To Be A Victor - H. Abernathy

𝟚.𝟜. 𝔽𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕤

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Our last breakfast in the train is quiet. It's only me and Katniss in the compartment. 

"I knew your mother," I say. 

Katniss doesn't respond, just looks at me, allowing me to go on. 

"We were good friends when I was young." 

"She never told me." 

"Well, we didn't talk much after the games." I pause and take a breath. "I wasn't really someone that you'd want to be associated with." 

"Why not?" 

"Just... things I did at the Capitol." 

Katniss gives me a curious look, but doesn't inquire further. That's what I like about her. She minds her own business. 

Haymitch doesn't enter the dining car until we're almost home. He reaches straight for the alcohol. 

"Are you already done with sobriety?" I ask. 

"The games are over," he says, as if that's an explanation. 

I purse my lips, wanting to press him further, but not wanting to overstep boundaries. 

The train pulls into the station and Haymitch grabs a bottle of alcohol, sneaking it under his coat. 

I roll my eyes at him, earning a mischievous grin in return. 

The victors have a ceremony for returning home. Clara runs up to me and gives me a tight hug. 

"Thank you," she whispers, teary eyed. 

All I can do is hug her back. I wonder if she knows that even though Katniss won the games, her daughter isn't safe. 

That night, I'm back in my house. I've opened a few windows, because, upon returning, I've realized the stench of my house that has been sitting stale for years on end. 

I sit by my living room window, feeling the warm Summer breeze ruffle through my hair. 

The neighborhood is two houses fuller, but I feel more lonely than ever. 

God, I miss Haymitch. I miss him so much. 

I've always known it, but before it was easy to tuck away and try not to think about it. Now, it's glaring in the front of my mind like a big neon sign. 

I stare at his house, wondering what he's doing. Probably drinking. Or passed out on his couch. 

Just as I think this, his front door opens and, like that winter night so many years ago, he comes stumbling out. 

For a moment, I think he's just going to the trash can. But he doesn't stop there. He crosses the street, then starts up the walkway to my house. 

I stare in disbelief. This is very bold of him. Surely, he wouldn't. 

But, alas, he would; at that moment, a knock comes on my door, followed by several rings of the doorbell. 

Despite knowing that he's there, I still jump at the sound. 

I don't even have to think before I'm answering the door. 

Haymitch stumbles in, pulling me into a hug. 

"I miss you," he says, his speech slurred. 

I immediately regret letting him in. 

"Haymitch-"

"I think we should be friends again." 

"You're drunk." 

He walks around me and collapses on my couch. "Can you play a song on the piano?"