The Hunger games - I'm still breathing (Everlark)

Chapter 9

Peeta stands up and hesitantly makes his way over to the fence. Haymitch shows no sign of life, his snores harmonising with the Mockingjay's songs.
"Should we help him?" Peeta turns to me and asks.
I shrug my shoulders. Haymitch lied to me, he made promises he couldn't keep. His drunken words were spiteful and knew exactly where to hurt me. But he was the only one I confided in when there was no one. The one person who knew me inside out. So much so that at one mere glance, he knew what I was thinking. I think about the nightmares that he has to face alone every night. The empty, dark house he spends his days wallowing in. There are no arms to drag him from the black hole his intoxicated mind takes him to. No one to hold him when he comes to, paralysed with fear.
I can't imagine what it's like to live like that. My shrugging shoulders switch to a nod of the head. We have to help him.
Peeta hauls himself over the fence and then turns round with his arms outstretched to help me over after him. We dodge our way through Haymitch's overgrown garden, trying not to stand on any of his geese.
When we reach him, we stand there for a minute trying to figure out the best way to lift him. We decide to grab an arm each and to hoist him onto our shoulders. He's heavier than you'd think a man who has nothing but alcohol in his stomach would be. I get as far as the kitchen table when I have to stop and rest. Peeta takes over and carries him into the living room and places him on the couch.
I shiver as I follow him through. The room is cold with no fire in the hearth, Peeta immediately attempts to light it. The room smells damp and stale. The liquor fumes burn my eyes and I go to open a window to try and relieve them with the fresh air. After a while, I turn away from the window and take in the state of the room. There are smashed bottles everywhere, letters piled high on a table, furniture crushed and trampled on. Everything about the room screams neglect.
I move over to the table to sort through the pile of letters. Most of them are from Plutarch, the odd few from Effie. One catches my eye, the swirly writing familiar. On closer inspection I know immediately that my mother wrote it, from the unique twist in the Y. I turn my head and look at Haymitch to make sure he's still asleep. He's out cold. I put the letter in my back pocket, making a mental reminder to read it later.
"Should we wake him?"
I jump, feeling as though I have been caught in the act. Peeta doesn't seem to have noticed though or if he has he's pretending he didn't see anything. He's staring down at Haymitch with a blank expression on his face.
I get up and fetch the pitcher of water from the fireplace.
"You might want to step back," I say, warning Peeta.
When Peeta's a safe enough distance away, I throw the pitcher over Haymitch's head. A low growl escapes from his throat that turns into a howl as he aggressively tears away the cushions from his couch, as if he were looking for something. His knife I think.
When he looks up and sees me and Peeta, his anger is directed towards us. He finally gets to his feet after a few unsteady attempts and points his finger at us, accusingly.
"Where's my drink?" He yells.
He must have dropped it on the back porch when he collapsed. I rush through the house and find it in the doorway. When I give it back to him he settles down back onto the couch, as a baby would settle after you've given them their bottle of milk.
We stand in silence awkwardly, staring each other down. Peeta is the one to break the silence, as always.
"I'll go and grab the loaf of bread I made yesterday from Katniss' house and we can have it for breakfast," he states, leaving the room.
I try to catch Peeta's eye as he leaves, silently begging him not to leave me alone with Haymitch. The thought of being alone with Haymitch makes me nervous. Peeta doesn't look my way though.
I try to busy myself by picking up the abandoned furniture scattered around the room. I avoid making eye contact with Haymitch as he slurps away at his bottle.
"You still have to be careful with that boy you know sweetheart, he could flip at any minute," Haymitch slurs.
"I know, I've seen him do it. I helped him to come back from it," I say, feeling defensive of Peeta.
"Well just remember what he did to you last time,"he says.
"You don't know anything about him anymore Haymitch, he wouldn't do that to me again," I say, angry that he had to bring that event up.
I move the furniture around a little harder, banging it against the floor. The noise causes Haymitch to flinch and his hand moves up to his head as if it can magically cure his hangover. I smirk, thinking he deserves every bit of it for drinking so much.
"I heard screaming this morning," he says, wiping the smirk off my face. "I couldn't tell if it was in my head or if it came from your house."
My hands begin to shake thinking about Peeta's tortured face from this morning, Snow's breath in my ear.
I gingerly sit down on the couch next to Haymitch and look up at him for the first time. His eyes are blood shot and his skin is a faint yellow colour.
"How do you survive it Haymitch?" I whisper, my voice trembling.
In reply, he holds his bottle up towards me and then takes a big gulp of it. I take the bottle from his hands and lift it to my own lips, yearning for any relief that it could bring.
"Katniss! I don't think so," Peeta storms in and snatches the bottle out of my hands before I can even have a sip.
"What do you think you're doing giving her this? Can't you see she's unstable enough as it is?" He asks Haymitch, fiercely.
Haymitch just shrugs as Peeta glares at us. I feel like a child who's been told off for pulling the cat's tail. It makes me angry so I glare defiantly back.
Peeta stomps in to the kitchen and returns with the buttered bread on three plates. He hands one to each of us, not saying a word. Haymitch pushes his plate to the side without even glancing at it. Mine feels dry in my throat and I struggle to swallow it. After a few bites I give up.
"I think we should go now," Peeta says, after he wolfs his bread down. "I've left the loaf of bread on the side in the kitchen Haymitch, if by some miracle you decide to start eating and stop drinking."
I get up and follow Peeta out of the room, giving Haymitch a slight wave goodbye.
"Good luck, sweetheart," he cackles.
I'll need all the luck I can get facing Peeta's wrath.