I can still do this

chapter 20

Mom doses Gale with morphling and he goes loopy, but she won't let me stay here with him to make sure he stays awake. "Haymitch wants to see you, go do that," she says.

Prim said something about that before, so I know she's not completely making up an excuse to get me away. I take Cato with me, since a drunk Haymitch is one I'm sometimes not strong enough to handle, and he's been drinking for the past month straight.

I knock on the door and don't wait for a response to walk in. "Haymitch?" I call.

He grunts loudly from another room, so we go to there and find him sprawled out in a chair, a large bottle sitting on his stomach. "Look who finally walked in," he slurs. "Don't mind me. I'm just drinking."

"Yeah, and you should stop." I take the bottles from him, put them out of his reach. "Why did you want me to come visit?"

He shakes his head and kind of shrugs. "Missed you."

"He's very drunk," Cato observes.

"Yep." I nod. "And very incoherent. Haymitch, do you need something, or should we leave you alone with your-"

"No," he says quickly. "No. Don't. Are you two okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine," I say suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Curious." He shrugs.

"Can you be curious with pants on?" I suggest.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can be." He doesn't move. "So how's the kid's family?" he asks, elaborately nonchalant.

"Peeta's?"

He kind of cringes at the name. "Yep."

"They're fine, I guess."

"No, no." Haymitch puts one heavy hand on mine. "No bullshit. How are they really?"

"The two brothers are angry. The dad's depressed. The mom is... I don't know. She doesn't seem to particularly care that much," I finally say.

"Angry?" he asks.

"Yeah. But not at me."

"So at me?"

"Of course not. It would actually probably mean a lot to them if you went and... I don't know, told them what a good fighter he was or something," I suggest.

Haymitch waves his hand dismissively. "Nah. Bad idea."

Cato speaks up. "You can't hide from them forever," he says, matter-of-fact.

"You shut the hell up." Haymitch points his finger a few feet away from Cato. "You don't know what you're talking about. I'm not hiding. I'm a victor." He punches himself in the eye as he tries to point at himself. "Damn it."

"Have you eaten food recently?" I ask, concerned.

"Nope. Food's... food's food." He shrugs.

"Don't be like this," I say.

"Like what?" he says, and he just sounds exhausted. "Come back to me when you've killed thirty kids, watched them die on national television. We'll talk then about eating. Talking to their families."

"And you've never spoken to any of their families?"

"Would you have?"

"I did. Ryan... you should talk to him, at least."

"Why?"

I don't have the answer for that right away. Seeing Haymitch consumed with guilt like this is hurting me in a way I didn't know existed, because I can see myself thinking like he does, after a few years of mentoring. Finally, I say, "Cuz I can't watch you go crazy like this. It wasn't your fault."