Hiraeth

Chapter Three

Hello there! Gallifreyan-Otaku here! My first official chapter work on this page! I can't wait to see what you guys think. I'm sorry if this chapter is a bit long, but that's just how I write chapters. Drop a review, you know, if you like it. See you on the other side!
~Gallifreyan-Otaku
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Haymitch sat alone. Everything was the way she'd left it, that had been his promise to her. But it became increasingly harder not to re-locate all those pointless ornaments, or to push her arm-chair slightly to the right. Everything seemed out of place, now that Effie wasn't here. Now that this was just his room, in his house, without her buzzing about the place cleaning and whatnot, it all just seemed so wrong. He realised now how much he hated those stupid curtains, and how pointless the various bangles and baubles that littered the mantlepiece really were. Effie had changed him. He'd always known that. But now she was gone, he saw the full extent of how. She'd made him more tolerant, more tolerable, and more understanding. She'd made him happier.

After God knows how long, he finally hauled himself out of his chair, and moved to the bedroom. The bed was still unmade, and his clothes were crumpled up in various corners. Effie's make up sat on the dresser, gathering dust, and her clothes were being subjected to the moths, as they chewed through the seams of her most beloved garments. Haymitch looked around the sorry excuse for a bedroom, and sighed. He knew that there was an unopened bottle of brandy waiting for him in the kitchen, and he would have given anything to just sit down, and drown his grief in the blessed curse of alcohol. But he couldn't leave the room like this. He'd promised Effie that he would change his ways, and crying into a bottle would not change anything. He pulled the quilt to the corners of the bed, picked up his dust-covered clothes, went through every piece of make-up on Effie's dresser, brushed her wig, and lined the wardrobe with so many mothballs, the wooden floor became obscured by their number. He admired his handiwork, and went to throw himself to the mercy of the bottle.

The next few hours passed in a blur of emotions. After the first glass, nothing seemed to have changed, but an hour, and a bottle, later, he was in a constant state of delirious laughter, joyfully reminiscing the good times. He felt the most alive that he'd ever felt since she died, and, at that very moment, he was content to live the rest of his life in this mindless, happy place. But soon, the effects of the second bottle kicked in, and he was reduced to violent, tortured sobs, and screams of agony. He beat the table until his knuckles bled, and cursed every higher power he could think of. He rolled out of his armchair, and curled up in the foetal position on the floor, his eyes red raw with tears. He begged for death, for a release from his pain, for a chance to see her again. He lost all knowledge of dignity, grace, or self worth. He knew he couldn't keep this up. His promises of starting a better life were just empty words. He knew he'd disappointed Effie, but, in that very moment, nothing mattered, except him, and the combination of alcohol, and raw emotion that boiled through him. Once all his energy was spent, he felt his limbs go numb, and he watched the world go black, as unconsciousness greeted him with open arms.

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It was a strange feeling for Haymitch, to be looking down at his own features. He wondered if the back of his head really looked like that. His hair, so greasy and grubby looking. He wasn't even sure it was him, at first, but he knew the scene too well. He, Peeta, and Effie were sat at the breakfast table, as Peeta was prising valuable survival information from him. The scene played out pretty much how he remembered it. Katniss came in, attempting to get the same information, and ended up stabbing the table, much to Effie's dismay. It was not until they'd both left that the events began to stray from how he remembered, though it was entirely possible that he had been far too drunk at the time.

He was sat alone at the table, while Effie pottered around cleaning up. Well, not any useful sort of cleaning, just straightening table cloths, and trying to fix the slight hole Katniss had left in the mahogany table. "You know, you could leave that job to the Avoxes." He said, picking up the bottle on the table next to him. Effie sighed. "And you could leave that bottle alone for a change." Haymitch simply laughed in response. "You are a sassy one, aren't you." He smiled. Effie just sighed angrily in response, before turning back to her cleaning.

Things were silent for a while, until Effie looked back to Haymitch and said, "The last time I left a job like this to the Avoxes, I found the tablecloth being used as a throw for the bed." Haymitch chuckled to himself. "Have you ever considered that might be what it's for?" He asked. He expected another sassy remark, but instead Effie smiled, before replying, "Well, it just looks so much nicer here."
"I thought you weren't talking to me." Haymitch poured himself another glass, taking a sip. "I thought you were supposed to be a mentor." Effie walked over towards the door, before turning back, and flashing a small smile, and walking out of the room.

Soon, the image became blurry, and Haymitch felt himself slowly coming to. He wasn't sure whether that was a dream, or a memory covered by a haze of alcohol. As he opened his eyes, he found that he was still curled up on the floor of his living room. Tired, alone, and hungover. He let a moan of pain escape his lips, before pulling himself off the floor, and dragging himself back to bed.