had a continuous source of water. The water also was strong enough that it was difficult to see through. Maybe I would eventually have to relocate, but for now, I was safe.

I stayed in the cave, eating small bits of a couple crackers and sipping on water until I heard the anthem playing. I couldn’t see through the waterfall, so I’d have to peak my head out if I wanted to see how many tributes were left.

The faces of the dead tributes started flashing in the sky, one by one. Both from District 2, the girl from 3, both from 5, the boy from 7, both from 8 and 9, the boy from 10 and the girl from 11. The cocky boy from 3 was still alive. I let out a breath of relief that I didn’t know I was holding when I realized that Ash was still alive.

12 down, 11 to go.

I allowed myself to think optimistically and hope that they would all take themselves out without me having to kill anyone. I knew it was unlikely, but I needed some hope.

That night when I drifted off, I found myself mourning for the lost tributes. I didn’t even know most of them. I’d only spoken to some of them a few times, but they were all just kids. I wondered if they had families at home. Siblings who were crying themselves to sleep tonight. Friends who would never be the same after today.

I didn’t sleep for long. The cave floor was uncomfortable to sleep on, and at one point I heard footsteps just outside. I wasn’t sure if it was another tribute, or some sort of animal, but I wasn’t going to let myself sleep when any threat was around.

The next morning, I allowed myself to eat some more crackers. Hiding in the cave might protect me against the other tributes, but it would not protect me from starvation.

I decided to see if I could find any fish in the bottom of the waterfall. After waiting and listening for nearly thirty minutes to determine that I didn’t hear a single footstep, I headed out of the cave and walked around the edges of the pool. I saw some creatures, but I didn’t recognize them, and there were no fish.

It had just occurred to me that there might be some edible plants around when I saw a small lizard crawling near my feet. It was green with a blue head, and a striped tail. I knew from school that these were edible, and on occasion we would even find them wandering around in District 12. In order to eat it however, I would need to kill it first and then cook it.

I jumped through the waterfall quickly, grabbing my knife from my backpack before it could get away. I had just gotten back outside when I saw the lizard scampering away. I chased after it for a few steps before lunging at it.

Before my knife could impale the creature, it turned around quickly and spat some sort of yellow liquid at me. It missed most of me, but it did get on my right hand.

My first thought was that maybe I was chasing the wrong type of lizard, because that kind doesn’t spit. Then the yellow liquid began to burn. That was when I realized that the lizard was a mutt.

We call them mutts, but they’re actually Capitol engineered animals with genetic mutations that make them deadly.

My entire arm began to feel like it was on fire. I raced back to the waterfall and washed it away as quickly as I could, but the burning didn’t stop. I rushed back into the cave, out of site of any other predators.

The burning steadily spread up my arm and into my shoulder. It wasn’t a regular burning, but felt more like my skin was being lit on fire over and over again. The skin on my hand began to blister and turn purple.

Before I could think of what to do next, I fainted.

I wasn’t sure how long it had been, maybe a few hours, maybe a few days, but when I woke up it was nearly dark outside. My arm burned, but it felt more feverish than on fire. I looked at my hand and saw that there was a large blister surrounded by purple veins. I’d never seen anything like it, nor did I know how to treat it.

Until the sun set, I did nothing but sit in my cave and try to get my strength up a little bit. I snacked on some crackers and drank some water, washing off my blister again. As soon as water impacted it, it throbbed and felt like it was on fire again.

When the anthem eventually played, I stuck my head out— careful to keep my hand inside— to see how many more tributes died today. The boy from 6, the girl from 7, and the boy from 11.

8 left.

I wondered what was happening out there. Both tributes from District 1 were alive. Were they hunting people down? Was everyone still near the Cornucopia? Was anyone else attacked by a mutt?

Before I could stick my head back in my cave, a small silver box attached to a parachute floated straight down in front of me. Haymitch.

I grabbed it and snuck back into the cave as quickly as I could. Inside the box was a small bottle. It was some sort of liquid that I’d never seen before.

For the burn- H

Without thinking any more, I opened the bottle and drank it. It only occurred to me after that the liquid might have been to clean my throbbing blister, but it was too late now.

I laid down, and felt the pain slowly start to subside. The blister was still as large, and the purple veins weren’t seeming to go away.

As I got as comfortable as I could on some rocks with a giant blister on my hand, I began to wonder what Haymitch’s strategy was. He told me he wanted us to stay away from each other, then he gets me a sponsor gift as soon as I need it. What kind of message could that be sending to the Capitol?

The next day is uneventful. I don’t hear the cannon once. I spent the entire day in my cave, trying to figure out what my next move should be. The pain has mostly gone away from my hand, but there’s still a large area of raw skin, and the purple veins have now extended to my fingers. I finished off my crackers, and my stomach was starting to cry out for food. There were no fish, and I wasn’t taking my chances with an animal again. If I wanted food, I would have to make my way back to the Cornucopia or try to find some sort of edible plants.

When the anthem plays that night, no faces are shown in the sky. I guess the chaos has gone down from the first two days.

The next morning, I wake before the sun is up to the gnawing in my stomach. I have to find food, and I have to find it soon. If I can make my way back to the Cornucopia, even if anyone sees me, I should be fast enough to grab food and run away before they can catch me.

With that general plan in mind, I begin my trek back toward the center of the arena and away from my safety in my cave.

It has been at least two hours before I take a break. My legs are beginning to shake, my stomach gnawing more intensely as the day progresses. I haven’t had to deal with the sun since I’ve been in my cave, but now with the sun beating on me and such little food in my system, I’m starting to feel dizzy.

I try to continue in my general direction for a few minutes before I have to take a break. I sit down with my back against a tree, taking small sips of water. My vision starts to blur, and I can feel my limbs getting weak.

A cannon goes off and it startles me enough that I decide to continue walking, at least until I find some sort of plant to eat. Unfortunately, most of the ground in the woods is dry and bare. It’s another thirty minutes before I find a small green bush with red berries. I remember seeing these berries at the plants station during training, and I’m almost completely positive that they’re edible.

I collect as many as I can, eating a handful and putting the rest in my backpack for later. They’ll probably get crushed, but it’s better than having no food at all. The berries hardly satisfy my hunger. As soon as they hit my stomach, I can tell that I’ll need a lot more than that to keep going.

Another cannon has sounded by the time I finally reach the Cornucopia. I stay about fifty feet back, hiding behind a thicker tree and try to visually scout out the area before I make my move. I wait about an hour, continuously monitoring for any noise, but I don’t hear anything other than the leaves rustling in the trees. It’s certain that I’d hear at least some footsteps if anyone were around. Being from District 12, I’ve learned that gravel is never silent. There isn’t a tribute in sight.

Finally, I take off toward the Cornucopia at full speed. I’m a little bit dizzy and breathless when I reach the opening, but to my luck, there are still weapons and supplies waiting for me. I can’t believe that my fellow tributes would leave all of this here.

I take another backpack, not allowing myself the time to sort through it yet. I throw it over my shoulder and grab the last knife before taking off in the way I came. I make it about halfway through the gravel stretch when I feel a forceful pain in my calf. I look down, and a small knife has made its way through my pants and at least half an inch into my left calf. My sock inside my boot begins to feel wet.

It’s impossible to sprint now, but I hobble forward to the best of my ability and quickly look around for the cause of my injury. 20 feet away is the boy from District 3. The one who has always been too cocky for his own good. He stands casually, arms crossed over his chest, chin up like this is a normal day for him. I wonder how many deaths have been caused by him.

“What? Can’t run now?” He says with a smirk that makes my blood boil.

I take a deep breath, ignoring the pain in my calf that is making me feel like I’m going to faint.

I shrug, trying my best to act casual, like I’m not afraid of him. Truly, I’m terrified. He’s much bigger than I am, and if he chose to advance now I wouldn’t be able to outrun him. The knife in my hand feels heavy,

“Just taking in the view,” I say, looking around us at the arena.

He takes a step forward, smirking still, “Good, because it’s the last look you’re going to get.”

He takes another step toward me, and without thinking any more I throw my knife straight at him. With the dizziness and the blood dripping down my ankle, my aim is a little off, but the knife makes impact just below his hip.

The boy bends forward in pain, pulling the knife out. I don’t wait any longer before I limp out of the gravel clearing as quickly as I can. Blood is soaking through my shoe now. Just as I reach the sparse woods again, the knife skims past my head, hitting the tree directly to my right. My ear is bleeding. I yank the knife from the tree and don’t look back. I don’t hear footsteps behind me, so I assume the boy decided not to follow.

I only make it about a hundred yards when I collapse. My vision is going black, and I desperately need to clean my wound. I collapse against a tree and tear open my new backpack in hopes of something— anything— that will stop me from bleeding out right now.

Inside the backpack is a sheet of dried beef, a strange fruit that I’ve never seen before, some crackers, a bottle of water, and— to my luck— a small first aid kit! I use the bloodied knife that was just in the District 3 boy to cut the fabric around my calf. Then, slowly but carefully, I remove the knife. The feeling alone is nearly enough for me to black out, but I fight it. I won’t die in here. And if I do, it won’t be at the hands of the District 3 boy.

The first aid kit contains two small rolls of gauze, a pain reliever tablet (which I take immediately), a few spare bandages, and a few sheets of an antiseptic wipe wrapped in plastic. I do my best to clean the wound, losing my vision twice. I bite down on the edge of my shirt. It’s all I can do to keep from screaming.

After the wound is clean, I wrap it in a large bandage and lots of gauze until I think it’s satisfactory. I’ve never known much about caring for wounds, but I’ve watched Astrid do it a few times, and I think I got the basics down.

I don’t attempt to move for hours. I eat a few of my berries from earlier, some crackers, and part of the beef strip. It does help my energy some, but the blood loss really wore me down. I tuck my head between my knees and only look up every so often to make sure the District 3 boy didn’t come to finish me off. I know he’s still out there, the cannon never went off.

It occurs to me that the safest I could be now is if I return to my cave. It’s at least two hours of walking, but it’s better than being out in the open and waiting for another person to attack me.

I stand, but when I put weight on my calf I nearly black out again. It takes lots of deep breaths before I regain my balance. Once I do, I lean against my tree and look around for any low hanging branch to help me walk. There are none.

There’s nothing I can do but try to make it away from here, so I walk— very slowly. I don’t know if you could even call it a walk, it’s more of an awkward hop with lots of stopping.

I make it about a mile, and it starts to get dark. I begin to lose any hope that I had of returning to my cave for the night. I continue to move forwards anyway.

The events from earlier start to replay in my head. I threw that knife at the boy with the intention to kill. I always frowned on those who were so readily able to take the lives of others, but now that I’m the one in the arena I didn’t even think twice. I suppose it’s different when you’re defending your own life, but that doesn’t change the fact that the boy would’ve been dead if I aimed a bit better.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I had become mildly unaware of my surroundings and hit my head on a tree branch. Great, a head injury is exactly what I need right now. I shake my head, trying to comb dry branches out of my hair— wait. A tree branch!

It’s thick enough that I need to use my knife to cut all the way through it, but it’s the perfect size for a walking stick. I could start moving significantly faster with a walking stick.

With much more exertion than my body could handle, I get the branch down. It’s not a comfortable walking stick, but it helps take a lot of the pressure off of my wounded calf.

The bleeding stopped about an hour ago, but it still hurt terribly and had bled enough that my body was still weak.

After another hour of trekking through the woods, the anthem begins to play in the sky. One dead today. The girl from District 6. I wonder how she went. I wonder if she tried to defend herself. I wonder if the boy from District 3 killed her.

I’m still about an hour from my cave, but I decide to keep moving. There’s no point in stopping now. Even though my body is screaming for rest, I am in no shape to defend myself if an attacker decides to pursue me. I still have my knife that I got back from the District 3 boy, and the knife that I pulled from my calf, but the odds of me being able to react and aim well enough are low.

I lean on my stick, taking a small break before returning to my limping, and a small silver parachute falls from the sky in front of me. Haymitch is still looking out for me. With the vulnerability of everything that’s been happening in the arena, I am able to admit to myself that I miss him terribly. All that I want in the world at this moment is to be next to him again. Even the messed up version of himself that he’s become would suffice. Maybe if I make it out of here we could…

I shake myself out of my thoughts and grab the parachute. I open the small metal box. This time, there’s a small sheet of paper on top with writing on it.

Aim better next time- H

I allow myself to let out a small laugh, knowing that he will be watching me on the live feed being shown in the Capitol. Underneath the paper is a bottle of pills. They’re unmarked, but I assume that they’re either pain killers or some sort of antibiotic to prevent my wound from getting infected. Infection can kill just as much as a knife can.

Before I begin walking again, I swallow one of the pills with a gulp of water. I don’t feel any immediate difference, but about thirty minutes later the pain in my calf has become a dull ache and I’m able to cover ground much quicker.

I don’t know what time it is when I finally reach my cave, but I’m relieved to have my shelter again. My bandages got wet when I entered, so I take time to clean and rewrap my wound before I fall asleep.

Sleep takes over me as soon as I lay down, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up.

Judging by the sun’s position in the sky, it’s probably about mid day when I wake. I check my wound, which bled a little bit overnight, and snack on some of my dried beef when I figure out my plan for the day. The pain has returned during the night, so I take another pill from the bottle that Haymitch sent me.

I begin debating the pros and cons of leaving the cave today. I need to find a consistent source of food, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to learn a little bit more about my surroundings. Before I can make a decision, I notice a large footprint in the mud next to the cave entrance. One that I would’ve never made myself, the foot was much too large.

Someone has been here.

It was too dark to see when I arrived last night, but now with the sun shining through the water, it’s clear as day. I start considering if I should leave when I hear footsteps outside.

Okay, so whoever was here must be returning to the cave. If I stay here, I can defend myself with my knives to the best of my ability. If they get close enough, I won’t miss. I grab both quickly, squeezing them in my hands. I just have to hope that whoever it is doesn’t have a weapon that can kill me faster than I can throw.

It’s obviously a male, from the size of the footprint. Theres no way the boy from District 3 has been here. I would’ve known if he followed me. The boy from 1 wouldn’t be here without the girl from 1, and there are no smaller footprints other than my own. That leaves… Ash.

Could it be? I stay silent, not wanting to reveal myself either way. If these footsteps do belong to Ash, I still have no idea what he’s been through. For all I know, the games might’ve turned him into a brutal killer. I keep my grip on my knives as the footsteps get closer.

I raise my arm, ready to throw if I need to when the person breaks through the water and enters my cave. It is Ash. He startles at the sight of me, lifting an axe in his hand, ready to attack.

He looks rough. He was already a smaller boy, but now I can see the highlights of his cheek bones. There is dried blood in his hair, and on his shirt. Every time he moves he flinches like he’s in pain.

He falters for a moment, finally focusing on my face.

“Ash…” I say, still holding my knife tightly.

He fully lowers his axe, “I never thought I’d see you again,” he says.

Great, another person who thought I’d be dead by now.

He quickly follows with, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I lower my knife, “Good, because I don’t want to hurt you either.”

It’s a little bit awkward at first. It’s almost as if the several days in the arena have stunted our ability to interact with other humans in a normal way. Eventually, he sits beside me and we recount everything we’ve been through.

When the Games started, Ash took off in the direction of the dirt piles. Apparently there aren’t just piles, but also underground tunnels. He was hiding out there for a while, but eventually needed to come out to get food and water. The Careers were chasing him and he just barely got away when the boy from 7 popped out of one of the holes and killed the girl from 2. The girl and boy from District 1 stayed to attack the boy from 7. I remembered seeing his face in the sky on the first night.

After that, the boy from 2 kept chasing Ash until they got to the Cornucopia, where he was barely able to fight him off with an axe. He didn’t go into detail, but the boy from 2 died and Ash got away with a giant gash in his side. He was lucky that he got some supplies to help control the bleeding. After that, he’s been roaming the woods, hoping to avoid running into the pair from District 1 again. Apparently they’ve been hunting people down and are responsible for most of the deaths so far. He came across the cave yesterday and decided to hide out for a while, but went to find food and couldn’t find his way back to the cave in the dark.

I recounted my experience with the mutt, and showed him the healing skin on the back of my hand. I hadn’t realized, but the purple veins were beginning to make their way up my arm. I also described what happened with the District 3 boy. He frowned deeply when I showed him my leg.

We sat in silence for a bit after that, sharing a few crackers and some chocolate that Ash had gotten in his backpack.

Eventually, Ash says, “So what now?”

I pause for a moment, not even having to think hard before I say, “Want to be allies?”

A grin covers his face. Probably the first time he’s smiled since we got in the arena. “I’m glad you asked.”

“But,” I stop him, “On one condition.”

He looks at me skeptically, waiting for me to continue.

“If it gets down to just a few of us left,” I say, “We go our separate ways. I won’t hurt you.”

He nods, extending his hand to shake on it.

We both know the pain that would come with killing someone from your own district. Even if you don’t know them very well, you know their family or friends. District 12 isn’t all that big. Going home after that would be worse than killing them in the first place. You’ll never be accepted again.

We stay in the cave most of the day. Ash leaves a few times to collect roots and explore the area. I’m grateful for him, especially now, because with his perceptiveness he’s able to practically memorize every strength and weakness of our surrounding territory. Plus, it’s nice that I don’t have to walk on my leg today.

I change the bandages again in the early afternoon. It hasn’t bled any more, but it feels hot and the outside is red. I decide to clean it one more time, trying to prevent infection to the best of my ability. I’m still hopeful that the pills that Haymitch sent might have some sort of antibiotic property.

In the late afternoon, we hear another cannon go off. For the rest of the evening, I make sure that Ash stays in the cave with me.

By the time the sun sets, Ash lays out a mixture of roots and plants for us to snack on. It’s not enough for dinner, but I pull out the remaining beef and berries that I have and we share them.

He sticks his head out when the anthem begins to play. The girl from 10 is gone. That leaves the boy from 3, us, and both from District 1. I know that means that we will have to go our separate ways soon, but I’m not quite ready to be alone again.

We lay on the rock floor of the cave, and I use my backpack to prop up my leg. It’s starting to swell now.

“We’re really defying the odds, aren’t we?” Ash says.

I nod, realizing I’ve been thinking this myself. “Yeah,” I say, “Who would’ve thought the two from District 12 would be the last ones left with the Careers?”

“Not Haymitch,” Ash shorts, shaking his head, “He had no hope for us.”

I laugh, but say, “I don’t know, I think he had a little bit of hope.”

Ash stares at me for a second, then says, “So… what was going on between the two of you?”

My heart jumps for a second, but I can’t tell if it’s because I don’t want the Capitol hearing about my relationship with Haymitch, or if the implication of anything going on between us was affecting me.

“Nothing was going on between us,” I say carefully, dismissing his question.

Ash snorts again. Of course he knows. How couldn’t he? He picks up on the smallest details about people. I was so busy thinking about how it could be used as an advantage that it never crossed my mind that he might be watching me as well.

“Please,” he says, “That night when you cleaned him up after he threw up on himself?”

“Ash,” I warn.

“Or all of those times I caught you staring at each other?”

That’s it. I’m dead. If what Haymitch said was right, President Snow will most certainly hear this and be on his way to plan my painful death immediately.

If I’m going to die anyway, what’s the point of lying now? Hell, maybe if I’m lucky I’ll earn sympathy from the viewers in the Capitol and they’ll send me something to make me death less miserable.

I sigh, formally giving up. “Yeah…” I nod.

“Yeah?” Ash repeats, obviously waiting for me to say more.

I purse my lips, wondering if I should say more. If I’m going to die, do I want Haymitch to know how much I’ve always cared about him? Or will that just make things worse for him? It’s not like they can kill me again if I’m already going to die in here.

I decided to tell the truth, “Yeah,” I pause, taking a deep breath, “He used to be one of my best friends… before… you know.”

Ash nods.

“We just kind of… grew apart,” I say carefully, unsure of what they know in the Capitol. Surely they wouldn’t have broadcasted the details about the fire and his family. The people of the Capitol are far too shallow to care about anything relating to the Victors beyond their annual entertainment.

Ash nods again, but I can see a slight flicker in his eye like he knows I’m lying. Ash picks up on everything, I wonder just how much he knows.

“He just always meant the world to me,” I say, feeling myself getting upset, “He always will.”

Ash frowns, reaching out a hand to place over mine in solidarity.

“So why did you lie?” He asks.

“What?” I ask, getting nervous. If he knows something, if says something—

“In our interviews,” he says, “You said you didn’t know each other before. Why?”

Shit. What now? Words tumble from my mouth before I can fully think it through.

“I…” I start, unsure where the sentence will end, “I just didn’t want everyone to know.” I fake my best vulnerable look, knowing the Capitol will be watching, “I didn’t want to explain it all to them because I didn’t fully understand it myself.”

I know that’s not a good enough response, but Ash nods anyway.

“So…” Ash says after a minute, “Were you, like, in love with him?”

I think for a minute. Was I in love with him? I certainly have always loved him. Even just being near him made me feel better, even when he was intoxicated. Even if I were in love with him, would I want to say it for all of Panem to hear? For him to hear?

If I die in here— which I know I probably will now that President Snow is aware of our affection for each other— do I want Haymitch to know I was in love with him? Would that make things worse for him?

I don’t know, so I say, “I’m not sure if I know what being in love feels like.”

Ash seems to understand how much conflict in this conversation is bringing me because he doesn’t ask more questions. He falls asleep shortly after, but I don’t fall asleep for a couple of hours. My mind is swimming with thoughts of Haymitch, my parents, Burdock, and the fact that the Gamemakers might be orchestrating a horrible death for me right now.

The next morning, Ash is up before I am. He goes to find some plants for us to eat, and I take another pain pill. The dark veins have made their way up my my upper arm now, and the cut on my leg still feels hot in a way that I know could become dangerous.

We eat in silence, only exchanging words when we decide to go our separate ways by the end of the day. If we stay together any longer than that, we risk the possibility of having it get down to just us. This is reaffirmed when a cannon goes off just as we’re finishing our food. I secretly hope that it’s the boy from 3. If he’s gone, at least I know there’s no one else out there with a personal vendetta against me.

There are 4 of us left.

Ash and I stay in the cave for the morning, not saying much at all. There’s not much to say when you know you both might be dead my tomorrow. Much less when only one of us might still be alive.

There are no more cannons for the rest of the day. In the late afternoon, Ash and I share the rest of my crackers and his chocolate. We both decided to leave the cave for good. If either one of us wants to make it home, we need more food and to kill the two from District 1. Assuming that they’re the two that are both still alive.

When it starts to get dark, we step out of the cave to go our separate ways. We embrace each other tightly.

“Thank you,” he says to me.

For what? I’m not sure, but his words carry a lot of weight.

“You too,” I say, “I’m sorry things had to be this way.”

“I’m sorry too,” he says, “If I don’t make it out if here… I hope you win.”

I nod, feeling emotions rise in my chest as I say farewell to my only ally. “Same here. Good luck, Ash.”

“You too,” and just like that he’s gone.

I have to stand there for a while, trying to keep it together, knowing that was the last time I’ll ever see Ash. We had a strange bond, but I’ve grown very fond of him since the Reaping. He doesn’t deserve this. None of these kids do.

I decide not to head straight to the Cornucopia. Ash had shown me a few edible plants, so as I walked I began collecting them. They should hold me over for now. I’d filled up my water bottles before leaving the waterfall, but once that’s gone I’m not sure what I’ll do.

I have to find another walking stick for now. My leg is much less painful since I’ve been taking the pills that Haymitch sent, but it’s still swollen and difficult to walk on for long periods of time.

I’m not even sure where I’m headed, I just keep walking. When the sun begins to go down, I reach the edge of the woods. They slowly begin thinning, and border the corn field. It’s intimidating. I don’t know who or what could be hiding in there, waiting for a victim.

I don’t seem to have any other choice though. I didn’t see anywhere that I could effectively hide in the woods since we left the cave, and now with nightfall coming quickly I can’t risk being exposed in the trees. The corn could provide at least some protection if it’s able to hide me overnight.

I eat some of the remaining roots that I picked up on the way here, and take a breath, bracing myself to enter this unknown territory. I step into the edge of the corn, making sure to walk in a straight line so I don’t get lost.

The second I step into the maze, I hear a cannon go off. In my heart, I’m praying it wasn’t for Ash. There are only four of us left. Could I make it out of here alive? Probably not, if the Gamemakers are planning my death, but I’m close enough that I allow myself some hope. Maybe I will see my parents again. Maybe I will get to see Haymitch again…

I’m maybe fifty yards deep into the corn when I realize that this might not have been the best idea. In all directions, all I can see is corn. It would be incredibly easy to get lost and die of starvation or dehydration in here. I wonder how many tributes fell into that trap.

I continue advancing straight for at least fifty more yards until I decide to settle for the night. I find a small patch of dirt that I can at least sit down on to rest until the morning. I take a sip of water, swallowing another pain pill, when I drop my bottle cap. It only goes about two feet to my right. I go to pick it up, and realize that the corn is a lot less dense just a few feet over.

My plan is to move over just a few feet and camp out there for the night, but when I move I find myself standing in some sort of pathway of dirt extending in both directions.

It was a corn maze. I’d read about these in a storybook when I was young, but we didn’t have anything like this in District 12. I wondered where the path would take me, but decided against exploring that tonight.

It occurred to me that if there’s a pathway, maybe there are other tributes in here. It might be best for me to return to the denser corn, at least until the morning.

I reach in front of me, getting ready to push some of the corn aside, but quickly retract my hand at the sharp pain I feel. My hand is bleeding. The corn is sharp as razor blades. It certainly was not that sharp just a few moments ago.

The Gamemakers have trapped me in here.

The only way out has to be from following the path, and I have no idea which way to go or how far I am from the rest of the arena. I also don’t have any food remaining, and it doesn’t seem that I’ll be snacking on razor sharp corn any time soon.

I could die in here.

Was this their plan all along? To let me get to the end just to starve me out in the maze? To let Haymitch watch me slowly die?

I refuse to let them get the best of me so easily. I follow my gut instinct, and begin walking to my left down the dirt path. I’ll walk until my calf starts screaming at me, then I’ll rest until I can walk again. I will not let them starve me for their entertainment.

It’s only about an hour before I have to stop. My calf feels like it’s on fire, and my arm is beginning to feel numb. I take my arm out of my sleeve to see that the deep purple veins have begun turning black, but they’ve stopped spreading when they reached my shoulder. That can’t be good.

Although I’ve walked for an hour, I feel as though I’ve made no progress at all. Corn is in every direction. Nothing but corn. I’m not entirely sure that I haven’t been walking in circles. My stomach is beginning to growl and I sit on the dirt ground, resigning for the night.

Just as I sit, the anthem begins to play. I brace myself, waiting to see Ash’s face in the sky. Instead, I see the boy from District 1. I audibly gasp. The girl from District 1 will be working alone now. It’s much less of a threat when it’s just one of them.

All that’s left is Ash, the girl from 1, and the boy from 3…

I’d forgotten about him. If the odds are in my favor, someone else will take him out. If I’m the one to fight him, I know he will try his best to make sure I die a painful death after I wounded him.

Before the end of the anthem, a silver parachute falls in front of me. I open it quickly, anxious to receive any help I can.

Within the box is a small compass to wear around my neck, a thermos container of meat and rice, and a thin net…? I’m not sure what to make of these, but I quickly dig into my meal, desperate to stop the gnawing in my stomach.

“Thank you, Haymitch,” I whisper, pressing my hand over my heart.

I don’t allow myself to eat all of it. It’ll be useful to have tomorrow, especially if I can’t find my way out of here. After packing the thermos into my backpack, I examine the compass and the net. The compass should be able to help me get out of here, or at least give me some sort of direction. The net however… I’m really not sure. I’ve never seen such a thin, delicate net like this before. I shrug, knowing that Haymitch wouldn’t have sent it for no reason. I put it into my backpack as well.

I decide to try to bury the parachute and box, hoping that if any other tributes came along that they wouldn’t know I’ve been here. The effort is in vain, because it’s ridiculously large and isn’t discrete no matter how much I try to cover it with dirt.

It occurs to me that I should try to get some rest tonight if I can. I need my energy if I’m going to be walking through this maze all day tomorrow, and I’ll certainly need it if I want to escape this maze. I have no clue what will be waiting for me when I exit.

I get as comfortable as I can on the dirt, when I notice a small slip of paper next to me. It must have fallen out when I hastily opened my package.

I believe in you- H

I read over it a few times, feeling warmth in my chest but also mild confusion. He believes in me? Does that mean he thinks I have a chance to make it out of here? Could I have somehow won over the Gamemakers and convinced them that I could be the Victor?

I tuck the note into my backpack, and feel a newfound hope rising in me. Haymitch will have been watching everything that’s happened in the games so far. If he believes I can win, then I have to really have a chance to win.

I eventually doze off, a soft smile on my face, and dream about what life would be like if I do make it home.

I wake when the sun is beginning to rise. I allow myself a few bites of chicken and rice, but not too much. I take one more pain pill and decide to get moving.

The compass immediately proves to be helpful. I choose my paths, deciding to continue moving North as much as I can. It’s just an assumption that North is the correct direction to be going, but either way it’s not like this maze could go on forever.

By midday, the sun is beating down on me and I’ve drank the entirety of my first water bottle. Even if I ration the second, I’m sweating far too much.

I still haven’t seen anything besides lots of corn. Everywhere. Only corn. I start to feel like I might be losing my mind. The only reason that I know I’m not walking in circles is my compass.

I break for lunch, sitting down on the dirt and eating a few spoonfuls out of my thermos. There is maybe a cup left, but after I eat that it’ll be gone. There have been no cannons today.

I’ve just finished packing up my meal back into my backpack when I hear a strange buzzing sound near my right ear. Instinctively, I swat away whatever is there. I assume that it’s just a small bee like the ones we have in 12, but when I pull my hand away, a large yellow beetle has latched itself to my hand. It’s about two inches wide, and three tall. I try pulling it off, and it comes off easily, but a large sore has now taken its place. It looks like a pimple. It’s raised, red, and has a white spot in the middle, but it’s raised at least half an inch off of my skin.

I quickly stand, preparing to get as far away from this monster bug as I can when I hear another one. But it’s not just one. An entire swarm of bright yellow beetles is coming at me from the right. I scramble to stand, and begin running as quickly as I can with my wounded leg.

I manage a good head start, but they’re fast. Soon, they’re less than a foot behind me and I start to panic. I don’t stop running when I feel another one attach to my cheek. For the next minute, I’m running as fast as I can with at least ten beetles attached to me. I’m constantly swatting them away, but as soon as they detach, another one takes it place. They’re everywhere, my neck, my face, my hands— just about every piece of exposed skin that I have.

Three more have just attached themselves to me when I remember the net. The net! This must be what Haymitch sent that for. If I can just get my net out of my bag, I can protect myself from any more latching onto me.

While still running, I swing my bag off of my shoulder, ripping it open and pulling out the net as quickly as I can without spilling anything else. I pull it over my head, tucking it into the waistband of my pants after I remove as many bugs from my skin as I can. It works. No more bugs are attaching themselves to me, except for one on my ankle.

I don’t stop running, but it’s only a moment before all of the bugs disappear back into the corn. I take a breath and look down, net still over me, examining my bites. I can’t see my face or neck, but I can feel them everywhere. I have five raised bumps on each of my hands, more on my wrists, and they’re all beginning to itch.

Before I know what’s going on, the bumps on my hands begin to pop. I feel like I’m in a nightmare. Each bump pops, revealing an orange goo that seeps out of them. My hands are covered in it. Is this coming from my body? Or did they inject me with some weird chemical when they bit me?

I sit down, refusing to remove the net from over my head when I try my best to clean myself up. There was another antiseptic sheet in my first aid kit, so I cleaned my hands, face and neck with it. Orange goo now stained my shirt and pants. Even after cleaning, my skin kept an orange tint. I look like one of the crazy people from the Capitol that dye their skin.

The bumps disappear, only leaving minuscule bite marks on the skin. It wouldn’t be that easy. If the bites weren’t deadly, then I was sure that the orange goo will have some sort of horrible affect setting in soon. Capitol mutts aren’t just made for a laugh. They always provide some sort of danger.

Minutes later, I realize exactly what that danger is. My vision begins to blur, and every sound seems to echo. My limbs are moving slowly. I try to stand, to continue walking, but it takes me ten minutes to get five feet. Has it been ten minutes? I can hardly see and every step I take sounds like five.

I collapse on the dirt ground, unable to move, and black out.

I wake up shivering. My vision is still a little blurry, but mostly back to normal. The echoing has stopped, and I think my movements have returned to normal speed, but my body feels feverish. My skin is hot and it feels like someone put all of my organs in the oven before sending me out into the cold.

All I can do is hope that I’m not feverish from an infection in my leg wound, but I know it’s not unlikely. I stand, my joints aching, and try to continue moving. I won’t let myself die in here.

It’s hard, but I successfully continue moving for about an hour before I hear a scream. It sounds like a girl’s scream, so it must be the girl from 1. If I can hear her scream, I must be close to the exit to the maze. Unless she’s in here with me…

No cannon goes off.

After ten more minutes of walking, I can see the opening. The Cornucopia is straight ahead of me. All I have to do is keep going and I’ll make it out of here. I do my best to run until I reach the opening, and when I do, it feels like I can finally take a deep breath. My fever instantly feels like it’s broken. I wondered what else the maze was doing to me that I wasn’t aware of.

My moment of relief didn’t last long, because a moment later I hear, “Hey, 12!”

I look to my left to see the boy from 3 limping toward me. His leg looks terrible. It seems to be dragging behind him with every step he takes, but even with that slowing him down, he’s not slow. He advances quickly toward me and I reach around to grab my knives out of my bag.

I’m too late. He runs toward me, not even tripping over his limp leg. I start to run away, but trip over a large rock that I swear was not there a moment ago.

In seconds, he’s over me, pressing a knife straight against my chest. He’s going to kill me.

“You see my leg?” He asks, snarling like a dog.

I nod, “Sorry about that.”

I grip my knives, but his entire weight is over me and I can hardly move my arms.

“You thought you could make it out of here?” He says, the horrible cocky smirk returning to his face. “You thought you could be like your friend Haymitch? An underdog winning from District 12?”

I don’t respond, quickly trying to think of how I can get out of this. If he moved his weight slightly to the right, I could get my hand out enough to stab him in the side.

“Not on my watch, 12.” He says harshly, and he slowly presses his knife harder against my chest. I can feel my skin break, and I’ve just begun to accept that this might be how I die, when the boy above me jolts. His face is stuck in shock, and he tries to move off of me. He rolls onto the ground, an axe in his back.

An axe. Ash’s axe.

Ash stands fifteen feet away, his face contorted in fear. The District 3 boy rips the axe from his back, but stumbles.

“No,” he whimpers, bending over on all fours, breathing heavily, “No… it was supposed to be me.”

Ash walks toward me and I remove the knife from my chest, clutching it tightly in my left hand.

The boy cries once before he collapses. The cannon goes off. Ash grabs his axe from the ground, nodding at me once.

“Thank you,” I say, tears brimming my eyes as I realize that Ash has just saved my life.

He takes a step back, seemingly ready to go our separate ways again when he falls to his knees. His jaw drops in shock, and I see that a large arrow has sunk itself right into his chest. He collapses, pulling the arrow out slowly.

“Ash,” I whisper, shaking my head and crawling over to him, “No, no!”

An arrow whizzes my by head, and I quickly turn to see the girl from District 1 standing ten yards away with a bow in her grip. She reaches behind her for another arrow, about to shoot. In that moment, all I felt was true anger. A knife releases from my hand and sinks directly in her throat. She collapses. A cannon sounds a minute later.

I turn back on my knees, clutching Ash in my arms as close as I can. “Ash!” I shout, he is unconscious.

A cannon sounds. I won.

“Ash!” I say again desperately, shaking him and patting his face. He doesn’t wake up.

I begin to cry. This isn’t fair. Ash saved my life, and now that was a debt I can never repay. He was such a sweet, smart boy and he didn’t deserve this fate. He was my friend.

I don’t let go of him, even when I hear the announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the winner of the 52nd Hunger Games.”

“No!” I shout, “Ash…” I don’t stop crying.

A hovercraft is approaching in the distance. I can’t leave him like this.

In District 12, funerals are small. We never have enough money to do anything special, but there’s a song we sing to send our loved ones to the grave. The last time I remembered singing it was at the funeral of Haymitch’s family.

“You’re headed for heaven,” I sang quietly, tears choking me, “The sweet old hereafter.”

“And I’ve got one foot in the door

But before I can fly up

I have loose ends to tie up right here,

In the old therebefore.”

I do my best to get all of the words out, but I can’t stop choking on my tears. Several announcements come, instructing me to mount the ladder that has been sent down from the hovercraft, but I ignore them until I finish the song.

I press a soft kiss onto Ash’s forehead, staining him with tears, and finally step onto the ladder.

I’m glad that I’m stuck in position as soon as I’m on it, because I feel so weak that I don’t think I’d be able to hold on by myself. The ladder pulls me all the way up into the hovercraft, and as soon as I’m in it I am sedated.

Part III: The Victor

When I wake, I can’t tell what day it is, or what time. I’m in a room that looks identical to my room in the Tribute Center, but with no windows. I’m in a clean set of white linen clothes. My limbs feel stiff, the orange tint to my skin is gone, and so are the purple veins that had made their way up my arm. My right arm still does feel tingly, but not numb like it did in the arena. My hair feels clean, and my mouth tastes minty like someone brushed my teeth for me.

Then it hits me— I won. I won the 52nd Hunger Games. I get to go home. I get to see my family again, I’ll get to see Burdock and Astrid again, Haymitch…

I stand quickly, catching myself on my nightstand when I get dizzy. I wonder how long I’ve been laying in that bed. Once my dizziness clears, I step to my door, turning the handle to open it. The handle doesn’t turn. I knock on the door. Where am I?

No response comes. I step back, examining the room that I’ve been placed in. The walls are pure white, and so is the floor. All of the furniture is identical to my room in the Tribute Center, and so is the bathroom in the corner. I walk toward the bathroom. At least that door has to be unlocked.

It is, and I step into the bathroom, shocked by my reflection in the mirror. I look thin. My cheekbones and jaw are showing, my eyes look sunken in, and I have dark circles under my eyes. My skin however, is glowing like it hasn’t been through a single tragedy ever. My nose also looks straighter than it ever has before, and my lips look… fuller? I’ve never looked that symmetrical in my life.

I jump when my bedroom door opens, and Effie enters my room. I turn to her.

“Effie!” I say, relieved to see a familiar face.

“My girl,” she says, smiling sadly, “We are so proud of you.”

She takes me down some pure white hallways, and an elevator with no windows, before we eventually reach the 12th floor of the Tribute Center. How big is this place? Have I been here all along?

We enter the familiar room, and Effie raves about how much the citizens in the Capitol just adored me. How she told everyone that I was always so brave and she never doubted me. I know this to be a lie, but I don’t call her for it.

She sends me to my room to get dressed. Tonight I will be interviewed in front of all of Panem, and forced to watch the highlights of the Games. It’s sickening.

My room is still the same as it was when I left. I wonder how they got exact duplicate furniture in the room where I’d woken up.

A gown is laid on my bed and I dress in it. It’s long and yellow with diamonds laced into the neckline. It has long sleeves that drape over my hands, and the skirt is so long that it drags behind me. The yellow reminds me of the beetles in the arena, and I wonder if that was an intentional choice. For me to be seen in the color from a memorable moment of the Games. The people of the Capitol love that garbage.

I walk out of my room, but my prep team immediately arrives to pull me back in and fuss over me. They congratulate me, telling me about all of their favorite moments in the Games. Most of them don’t include me. However, they seem to be thrilled to get to be a part of the winning team.

Effie comes in a few times to bring me food and water. She and my prep team rave over how beautiful I look and how all of Panem is going to be simply obsessed with me.

At one point I interrupt them and ask, “Where’s Haymitch?”

Effie’s expression turns from excited to soft. My prep team seems to get emotional over my question, and for a moment I’m afraid the Capitol has killed him.

“Oh, dear,” Effie says, reaching to place a soft hand over my shoulder, “What you two have is so special. When you were in that cave telling Ash about him, we all cried,” she says, gesturing to my prep team who nod, one of them even wipes a tear away.

“Where is he?” I ask again.

Effie purses her lips, seemingly choosing her words before replying, “He had some trouble when you were in the arena… but he will be ready for the show tonight!”

I sit up straight, “Some trouble?” I ask, panicking, “What kind of trouble? Is he okay?”

Effie smiles warmly, and one of the women in my prep team gasps, whispering, “She doesn’t know.”

I swat their hands away, suddenly feeling suffocated by the makeup on my face and the intricate hairstyle on my head, “I don’t know what?”

Effie reaches out to me, stroking my face softly, “He hardly slept when you were in the arena, dear. And—“ she faces my prep team, smiling like she has the hottest gossip in Panem, “I only saw him have a drink once.”

They all gasp, one of them begins to cry again.

“What?” I ask, confused.

Effie places her hand on her chest affectionately, “He couldn’t look away. He did all that he could to keep you alive,” she says, “The only time he had a drink was when you had fainted after being bitten by those horrid bugs.”

The boy on my prep team gasps, “We didn’t think you were going to make it.”

They begin their meaningless chatter again about where they were when the biggest moments were happening. I try to process the information that I’ve just been given. Haymitch stopped drinking? He didn’t sleep? I never knew I meant so much to him.

I interrupt their conversation again when I realize I never got an answer, “So where is he?” I ask.

Effie frowns, pausing for a long moment before telling me, “He was going through withdrawals and with the lack of sleep… the doctors thought it would be best to monitor him for a while.”

I nod, blinking away the tears that were making their way into my eyes. “But, he’s okay now? And he’ll be there tonight?”

She nods.

An hour later, I am brought down the elevator and into a waiting room before the interviews begin. I hear endless chatter and excitement outside, and I wonder how these people truly can take this all so lightly. Children died. Twenty three of them. And the citizens of the Capitol are acting like they’re going to the most exciting event of the year.

I can hear from a built-in speaker in the waiting room that Caesar has begun the show. The anthem plays, and I have to blink hard to stop from seeing those faces in the sky again.

Effie retrieves me from the waiting room and brings me backstage. She squeezes my shoulders and reapplies lipstick on my lips before telling me when it’s my turn to go on stage.

First, Caesar will interact with the audience and recount some of the most important details of the Games this year. Next, Haymitch will go on stage and be congratulated for his success. He will thank the sponsors, and then I will go on stage.

I wait backstage and realize that last time I was here, there were 23 others waiting with me. Now I’m alone. It hits me like a knife to the chest, and now I know exactly what that feels like. I can’t believe that only a week ago we were all—

“Sweetheart?” A voice says from behind me. I turn and there he is. He looks clean. Healthy. Sober.

I can’t stop myself from launching myself forward and flinging my arms around him. He’s here. I’m here. We did it.

We’re both shaking, and I don’t even care that I’m crying. My prep team will be angry that I’m letting my makeup run, but that’s the last thing on my mind right now. I can hear him sniffling in my ear too, and my heart twists.

“You did it,” he whispers, holding me tightly.

“Thanks to you,” I say.

Before we can say any more, Caesar is introducing Haymitch and he has to go on stage. He holds my hand tightly in his, kissing it gently until the last second when he steps onto the stage.

I watch from behind the curtains, my heart racing at the sight of him. He’s in a yellow suit, perfectly matching my dress. His hair is shiny, his face lively. I adore this boy.

Caesar congratulates him on his victory, but he declines, saying that it was all me. He mentions the sponsors, thanking them graciously. Normally, this would be where Haymitch takes a seat on the edge of the stage and I come out for my interview.

Instead, Caesar says he has more questions for him.

“Now Haymitch,” he starts, “What were you thinking before you got that last gift to her? You knew that the maze was full of lethal bugs, and you might have saved her life with that net.”

The audience cheers for a long time, and Haymitch seems to take this time to think before responding.

“I just couldn’t lose her,” he says.

Caesar looks touched, looking at the audience for a reaction. They cheer loudly, and from where I’m standing I can see some of them crying.

When they quiet down, Caesar continues, “And when she was in the cave and confessed her love for you, how did you feel then?”

Haymitch sits back, taking a deep breath. The audience goes silent, hanging onto his every word.

“I felt devestated,” he says, and I see more tears in the audience, “That I wasted my time with her. I was always drunk and never thought that things could work between us. I thought she was going to die in that arena before I ever got to be with her.”

“And now?” Caesar asked, literally sitting on the edge of his seat.

Haymitch paused, turning in his seat to briefly look at me. The look in his eyes was asking if we’re on the same page. I gave him a gentle smile, though I was still unsure how I felt about everything. What now? Will the Capitol let us return home? Or will they continue trying to kill me even now that I’m out of the arena? Will Haymitch stay sober? Or will the rest of my life mean trying to keep him from choking on his vomit?

He turns back to Caesar, saying, “Now I don’t ever want to let her go again.”

Lots of “awwww”s come from the audience. A moment later, I am being called onto the stage. Haymitch leaves his seat to sit on the mentor’s designated seat on the edge of the stage. I take the seat directly across from Caesar.

The cheering goes on for several minutes, and I am forced to endure it with a smile as if I am truly happy to be here.

When the cheering quiets, Caesar takes a moment to congratulate me for my victory.

“You were truly outstanding in the arena,” he says, “It was against all odds that we would have another Victor from District 12 of all places so soon, and you defied those odds.” He leans in closely, then turns to the crowd and shouts, “Isn’t she great folks?”

More applause erupts and I have to fake a smile again and act like he is truly complimenting me.

“Now tell me,” he says after the applause quiets down, “how do you feel now that you are out of the arena?”

I glance at Haymitch, and just from the look in his eyes I can tell that this is a question I should not answer honestly. Saying how terrified I still am, how frustrated I am that all of those children died, how I still haven’t processed Ash’s death seems like the wrong thing to say, so instead I say:

“Good.”

“Just good?” Caesar repeats, urging me to say more.

I nod, realizing that the Games didn’t end when I left the arena. Every move I make is being watched, and the wrong one might lead to terrible consequences.

I smile, bashfully, “Well, I’m not covered in beetle bites anymore, and my leg is functional again.”

I lift the hem of my dress to show the audience my calf, now completely healed like it was never wounded to begin with. They gasp and cheer. I glance to Haymitch and he gives me an approving nod.

“Ahhh, I love it!” Caesar exclaims, beaming at the audience, “The Capitol is so generous, aren’t they folks?”

The audience cheers again. When they stop, the highlights begin showing on the screen. I learn a lot about the Games that I hadn’t known before.

Four tributes died in the corn maze in the first two days. The mutt bugs, getting cut on the razor sharp cornstalks and not having any way to patch it up, one girl even got chased by the boy from 3 until he realized how dangerous the maze was. The two from District 1 were responsible for most of the other deaths, of course. They were ruthless.

I sat there, reacting live to all of the major moments. I cheered when Ash killed the boy from 2. The audience was loving it. I had to watch myself get sprayed by the lizard and then get the knife in my calf by the District 3 boy. The replay made it seem like we were rivals hunting each other down for most of the Games.

They showed the part when Ash and I discovered each other in the cave. My heart tugged and I had to force myself to not cry on stage. Ash. They highlighted the sweet moments in our alliance, like when he let me rest and he went to gather food, and when we shared our meals together.

The part that really got everyone worked up was on our last night as allies when Ash was asking me about Haymitch. The room went completely silent. They had already seen this, of course, but they were still hanging on to every word.

When I watched myself say, “He just always meant the world to me,” my face got hot. I could feel myself blushing and I hoped that it wasn’t overly noticeable, but by the sniffling in the audience I assumed that it was.

I glanced over to Haymitch, gauging his reaction, but he was staring at the screen like everybody else— hanging on to every word.

When it showed me entering the corn field, I could feel a wave of nausea hit me. I thought I was going to die in that corn field. I also knew that the finale was coming soon. I breathed deeply, forcing myself to relax.

I watched as I cut myself on the cornstalks, and realized that I was trapped. When Haymitch’s sponsor gift reached me, I didn’t realize how hopeful I looked. I looked over at Haymitch on the edge of the stage, and he was looking at his feet.

The bugs. I had to close my eyes at the bugs. The audience gasped, as if they were reliving the horrors with me. I looked to Haymitch, who’s eyes were locked on mine. We both stared at each other until the part came where I escaped the maze.

We see Ash waiting in the edge of the woods when I exited the maze. We see the boy from District 3, I now know that his name was Herman, taunting me before nearly killing me. Ash leaves the woods to save me, and Herman takes the axe to the back.

Ash is about to run when the girl from District 1 shows up. I look away. I can’t watch this any more. I look over to Haymitch for comfort, and he shakes his head, standing. What is he doing?

He starts to walk over to me on stage, and takes a seat next to me on my chair. He gives me a long hug and I am so absorbed in him that it takes a second to realize that the audience is going nuts. Cheers erupt everywhere, tears are falling, the applause is deafening. My head is tucked into his neck and mg own tears are falling, and I can’t stop them.

When Caesar says comically, “Are we interrupting something?” I am forced to laugh away my tears and pull back.

Haymitch stays next to me, holding tightly onto my hand until after I sing The Old Therebefore and am taken onto the hovercraft. He squeezes my hand, silently asking if it’s okay for him to return to his assigned seat for the rest of the interview. I nod, but am hesitant to let go of his hand.

Immediately after the interview I am whisked away to the crowning ceremony. Effie pulls me into a fancy car with tinted windows, and we drive through crowded streets of crazed Capitol civilians to the President’s Mansion. After the crowning ceremony, there is a party held at the mansion in my honor.

Haymitch meets us outside the mansion and refuses to leave my side until the last possible moment. He only lets go of my hand for the crowning ceremony. We stand on a balcony, me on one side and Haymitch and Effie opposite, and thousands of Capitol citizens are below, cheering. President Snow comes out and for a split second I think think that he gives Haymitch a look of disgust, but it is quickly replaced by a charming smile as he greets me, he shakes my hand, congratulating me on my victory.

“I would like to meet with you later,” he says quietly just before he places the crown on my head.

I am stricken with terror, but I know better than to let it show now.

After the ceremony, we are brought inside to a fancy room to wait. The walls are trimmed in with gold, the ceilings painted with imagery that seems familiar but I don’t quite recognize. There is more food than I could imagine spread across tables for us. I am far too nervous to eat. Effie, Haymitch and I sit in various velvet chairs around the room.

Effie announces the itinerary, and then we all fall silent. The silence is only broken when Haymitch says, “Effie, do you mind if we have a minute?”

She smiles excitedly, standing from her seat, “Of course! Where are my manners? I will be outside, but remember, we must go downstairs to the party in ten minutes!”

She exits the room quickly, shutting the door behind her. Now it’s just us. I don’t know what to say or do. Haymitch stands from his chair and walks over to me. I expect him to embrace me, or maybe hold my hand like he did earlier, but instead he grabs my shoulders tightly.

“Listen,” he says in a hushed voice, yet incredibly serious, “Before we go down, you have to know.”

“What?” I ask.

“You weren’t supposed to win,” he says hastily, “The Gamemakers were planning for you to get killed by the maze but you survived. Then by the girl from District 1. They didn’t think you’d be able to pull it off. Snow isn’t happy. He—“

“Haymitch, slow down,” I say, panic rising in my chest.

“No!” He says urgently, “You need to listen.”

I am silent, waiting for him to continue.

He waits for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “That moment in the cave— when you were talking about me— that changed everything.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“People talk in the Capitol. A lot. It had already gotten around that I’d stopped drinking when you went into the arena, and when they found out how much you cared about me…” he trailed off, taking a step back and running his hands down his face, “They started rooting for you. Everyone wanted to sponsor you.”

I shake my head, not understanding what he’s trying to say. “Snow wants to meet with me.”

Haymitch pauses, opening his mouth but no words come out.

“Haymitch?” I ask, but I’m afraid I already know what that means.

He kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his, “I’ll find a way out of this, okay? I won’t let him take you from me.”

I nod, solemnly, squeezing his hands in mine. I lean down, pressing my forehead to his. He’s broken out in a sweat.

“Let’s just wait and see what he has to say.” I say.

The party is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It takes place in the backyard on the President’s Mansion, and everyone is dressed in even more ridiculous clothing than they normally are. One woman has a shirt that is made out of beads that look like bugs. Glad my terror has made a new fashion trend.

There are people standing on high platforms doing tricks, people swimming in a gigantic pool with live fish swimming beside them, and even real caged birds as centerpieces. The entire thing is appalling. These people have no concern for anything other than themselves.

Haymitch and I stick closely together. He leads me to thank my sponsors, it’s customary, whom are mostly older men with a sickening look in their eyes. They look at me like I’m a piece of meat. Haymitch keeps his arm around my waist until we sit down to eat.

There are large tables lining the yard, with more than enough food to feed my district for at least a year. Everyone sits down and President Snow makes a toast. It’s some scripted nonsense about how the Capitol’s generosity has allowed me to break free from the suffering that happens in 12, and how only becoming a Victor can provide such a freedom. Everyone applauds like he just granted us national peace.

I’m seated next to Effie, and some wealthy business owner from the Capitol. Everyone chatters about what a lovely time of year it is, and how President Snow is so generous to throw such a grand party. Just as I finish a large plate of green vegetables and some sort of gourmet aquatic creature from District 4, a Capitol servant taps my shoulder.

I turn, and the servant holds out a card for me. I take it, and read it. It is a thick piece of card stock, with gold along the edges. Probably real gold. In cursive writing on the front, it reads:

See me in the study- President Coriolanus Snow

My food begins rising up my throat, and I search the table for Haymitch. He is nowhere in sight.

“Everything okay, dear?” Effie asks from beside me.

I nod, “I’ll be right back,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice steady.

I follow the servant out of the yard and into the mansion. We walk through extravagant rooms filled with artwork and servants. Eventually, we climb the stairs and reach a large room covered in a dark brown wood, and filled with books. All of the noise from the party below feels miles away from up here. The servant stops at the door, but gestures for me to enter. I do. What other choice do I have?

President Snow sits behind a large wooden desk, with nothing but a vase of white roses in front of him. I walk toward him, trying to keep my limbs from noticeably trembling. He gestures for me to take a seat at the wooden chair across from him, and I do.

I smile, trying to be as polite as I can. If I make the wrong move, he will certainly kill me.

“Enjoying the party?” He asks, raising his chin to show his pride in the extravagant party that he has thrown.

“It is lovely,” I say, nodding, “The food was incredible.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, “We have the best chefs in all of Panem here. It is truly a dining experience like no other.”

I nod again, “Certainly.”

He leans forward on the desk, folding his hands into each other. “You must be wondering why I wanted to meet with you.”

“Yes sir,” I say, “I am.”

He smiles, “I simply was curious, my dear. There has been so much talk of you in the Capitol, yet I know so little about you.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the need to steady myself, “What would you like to know?”

He starts speaking before I finish asking the question, “That charming song you sang for the boy in the arena. Where did you learn it?”

My mind flashes back to Ash’s death.

“We sing it in District 12,” I say, “For funerals. It’s our way of saying goodbye to our loved ones.”

He nods, smiling as if the subject is fascinating, “And do you know where that song comes from?”

I think for a moment, before shaking my head, “I don’t know sir. We’ve been singing it at funerals since I was a little girl.”

“Ah,” is all he says, readjusting in his seat so he is leaning back comfortably.

“Are you going to kill me?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

He looks surprised, but his face quickly shifts back to a smile and he says calmly, “Is there a reason that you think I should kill you?”

I shake my head, “No sir.”

“Then I will not,” he says, plucking a white rose from the vase on the table. “You really are a fascinating girl.”

“I am?” I ask, feeling equally repulsed and intrigued.

“Yes,” he says, pulling a petal from the rose as he turns it in his hands, “A girl from District 12, winning our Annual Hunger Games.”

I nod, waiting for him to continue.

“Did you know that you are the first female to ever become a Victor from District 12?” He asks, eyes scanning my face.

“I didn’t know that,” I say, trying to recall the previous District 12 Victors. I can’t. Just Haymitch. “What an accomplishment,” I say carefully.

“An accomplishment indeed,” he nods, pulling another petal from the rose.

“And your mentor,” he begins, setting the rose down and looking directly at me, “I heard a rumor that he stopped drinking alcohol… to protect you…” he pauses for a moment, smiling, “How… remarkable.”

I force a smile, trying to look surprised. “I know,” I say, “I couldn’t believe it.”

He nods, leaning forward again so that I could practically smell his breath, “Tell me, do you think the Capitol is beneficial for the Districts?”

No. Of course not. No one in the Districts thinks that.

“Of course,” I say, lying through my teeth, “We wouldn’t have order if it weren’t for the Capitol.”

He nods, staring at me for a moment before saying, “Some don’t believe that.”

“Really?” I ask, waiting for him to say more.

He nods, picking up the white rose again. “Some like Haymitch Abernathy.”

My chest gets tight and the blood drains from my face. “Haymitch?” I ask, and my voice shakes more than I’d like for it to.

“Hm.” He says, still twirling the rose in his hands, “Yes, your alleged lover. My dear, I want to make a deal with you.”

I say nothing, afraid that my voice will betray me again.

He continues, “I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to kill the boy either. But people who are threats to the Capitol can not be trusted.”

I nod, heart racing in my chest.

“I will allow you both to live, get married, have children, whatever you may wish,” he says. “But, you have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” I say, but immediately regret it.

“You must control him,” he says, voice suddenly less charming, “If I hear about Haymitch Abernathy rebelling against the Capitol again, I will kill you. And anyone else that the two of you may love.”

I stay silent, even more terrified in this moment than I was in the entirety of the games.

“Haymitch Abernathy does not have the power to overthrow the Capitol, does he, my dearest?” Snow asks.

The name makes my stomach churn, but I shake my head. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Do we have an understanding?” He asks, holding the white rose out to me.

I take it, breathing deeply, unable to think it through before I say, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he says, sitting back in his chair again, “Go back and enjoy your party.”

“Thank you,” I say, rising from my seat.

“Ah,” he says just before I turn to walk out, “Be sure to thank your surgeon. He did a remarkable job, don’t you think?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. My suspicions were confirmed. They did straighten my nose and enhance my lips after the Games. The worst part is, that I don’t entirely hate it. I just hate that they didn’t give me a choice. They did what they wanted to make me more desirable and the picture of envy for people in the Capitol.

When I get outside of the door of the study, I take a deep breath, blinking tears away. I realize that as horrible as that was, I feel slightly relieved. I’m not going to die. Haymitch isn’t going to die. President Snow will allow us to live long lives as long as we follow Capitol orders. That shouldn’t be too hard.

Or will it? Will we be able to live our entire lives watching innocent children be sent to slaughter, or will we eventually feel the need to act? Even if we wanted to, we would end up dead.

I breathed again. I just needed to get through the night. Once I was back in 12, then I will have all the time in the world to think.

I walk back down the stairs, breathing deeply and plastering on a smile to rejoin the party. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Haymitch is waiting for me. He smiles at me, but I can tell that he knows something has happened. He gives me a kiss on the cheek that makes several women around us squeal and applaud.

He takes my waist and we rejoin the festivities. We dance, we chat with strange looking people, we eat. It’s not until after my ‘surgeon’ approaches us and compliments his own good work that we sneak off to find somewhere more private.

Surrounding the yard is a large wall of bushes. We manage to find a gap in one of them and conceal ourselves behind some thick branches when no one is looking. As soon as we get into privacy, Haymitch lets go of my waist and stands across from me, eyes panicked.

“What did he say?” He asks, now grabbing my hands tightly.

I breath out, unsure of how he will react. “He wanted to make a deal.”

Haymitch’s face turns to one of fear.

“He said that you and I are free. To live long lives together,” I leave out the part about marriage and children, “As long as we never interfere with the Capitol again.”

His face relaxes slightly, but not all of the way.

“We will talk about it when we get back to 12, okay?” I ask, taking a step closer and squeezing his hands in mine.

He nods, hanging his head. “I’m so sorry,” he says.

“We’re going to be okay.” I say, leaning into him, my face pressed into his neck.

He wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me closer, “I can’t believe they operated on you.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, nodding, “I know. I feel so violated. But at least it’s hardly noticeable. I could’ve come out all swollen like that girl on my prep team,” I say.

He laughs, and pulls me tight against him, silent for a moment before he speaks, “I can’t believe you’re back.”

I nod, running my hands through the back of his hair, “I can’t wait to get home.”

“Then what?” He asks, pulling away and looking at me in the eyes. He’s getting closer and my face is getting hot.

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking behind his face at the bush branches. Our faces are so close and I feel so hot and—

A flash goes off, breaking the moment. At the small break in the bushes is a photographer, beaming at us.

“Can we get one more like that? You two are gold,” he says eagerly.

“I don’t think so,” Haymitch says, grabbing my hand and tugging me back into the party. My face is hot for the rest of the night.

The train ride back to District 12 is quiet. Effie is there to go over what’s next. The Victory tour, my mentoring next year, and the occasional interview that I will have in the next few months. The press has become so enthralled in my life (particularly the part including Haymitch— I guess it’s a big deal that two Victor’s might be getting together) and they’ve requested follow up interviews from when I return home.

That night is the first conscious sleep I have since being in the arena. I wake up three times from nightmares. Ash dying, the beetles crawling all over me, the boy from District 3. Eventually, I decide to not try to go back to sleep.

I wander the train, and find myself at Haymitch’s door. I knock once, and he’s at the door with a knife in his hand. He says he can’t sleep without it since being in the Games. I realize that I want to learn absolutely everything about the new Haymitch.

We lay in his bed together and he holds me, telling me happy stories— some about his mother, some about when we were young together— until I fall asleep. I don’t have any more nightmares that night.

The next morning when we exit his room together, Effie has to wipe her eyes several times.

Adjusting to life back in District 12 is weird. My parents stay with me in my new house in Victor’s Village sometimes, but they have their business to run. I have enough money now to support us all forever, but they’d rather continue helping people in whatever way they can. I admire them.

Burdock and Astrid come over often, but Haymitch still is afraid to see them. I stay at his house frequently. We have found that sleeping in the same bed helps to fight off the nightmares.

One night when neither of us can sleep, he tells me all about his Games, and everything he lost afterwards. My heart breaks for him. He deserved so much better.

“It’s better now,” he tells me.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Yeah. Now that I have you,” he says.

I lean in and kiss him for the first time that night. No Capitol party, no cameras, just us.

Neither of us have to work now, so we spend a lot of time in the meadow just beyond District 12, imagining what life could be like if things were different. We spend hours laying in the dandelions. They give us hope. That one day things will grow to be beautiful.

We’re laying in the meadow when the sun sets one night. The sky is the beautiful shade of orange that it turns right before the sun gets too low. I turn to Haymitch, admiring how the orange glow sets on his features.

Without thinking twice, I whisper, “I love you.”

He turns to me, smiling wide. He looks even more beautiful with a smile. He tackles me, pressing kisses all over my face.

“I love you like all-fire,” he says.

When the interviewers come, Haymitch is by my side. When the Victory Tour comes around, the nightmares come back. It’s normal for us to sleep in his room every night on the train now.

One night, we were laying awake and I asked him, “Do you ever think about if things were different?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, his thumb stroking my cheek affectionately.

“Like, if we were to just say screw it and try to rebel against the Capitol? Would things be better?” I ask, yawning.

He scoots closer to me, kissing me softly on the lips, “One day, sweetheart. Until then, I’m keeping you safe right here with me.”

It turns out we aren’t great at the mentor thing. I am there for him when he struggles to get through the Games sober. I get sponsors for our tributes when he is too distraught. We’re there for each other when the tributes don’t make it home.

For the rest of the year, there are some days we spend hours in each other’s homes. On the fifteenth consecutive day that we’ve spent in his house together, we’re sitting at the dining room table and reading when he says, “Why don’t you just move in?”

“Move in?” I ask, a blush raising to my face.

He shrugs, taking a sip of water, “You practically live here already.”

“Hmm,” I say, nodding, “I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?” He says, laughing. He stands, coming around the table to kiss me. And kiss me. And kiss me.

I break away, shaking my head, “Nobody in 12 moves in together until they’re married.”

He kisses me again, smiling.

A month later he gets down on one knee.

The details of our wedding are broadcast throughout all of Panem, but we don’t care. This isn’t for their entertainment. The tradition in District 12 is that you’re not truly married until you toast with bread in your new home, so once all of the cameras leave, we toast with bread and pronounce our love to each other. That night, I find myself underneath him for the first time.

Effie writes us letters, congratulating us on our marriage and saying she is so thrilled that we’ve found happiness.

We talk about children, but both of us know that we can never bring a child into this world.

When the mine explosion happens, Haymitch is sent into a terrible spiral for months. He doesn’t attend Burdock’s funeral. I do. I tell his little girls that they are going to be okay. The oldest looks just like him.

Haymitch starts drinking again, and is afraid to even be around me for weeks. He believes that Snow orchestrated the explosion, and I don’t know if I disagree.

One day months later, I come home from buying bread in the square, and Haymitch is sitting at the dining room table. He cries, apologizing over and over again to me. For pushing me away again, for losing control of his drinking, for everything. He swears he won’t let it get that bad again. We spend the evening holding hands and crying together.

We spend more time in the meadow again after that. It helps take his mind off of the horrors that he’s experienced. He helps me take my mind off of my own.

It’s early one morning when we decide to escape for the day, having a picnic while the sun comes up. He kisses me, again and again, until I’m breathless beneath him.

“I love you like all-fire,” I whisper to him while he makes love to me.

He groans into my neck, pressing gentle kisses everywhere, “I love you like all-fire,” he repeats.

We lay there all day, gasping each others names and desperately announcing our love.

When Burdock’s daughter’s name gets drawn at the Reaping, I nearly faint on stage. Haymitch keeps me stable. The older daughter volunteers. For the next few days I am terrified that we’ve done something to upset Snow. That this is him showing us that he will always control us. But, she wins. And she’s defied the Capitol.

Three years later, the Capitol has fallen. We are finally free. We don’t move out of our home in District 12, but now we have neighbors. Watching Katniss and Peeta fall in love reminds us of ourselves years ago.

We have a son now. I found out that I was pregnant with him right after we moved into District 13. He was born shortly after we got back home to District 12 with the help of Astrid.

His name is Ash. He is the light of our lives.