The Miner's Wife

Chapter 17: The 89th Annual Hunger Games

Peeta's POV

I've worked my way through two full bottles when Haymitch finally shows up at the Hall of Justice. It's just before the reaping is about to begin. He's drunk, but no worse than usual. Certainly no worse than I am.

"Fuck you, kid, for stealing my liquor," he growls when he sees me with an empty bottle in my hand.

"Manners!" Effie scolds him. Her upper lip is curled in disgust. She has long since given up on Haymitch. I think she's starting to give up on me, too. She turns her back on us, and continues discussing some last-minute changes of the live televised event with the director's assistant, completely ignoring both of us.

Haymitch can tell that something is wrong. He doesn't speak to me, though. He sits next to me on stage and does what he does best: zones out. I also try to mentally check out, but my thoughts keep drifting to a dark place. But not even the liquor coursing through my veins helps drown out the scream that echoes through the town square when the first name is called, so I decide to look alive. I make eye contact with the boy, frail and trembling on stage, for exactly three seconds before changing my mind. I leave the stage before I'm supposed to, and Haymitch joins me. The peacekeepers don't stop us since we're going to our proper place.

Once on the train, I head straight for the refreshments. I'm already chugging a bottle of Capitol liquor called gin when Haymitch finally speaks.

"Lover's tiff?"

I freeze at his words.

That must not be the reaction Haymitch had been expected. "What happened?" The sarcasm is gone from his voice. I don't answer. Haymitch narrows his eyes, but he doesn't press. We sit in silence, drinking together until the new tributes are ushered in.

Reaping Day is always a nightmare, and today was no exception. This year's tributes from 12 have no chance of survival whatsoever. As usual. Thankfully, neither of them are interested in us yet. They follow Effie through the car and into their respective rooms.

"What did you do?"

Haymitch's voice doesn't startle me. I purse my lips while I consider my response. "You assume correctly that it's something that I did," I laugh bitterly. "What does that say about me?"

Haymitch takes the bottle from my hands and pours himself a glass. "It tells me you're fucked up. That's hardly news." He rolls his eyes. "It's Katniss, isn't it?"

I nod. I don't meet his eyes. I stare out the window, where 12 is disappearing on the horizon. We're in between districts now. Where there is nothing but forests, mountains and the ruins of lost towns and cities the Capitol doesn't want anyone to know about. "Last night, we... or I..."

I don't even really know what happened. Not the details of it, anyway. I can't quite make all the bits and pieces fit. I don't know what's real and what's not real. "I took one of the green pills last night. I couldn't deal with the mandatory viewing, much less the recap of my Hunger Games. I just couldn't deal with it all without drugs." Even I hear how pathetic that sounds.

"What did Katniss, who doesn't even want you to drink, have to say about you getting high?" Haymitch asks, his voice sarcastic again. "Because I assume she noticed?"

"Yeah, she did. But we still..." I take a deep breath. "We slept together."

Haymitch lifts his glass up in a toast, raising an eyebrow. "Well, good for you, son."

"We hadn't been together before."

Haymitch's eyes widen in surprise. "Really?" I sigh. Everyone seems to believe that Katniss and I have been sleeping together for months. He laughs. "Well, I'll be damned... How did you two manage to live in the same house for five months without doing the dirty deed?" I shrug my shoulders. "Haven't you been in love with her 'forever' or something?"