One Last Game -Haymitch Abernathy-

Chapter 17

Clove was dead.

Thresh had killed her at the cornucopia. The entire situation happened so fast that Amelia couldn't wrap her mind around it. There were only five of them left now. Their chance at winning was increasing with every day that passed. However, that wasn't what Amelia was concerned about. It had been two weeks since the games started, and she had seen a significant change in Haymitch. Mostly in his drinking, which continued to get worse. Amelia couldn't figure out why. Things had seemed so positive recently, but Haymitch was spiraling. She had made it her mission to stop him. It hadn't been this bad since she finished her games. "Haymitch," Amelia was leaning over him. Her knees pressed against the mattress. "Hey. I need you to get up." He mumbled something under his breath. "Haymitch." This time she roughly shook his body.

His blue eyes fluttered open, and he sighed in annoyance. "What is it?"

"It's mid-day," she stared down at him. "Why are you still in bed?"

"Why are you waking me," he questioned. "And why are you on top of me?"

Amelia rolled her eyes, "I'm leaning over you. I'm not on top of you." Haymitch opened his mouth to say something, but she stopped him. "Why are there three glass bottles in the bed with you?"

"Do you really want the answer to that?"

She glared at him, grabbing a pillow beside him. Before he could say anything, she whacked him in the chest. "Get your ass out of this bed and come downstairs. Clove is dead, and Katniss got the medicine."

Haymitch stared at her, a twinkle in his eye. "Are you going to hit me again?"

She dropped the pillow, "I will if you don't stop drinking as much. I don't understand. I thought you were getting better." Amelia sat down on the bed, and Haymitch pushed himself up. She knew the truth. He was not actually getting better. Haymitch was an alcoholic, and she couldn't fix him. "Get dressed and come downstairs, please."

Before he could respond, she was already out the door. Amelia traveled down the hallway quickly but stopped at the end. She turned back to look at his bedroom door, a frown on her face.

~~~~~~~~~~~

By the following afternoon, Amelia couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Peeta and Katniss weren't her concern. It was Haymitch. He never came down from his room the previous day. Falling back into a drunken slumber seconds after she left.

It made her worry. Amelia worried about his health. She worried about everything. Haymitch was the person she cared about most. She cared more about him than anyone else. In ways that she knew she shouldn't.

Rummaging through his drawers, she noticed several glass bottles. Way more than usual. He was drinking more, a lot more. "What are you doing," he asked from the doorway.

Amelia turned to him, holding one of the bottles. "Is this hand sanitizer?"

"What," he walked into the room. "Don't be ridiculous."

Haymitch reached for the bottle, but she yanked her hand back. "I am not ridiculous."

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"There are easily ten glass bottles in here," she pointed at the drawer. "Where do you get them from? And why? You said you would watch your drinking-"

"I never said that," he argued with her. "I said I would drink more water."

"You're drinking more than you ever have before," the volume in her voice started to increase. "Why? I don't understand. We finally have tributes that are surviving! We're finally doing well, and you're getting worse." Amelia didn't understand where things had gone wrong. "I don't understand." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I don't understand." Haymitch watched her, feeling a sense of guilt. "Is it me? Am I not doing enough? Have I been encouraging you?"