The Mentor - A Hunger Games Story

15 - AFTER

Haymtich woke up with a stir, sitting straight up in his chair. Katniss stood in front of him, holding a pitcher of water and a guilty expression. He realized he was wielding a knife, and set it gingerly onto the side table.

"Oh, you." Haymitch grumbled, feeling underwhelmed at her arrival. He only wanted to see one person.

"Haymitch." She started.

"Look at that, Mockingjay found her voice. Plutarch's going to be happy." He smoothed out his hair with one hand. "Why am I soaking wet?"

Katniss dropped the pitcher behind her. Haymitch rolled his eyes and sipped whatever happened to be in the glass that was right next to him. Scotch. Nice.

"I need your help." Katniss insisted.

"What is it sweetheart, more boy trouble?" Haymitch belched. Katniss immediately turned on her heel and began to storm out. "Okay, not funny." Haymtich tried to stand up, but balance was not his friend. "Not funny. Come back!" But she was gone.

Haymitch shook his head, knowing deep down that she needed help, not someone to quip. He'd make it up to her later. But first he had something to attend to.

He somehow convinced Coin to let him see President Snow. He didn't quite remember the conversation, but he must have sown a masterful reason.

The real reason he wanted to see Snow? He had yet to find out.

He let himself sober up for a few minutes, and then walked down the Capital hallways. He knew he wasn't sober, but what he was about to do sobered him up quicker than any hangover cure.

He met the guards at the door of Snow's chamber, who let him in without question.

Haymitch couldn't help but roll his eyes as he set foot into Snow's room. It was a greenhouse. Fucking guy loved white roses a little too much. It was weird.

"Snow?" He hollered. "Where the fuck are you?"

"Ah, Haymitch. I knew you'd stop by."

Haymitch followed the sound and found the ex-president shackled to a chair, shoved in between rows of roses. He was dressed nicely, but his skin was green and hanging off him like an ill fitting sweater.

"You look terrible." Haymitch gloated.

"I could say the same thing to you, old friend." Snow coughed, and dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. It was stained with blood as he pulled it away.

"I wonder why."

Snow laughed, which led to more coughing. "I assume you're here to gloat?"

"No." Haymitch shook his head, plucking a random rose from the bushel next to him. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm out."

Snow just raised an eyebrow at that. Narcissist didn't want to admit that he didn't know what Haymitch was talking about.

"Out of the games." Haymitch hissed. "I made it out. And you didn't."

Snow still smiled, the skin barely hanging onto his cheekbones as they moved.

"I heard whispers that they might hold a Game for the children of the Capital." Snow clicked his tongue. "Does the game sound over to you?"

Haymitch had anticipated this. Ever since Coin had approached him about the possibility, it had been jumping around his head like a pinball.

"Eh." Was all Haymitch said in response to that. "That idea will fade with Coin's presidency."

"You don't expect her to have a long term?" Snow asked cheerfully, as if he knew the answer all along.

"No. The people won't stand for it. More oppression." Haymitch paused shortly. "She reminds me of you. Doing things for the 'greater good'." He raised his hands in finger quotes. "She's going to see herself out of that position before winter."

Snow dabbed his face with a handkerchief. Haymitch supposed the handkerchief had used to be white, but it was tie-dyed red.

"So, Miss Everdeen finally got you out of the games?"

"The girl helped, that's for sure." Haymitch leaned up against a table. "But you sealed your fate the second you killed my family and made me a mentor."

"How so?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I was District 12's famed first victor. I was supposed to be glamorous and rich and spoiled. But imagine how the district felt when their hero drank himself to madness because his family was killed?" Haymitch bent down and smelt one of the roses, taking in the beauty of the moment. "And then this drunk had to help kids prepare to go fight to the death. This further ruins their image of the games. Shows them that winning is not all that it's cracked up to be. Because god forbid they end up like Haymitch." He took a breath, anticipating Snow to cut him off, but the old man seemed to be frozen, listening. "So the District 12 tributes stop truly trying to win. Think of the past games. How did the District 12 tributes die?" Haymitch held up a hand when Snow finally seemed like he wanted to talk. "I'll answer that. Fifteen years ago, Maddilyn Slinger sat cross legged in one spot. Oh, you hated that. Nine years ago Randall Glone sat in a tree and wrote anti-Capital poetry for three days until he was killed by a Capital Mutt. I'm not a big poetry guy, but some of his work brought tears to my eyes. And three years ago Katniss Everdeen almost ate poisonous blueberries so she wouldn't have to kill her boyfriend." Haymitch spread his hands.

Snow looked away from him, staring at the roses in front of him. And then he cracked a smile.

"You always did have a plan, didn't you?" He chuckled, leaning back and clasping his hands.

Haymitch smirked back, wanting to take one of the larger thorns and stab him repeatedly. "Don't be chummy with me, you killed my family."

That shut Snow up quickly.

The smell of roses was starting to give Haymitch a headache.

"You killed them, so I saw to it that your legacy died. If you don't mind, I think I'll see myself out."

Haymitch turned his back on Snow, feeling a mix of emotions. The alcohol was probably a factor, but he felt like he wanted to sing for joy but also cry.

"Oh, one more thing." He turned back around.

"Yes?" Snow asked expectedly.

"Fuck you." Haymitch gave him a cheesy smile and raised his middle finger.

He didn't wait around to see his reaction. Haymitch paced out of the greenhouse, feeling one hundred pounds lighter. He could still feel the anger lingering, but maybe seeing Snow shot through the heart later would help.

He walked through the Capital building with more pep in his step than usual.

He was out.

He was fucking out of the games.

He wondered if Effie would maybe want to get a drink.

END OF BOOK