BOMBSHELL - Finnick Odair

31

"Katniss!" The blonde, disheveled man calls after the young girl.

Their boots stomp loudly against the metal stairs.

"You made your point, Haymitch," she says dismissively.

Her mentor grabs her arm and turns her around to face him as he says, "Not to you, I didn't!"

"So, go ahead. Say it!"

The tension is thick. The topic of discussion long overdue.

"Say what?" Katniss asks.

Haymitch takes a deep breath. "We're going to have to work together, okay? So you might as well get this off your chest."

"You promised me you would save Peeta."

His lips press into a thin line and he shakes his head. Haymitch feels guilty. And, as much as he hates to admit it, upset himself. He's grown fond of the boy. "I know," agrees Haymitch.

Katniss adds, "Now you say it."

"I can't believe you let him out of your sight," says Haymitch angrily.

At the look on her face, his anger dissipates. Now he only feels sorry for her. "You gotta stop moping around," he starts. "You think I want to be here?"

"I want a bottle so bad, I'm ready to distill my own turnips!" He exclaims. "But I'm here, and you know why?"

The girl's fighting back the wave of emotions his words bring on and the urge to run and hide in the closet again.

"Because Peeta and Ember are still alive." Haymitch chokes out.

Katniss suddenly feels a little guilty herself. She forgot that not only was he grieving Peeta's absence, but Ember's as well.

"They're not dead yet. And neither are we. We're still in the game, Katniss."

Katniss

I feel like I've only dozed off for a few minutes, but when I open my eyes again, I flinch at the sight of Haymitch at the end of my bed.

The two of us are on rocky ground. Especially after I disobeyed orders in District Eight yesterday.

I'm going to have to face him sooner or later though.

He leans forward and dangles a thin wire in front of my face. I don't have to take a guess at what it is.

"That is your earpiece," he starts. "I will give you exactly one more chance to wear it. If you remove it again, I'll have you fitted for this."

Some sort of metal headgear hangs in his hands. It looks like a head shackle.

"It's an audio unit that locks around your skull and under your chin until I unlock it with a key. And only I will have a key if you're for some reason smart enough to disable it," Haymitch says, dumping it on my bed.

He then reaches in his pant pocket and pulls out a tiny microchip. "Or, I'll authorize them to surgically implant this transmitter into your ear so that I may speak to you twenty-four hours a day."