Ch. 3
I take one look at Haymitch and can hardly resist the urge to vomit. The mess is all doused in his hair, and by the looks of it, he can't clean himself. As if on cue, Katniss and I each grab an arm and prop him up into a slouched standing position.
"I tripped?" asks Haymitch. "Smells bad." I'll bet it does. He tries to wipe his nose, but all he does is get more of the barf on his face.
"Let's get you back to your room," I suggest, as if talking to a small child. "Clean you up a bit."
We both support Haymitch's weight as we drag him down the hallway and into his room. We drop him into the bathtub and he moans. He seems oblivious to the shower water raining down on him, washing all traces of his mess from his hair and clothes.
I get one look at Katniss's face, and I can tell that she doesn't want to do this anymore than I do. Her nose is all wrinkled up into a grimace; so she smells it, too...
"It's okay," I tell her. "I'll take it from here." I spare her poor self from having to suffer.
"Alright." Her grimace relaxes some, smoothing out her face to almost normal. "I'll send one of the Capitol people to help you."
Even just the thought of one of the Capitol people helping me is repulsive, no matter how much I took delight in having the opportunity to leave or be done that much quicker. Making them clean up Haymitch is a sort of vengeance, and I don't believe in vengeance; it just isn't right. My mentor is my responsibility, as backwards as that sounds.
"No. I don't want them," I respond simply. She nods, understanding, and leaves the room. I sigh once she's out of earshot, turning back to what I came to do.
I stare at Haymitch- he's a mess. I don't know where to start, so I begin with washing the bile out of his hair with shampoo. I can tell that he hasn't eaten in a while, because most of the vomit is liquid, probably digested liquor. I turn the water pressure on higher and pick up the shower head to rinse everything out of his clothes with some soap. After a while, I give up trying, and strip him down and repeat. I grab some towels and clothing from his room and dress and dry him. His eyes are open, and he stands up, but I can tell by the look on his face that when morning comes he'll remember nothing. I lay him down in his bed and toss a couple of blankets on him. He mumbles something incoherent, and then he's out like a light.
I glance around at the pigsty of a room, filled with dirty clothes everywhere and half empty liquor bottles. I make a face in disgust and gather all of them up, just to give myself something to do. I pour all of the liquor down the drain, and make a clothes pile in the corner of the room. I know he'll get more booze, but they can't have unlimited alcoholic drinks on this train, can they?
I leave, and make the too-long walk back to my compartment. When I get there, I think. About Mother and Father, and my older brothers. Would they have the shop running today, filled with the smells of warm bread? Or would they have closed it for the day without giving it a second thought? They possibly are asleep, but I doubt it. Not after a day like today, filled with goodbyes and weeping. I'm not the best reason to cry about, but we're talking about death, so I can imagine the pain bouncing through our little house tonight. Death is terrifying to anyone, especially if it's about to give someone you love a visit.
I recall a summer that I had been too bored to work in the shop, and I was about eight. The electric fence was off, and even though I had been warned about the dangers of leaving District 12, still, I had never been outside the fence before... I found a wide crack big enough for me to slip through, and I did. The fireflies had just begin to appear, so I ventured into the old forests, catching fireflies and putting them in my pockets, watching them light up the night well after dark. It was probably about nine when I decided to go back, and I was getting tired. I heard a light humming in the air when I got near the fence and I froze- the fence was on. I spent the night out there listening to animals howl in the distance, terrified they would come for me, you know, being eight and all. But what I was scared most of would be calling for help, because the Capitol would surely punish my own family, too. I slept in the woods that night, crying. When the fence finally turned off, I sobbed my way home and into my trembling parent's arms. They had wept all night, thinking I was dead or kidnapped for sure.
My hands begin shaking, and I sink to my knees, feeling like there is liquid lead in my veins. My heart literally hurts with heartache for my broken home. I must have gotten into bed at some point, because I wake up the next morning clutching the sheets so hard my fingers are sore. "Today's going to be another big, big, big, day!" Effie Trinket trills at my door.
I had slept in my clothes, so they were too twisted and wrinkled and dirty to wear today again. I walk over to the dresser and grab an outfit at random and throw it on. I make my way down to the dining hall, where Effie had told me to meet up with everyone else at. It probably would be a good idea to take a shower at some point, but I'm just not feeling it. Imagine that.
There's just as much food as the last time- eggs, bacon, pancakes, oatmeal, hot chocolate, orange juice- the Capitol has it all. Effie has gone to go get Katniss, so it's just me and Haymitch.
"So, we had a late night last night, didn't we?" He chuckles. My face turns red, though I don't exactly know why. I take little bites of my role. It's not as good as my father's.
"Sit down, sit down!" I hear Haymitch say, and I look up to see Katniss and Effie walk in. Katniss's eyes get three times wider as she takes in all of the food on the table, yet Effie still seems unaffected. Scoff, Capitol people. Katniss takes her seat, and marvels at something with her curious grey eyes.
"They call it hot chocolate," I answer her unspoken question. "It's good." She takes a tiny sip and then begins to chug it all down. I laugh, and she shoots me a look. We all sit in tense silence until Katniss breaks it.
"So you're supposed to give us advice," She says to Haymitch with more than a twinge of attitude.
"Here's some advice," laughs Haymitch. "Stay alive." He guffaws some more before taking another swing from a bottle of spirit. I exchange a glance with Katniss to confirm that she's just as peeved as I am.
"That's very funny," I say sarcastically. I knock the bottle from his hand and it crashes onto the ground. The red spirit races to the back of the train car. "Only not to us." I'm surprised with myself; I'm generally a very non-violent person.
Haymitch stares at me for a moment, taking it all in, I suppose, and then punches me in the jaw, leaving it red and throbbing. He reaches towards the beer again, but Katniss stabs her knife into the table between Haymitch and the bottle, just barely missing his fingers by centimeters. He squints at both of us.
"Well what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" He crosses his arms. I begin to reach for some ice from the fruit tureen to soothe my aching jaw.
"No," he stops me. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it into the arena." I raise one eyebrow skeptically. Haymitch is nuts.
"That's against the rules," I object with an edge to my voice.
"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," he says. Yes, he's officially lost it. Though I have to admit, it almost makes since, despite the fact that he's probably half drunk from the liquor/grape juice mixture he conjured up in his wine glass earlier. He turns to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"
Katniss grins widely, and I know that she's been waiting for this moment- to finally show Haymitch what she's made of- ever since the reaping ended. She snatches up the knife out of the table after giving it a good tug, and then wraps her boney fingers around the handle quickly but neatly. She throws the knife with such speed and agility that my jaw drops as it slices through the air so skillfully. It makes a thunk noise as it wedges itself between two decorative panels on the wall, and such accuracy makes me shiver to even think about being in the shoes of the enemy.
Now it's Haymitch's turn to be surprised. "Stand over here. Both of you." He gestures towards the center of the room with a nod of his head. We obediently walk over to him, and he inspects our facial expressions and muscles, squinting, as if undecided. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."
I don't second guess at this remark, even though it irritates me that he doesn't think higher of us, or at least Katniss. Katniss is beautiful, and I don't know how something that obvious could be easily overlooked. She's tiny, but mighty. All of those years of hunting and providing for her family made her strong and fit. Her dark braid trails down her back, and her grey eyes are deep with determination. As for me, I'm good looking enough to get through to the audience, but I don't know how well I'll be in the arena strength wise. I doubt that carrying trays of cookies makes you a strength machine or something, or even able to fend off an attack from Rue, the twelve year old tribute from District eleven. I frown.
"Alright, I'll make a deal with you," bargains Haymitch. "You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say." It wasn't really the deal I'd had in mind, but I know that it's probably going to be the best thing we'll get from a mentor as drunk and confused as Haymitch was on a daily basis.
"Fine," I snap after a moment of awkward silence.
"So help us," urges Katniss. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-"
"One thing at a time," he interrupts. I want to tell him to shut it. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."
"But-" Katniss begins.
"No buts. Don't resist," he says, snags his bottle of spirit, and exits the train car. The moment the door bangs shut, the entire car goes dark. The light stays on, but it's so dark outside that Katniss and I can barely see a thing. I start to panic until I realize that we're in a tunnel that passes through the mountains, so we must be close to the Capitol. Ha, a tunnel. Some wimp I am.
We stand in silence for several minutes, and my eyes snake over to Katniss's controlled expression. She's as rigid as I am in this dark, ominous place, and I can't help but wonder what thoughts cross her mind. Her eyebrows are knitted together as if in pain, and her eyes are deeply concentrated on the window, as if trying to see the unseeable.
With a blinding flash, we come out of the tunnel, and it's as if someone flicked on the sun. It leaves sunspots flashing inside my eyelids. The moment we realize where we are, we stumble to the window and gasp. The Capitol is so bright, so clean, so rich that I drop my jaw in awe. The rising sun peaks over the shiny buildings, making them glitter. The lights and colors shine so brightly that they leave my eyes bloodshot and eager for more. Wow. The cameras did the Capitol no justice.
I hear someone shout our names in a weird Capitol accent from outside and look to see a small girl, maybe thirteen, smiling and pointing to us eagerly. And then, one by one, all of the Capitol citizens begin to notice us. Katniss steps back from the window with a sick glare on her face, and I know she's thinking the same thing I am. That these innocent people will be cheering for us to be slaughtered in just a few short weeks. The thought makes me feel queasy, like I'm going to lose my breakfast. Death for amusement. What kind of sick joke is this? But I stand still anyways, smiling my best smile through gritted teeth to help Katniss and I gain more sponsors. Her gaze on me is so powerful that I notice it before I can even see it.
"What?" I say innocently. "One of them could be rich." She glares at me, and I shrug it off. But somewhere deep in me, I can't shake this feeling that makes me think that, at some point, her mind will be set on slitting my throat. Who knows?
Maybe the love of my life is preparing to kill me.