Chapter Text
60. Drink
Haymitch Has No Idea
The night before the reaping of the 74th Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy sat alone in his house at Victors Village. It was that time of year again and he couldn't avoid it—no one could. Dread overwhelmed him for what awaited him the following morning. The reaping. Two teenagers who would wish their names had never been chosen. Two tributes would be sent to their deaths—and there's nothing Haymitch could do to prevent it from happening.
He stared at the wine glass before gulping down the alcohol. It burned his throat, but helped him to muddle through what would be another ordeal. He hated this "mentoring business"—training innocent kids only to watch them get killed in the arena. He considered suggesting suicide to both tributes, but he knew the Capitol would not find it believable or entertaining. It would only succeed in getting him and their families in huge trouble with the Capitol. Deadly trouble…Haymitch wiped his eyes, refusing to cry at the memory of what happened to his family and girlfriend after his Games.
In the back of his mind, he had a sliver of hope that these Games would be different this year. Maybe he would get a tribute with a fighting spirit and a minuscule chance of walking out of the arena alive. It would give District 12 some hope and grant him some company: a fellow mentor, a drinking partner.
"Misery loves company," he said to himself as he poured himself another glass of alcohol.
Maybe…just once...the odds would be in District 12's favor. Maybe they would have another Victor. Or even better, there would be a tribute who bucked against the system and showed the Capitol that they couldn't continue to kidnap and murder the Districts' children without facing repercussions for it. Haymitch smiled grimly and twirled the glass in his hand. Then he frowned at the idealism he allowed himself to feel for that tiny moment.
"Not gonna happen."
He swallowed the drink down fast and threw the glass against the wall. It shattered loudly and he didn't bother to clean up the shards off the floor. Why bother? Haymitch made a note to do extra drinking this year on the ride to the Capitol. It would help numb himself from what he's come to expect every year: walk into the Capitol with two living tributes and walk out alone at end of the Games. Effie Trinket would be by his side, but he wasn't focused on her. He thought about how another bunch of kids would get slaughtered. He didn't want to imagine how they would meet their end in the arena. Just more of the same: inevitable blood and death, and alcohol to stifle the inner turmoil that threatened to drown him.
This year would be no different…