Percy’s POV ( I don’t care…I’m writing it)
For a few moments, we take in the scene of our mentor trying to rise out of the slippery vile stuff from his stomach. The reek of vomit and raw spirits….I’m never touching those. Exchange of glances. Obviously Effie is right: Haymitch might not be much, heck he’s a worthless pile of dung. But right now, he’s all we’ve got. And since our mind has always worked together….
“ You take his left, I’ll take his right,” I told her. She nodded, looking extremely disgusted with him. “ Don’t worry….in a minute after this, the smell will go away and we can always open the windows for fresh air. If the air – clean air – in this train isn’t sufficient enough.” She grins.
“ I tripped?” Haymitch asks. “ Smells bad.” He wipes his nose with his hands, smearing his face with more vomit. The carrot soup is definitely threatening to make reappearance now.
“ I’m glad you noticed it, Haymitch,” I say sarcastically. “ Let’s get you back to your room. Clean you up a bit. You’re smelling a little bit ripe, if you must know.”
We half-lead, half-carry him back to his compartment. Since we can’t exactly set him down on the embroidered bedspread, we haul him into the bathtub and I turn on the shower on him. He hardly notices.
I look at Katniss and saw her cheeks had a little bit of red coloring it. Seeing men naked is not exactly on her list so I decided to spare her , “ It’s okay. I’ll take it from here.”
She sighs in relief. “ Thanks.” Silence, as I pick a bottle labeled bath foam and pour it all over Haymitch. “ I can send one of the Capitol people to help you.” Sure she can. There’s heap of them on this stupid train. Cooking for us. Waiting on us. Guarding us. Taking care of us is their job.
“ Nah….I don’t want them. Gives me the creeps,” I tell her. She grins again and heads out, probably to her own room. Seriously, I can’t stand them, Capitol people. Keeps reminding me that I’m headed to a certain, painful, slow, torturous death. So, it’s best if I try to stay away from them.
Haymitch didn’t move, even a muscle as I clean and cover him with clothes. Very knocked out, this one. No wonder the previous tributes didn’t stand much chance, with the starvation and disadvantage at weapons. Throw in a drunk of a mentor and you’re dead. Literally.
But then I got thinking. I don’t think he was a drunk before this. I mean, I’ve heard that some victors went nuts after their Games, had nightmares and all. Some turn to drugs, some to drinks. Like Haymitch. I turn my attention back to him when he grunts in his sleep. For a while, I feel pity for the guy. But then I notice the smell of the vomit clings to me. Eurgh…..he is going to pay for this tomorrow.
I walk back to my room, planning for probably, oh; I don’t know…a 3-hour shower? The smell of raw spirit and wine and possible something else will probably be hard to lose. I know people come to the Everdeens’ when they are sick but usually, as soon as I see sick people heading to the house, I jump out of the window (literally) and make my way to the woods. Like Katniss, I can’t bear watching sick people. Especially if their wounds involve open flesh, flowing blood and all.
As I was cleaning myself of the vomit and its smell, my thoughts suddenly flew to Prim and Mrs. Everdeen back home. Are they alright? Did they watch the recap? Seen who would be our competition? I hope they did. If it was me, I’d hate to not know who would be killing who. A little bit weird thinking for a tribute on his way to death but that’s just the way I want it to be. That I know who my opponent is.
I stand by the train window as I dry myself. Lights of other districts pass by. 7? 10? 9? I don’t know. I think about the people in their houses, settling in for bed. I imagine my home – new home - , with the shutters drawn tight. What are they doing now, Prim and Mrs. Everdeen? Were they able to eat supper? The fish stew and the strawberries? Or did it lie untouched on their plates? I hope they’ll stay strong for each other.
