The Hunger Games: Prim [REWRITING]

Chapter 4: Much Needed Advice

Chapter 4

: Much Needed Assistance

I rush to Haymitch's aid as he tries to stand up from his fall. His shirt is now soaked with vomit, and the car reeks of alcohol and bile. I take one of his arms and heave it around my opposite shoulder to give support. Peeta is already at the other side, taking Haymitch's other arm.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asks. "Smells bad."

The two of us support him back to his room. Because of my small stature, I realize Peeta's taken most of the weight, but he doesn't seem to struggle any. When we reach Haymitch's room, Peeta redirects him to the tub, and immediately turns the water on him.

"Don't worry about it, I'll take over from here, Primrose," Peeta assures me. "You can go back and rest up for tomorrow."

But I shake my head as I head out, telling him I'm going to help too. If there's anything I can offer, it's healing, and I'm willing to help anyone who needs it.

I head back to the canteen, I ask for a large bottle of water, for rehydration, a bottle of ginger ale, and a bag of ice. As best as I can, I carry everything back to Haymitch's sleeping quarters, and push the unlocked door ajar with my shoulder. I step inside, and find Peeta dressing Haymitch. I look away to be polite, though accustomed to working with many undressed, wounded miners back at home.

"Hey, thanks for coming back. You really didn't need to." Peeta supports a now dressed Haymitch from the bathroom to the bed.

"And neither did you have to," I respond. "You aren't required to help." And it's true. Neither of us were obliged to help out our drunk mentor. He's so drunk I doubt he'll even remember the help we've given him, and there are dozens of Capitol assistants around the train who could help out as well. In fact, if we called on them, they'd probably be required to help out, by law.

"I brought some water and ginger ale." I place the bottles on Haymitch's nightstand. Peeta nods and takes the bottles, unscrewing them and urging Haymitch to drink. Meanwhile, I look around for towels, which I realize are placed above the shower box, on a metal rack. I step onto the tub and reach for one, almost slipping in the process. Thankfully, I make it back to Haymitch in one piece. I wrap the towel around the bag of ice.

"Haymitch, you need to lay down," I tell him, and he drunkly follows, his movements slow and sloppy. But when he's down, head on his pillow, I place the ice on his forehead, in hopes it would help with any headaches he may have tonight.

"You've done well today, Primrose."

"You too, Peeta."

There's an awkward silence that follows, as we both know only one makes it out of these Games alive. And frankly, the both of us will be dead in a week or so, and building friendly relations now just seems so untimely.

"I'll watch over Haymitch tonight, so he doesn't get into more trouble. And, you know, so he's sober enough to help us tomorrow." I laugh lightly and wish Peeta a good night before heading back to my room.

A rinse down, quicker than before, tired from the long day. I slip into the simplest night gown I can find, wanting to feel like a normal, young girl preparing to go to bed before another perfectly normal day of school. I wish Buttercup was at my side.

I head over to hit the lights when I notice the cookies on my nightstand. A note in cursive reads, "You left these in your pockets last night. I found them before throwing your clothes in the hamper." I smile and wonder what kind soul had returned my cookies, because surely, the Capitol employees could have thrown them out, or eaten them. The happiness of the tributes aboard the train won't affect their pay.