The Hunger Games: Bad Beginnings

Chapter 15: Freedom at Last

MY eyes jolt open and I sit up straight. I'm in bed. In my new house. In the Victors' Village. I'm not on the victory tour anymore. As I catch my breath and my heart slows down, I re-evaluate my dream. The more I think about it, the more I realize that that actually happened today.

I wipe tears from under my eyes that I don't remember shedding, and I get up from bed. I can't go back to sleep without calming myself down first, and I'll calm myself down over a glass of water.

I open the door and walk out into the dark hall filled with rooms of my sleeping family. As I walk past my mother's door, my fingers graze over the wood and I think of what she must think of me. She must think she failed as a mother. She must think she failed to raise me right or failed to teach me to not follow others who are acting wrongly, like volunteering to kill people. She raised a murderer. I don't deserve to be called her daughter.

I walk farther and stare at Katniss' door. I'm a terrible role model. I've been trying to teach her to be strong and thoughtful, but I've just been leading her farther and farther from that. Katniss is just a walking reminder of the people I've hurt. Her, Olive, that District 2 girl. I've caused so much pain to so many people. How can Katniss continue to go around calling me her sister? Isn't she embarrassed?

I move from Katniss' door to Prim's, thinking the same thing. I'm not a suitable role model for these girls who can achieve so much. I don't deserve them. I don't deserve Prim, especially. Her heart of gold is something so rare these days. She couldn't ever hurt a fly. I would hate for her to change. As long as I'm around, she will change. I won't let that happen. Ever since I came back, she doesn't hug me as tight anymore. She'll always stay at least five feet away from me. She doesn't talk to me much or laugh as hard when I'm near her. My mind wanders to earlier today when Prim and I were gardening.

I was planting and Prim was helping the best she can. While I was busy, Prim wandered off, obviously bored, to a pre-planted bush with flowers growing on it. She was trying to pull a flower off and I approached her with a pair of shears.
"Need help?" I asked and showed her the shears.

I moved towards the flower to cut it off, but Prim watched the shears with wide eyes and eventually let out a scream and ran away from me. I remember seeing the fear in her eyes as she darted past me.

I shake the memory from my head and continue down the hallway when I see a picture of my dad. It's been taken out of a box and temporarily placed on a small table at the end of the hall. The longer I leave my eyes on him, the more certain I become that I can still hear his voice. He always hated the Hunger Games and the idea of having kids kill each other. I guess the remembrance of him left my mind when I volunteered and actively participated in the games. I always told him I would never volunteer. I let him down, just like I let everyone down. I don't deserve to be able to call him my father.

I don't deserve anything. I've failed as a daughter, a friend, a person. I can't stay here when I don't deserve to be here. I can't stay because pain seems to follow me everywhere I go. So I might as well just let pain follow me, and I'll carry it far away from the people I care most about.

I quietly go back down the hallway and into my room. I grab a backpack and fill it with the clothes that I've already unpacked from the boxes. My bow and quiver lays on my nightstand and I grab it and stuff it into my backpack, as well.

When I'm done packing, I leave the house as quietly as possible, making sure not to wake anyone up. Once I'm safely out, I make my way to Haymitch's house. The house is dark except for the living room light shining through the windows. I knock on the door softly at first, but when he doesn't answer, I bang louder. Haymitch opens the door this time and his figure comes into view. His white shirt is stained with what looks like bourbon and his black shorts hang loosely at his waist. His blonde hair is messy and it looks like he just woke up. The glass in his hand proves my thoughts correct when I come up with the conclusion that he's drunk. This image of him is so different from his normal, put-together self. I almost didn't recognize him. He's never drank like this before.

"Haymitch?" I squeak.
"What?" He groans, rubbing his eyes,
"Why are you. . . um, drinking?" It feels so stupid to ask because I've never imagined him drinking like this.
"What? You've never seen a man drink before?" He slurs.
"Not you. Not like this."
"Well, Lilac. . . I've given up. That's right. The ol' Haymitch is out of order!" He throws his hands up in a sloppy rejoice and some of his drink spills onto the ground.
"Haymitch, what's wrong? I-I don't understand," I furrow my eyebrows wondering what the hell happened to him.

He pauses for a minute and stares into space, thinking of how to respond.

"Olive's dead."

This shocks me. I didn't expect him to be so heartbroken over Olive's death. I assumed that since he's a mentor he's used to watching kids die all the time from 12. Does he act like this after every game?

"Yeah. She is," I say after some time, fighting my own tears.
"She was a good kid," he replies and takes another swig at his drink. "I'm not normally like this after kids die in the games. I don't know why. . . I feel like this."
"It's okay. I feel the same way," I lightly laugh to ease the tension.
"I just. . . The two of you made me believe that there is still good in this world. I feel like everyone forgot the kind of love you two shared and. . . and I admired it." He pauses again and his breath becomes shaky. "And now she's gone. Her death is a friendly reminder from the Capitol that they control everything. Who lives, who dies. Who loves, and who loses."

I came to Haymitch because I was going to tell him that I was leaving. But now, I don't feel like it's a good idea anymore. After seeing Haymitch so broken up over Olive. . . I don't want him to continue like this if I leave, too. Though, I brought this pain onto him because I couldn't keep Olive alive. So maybe if I leave, he'll stop this and he'll feel better. It's best if I get out of his life.

"Haymitch. . . I came here to tell you that. . . I, um, I'm leaving," I manage to get the words out.
His jaw slightly drops and his eyes dilate onto mine. "W-What? Where are you going? You can't leave."
"It's just better for everyone if I go. I've caused so much pain and I can't be here knowing all I've done. I can't live like this. . . in luxury. . . while the rest of the world lives out there in pain and in fear. I don't deserve this life."
"No. You can't think like that. Listen to me, Lilac. You're going to be okay. You're just feeling guilty. This place is for survivors. It's for you. You deserve this. If you leave, you prove to everyone that the Capitol is as strong as they say they are. That they can destroy even the strongest of us with the sound of a cannon," Haymitch drops his glass and grabs my shoulders, shaking me slightly as he speaks. While he talks, I begin to realize that he's talking more to himself than me. I see he's had the same thoughts as I've had. He has survivor's guilt every single day of his life, but his bitterness towards the Capitol keeps him trapped here in District 12.
"It will be okay. You're right. But this is something that I have to do. All of you will be okay once I leave. You'll be better off," I don't know if I'm right or not, but I have to be.
"Your family will be punished, Lilac. They'll be kicked out of Victors' Village. And I. . ." he pauses and I can see tears welling in his eyes. "I'll be devastated. Lilac, you're one of the best tributes I've ever worked with. Olive wouldn't want you to do this. I don't want you to."

Instead of answering, I pulled him into a hug. Something tells me he hasn't been hugged in a long time.

After he releases me, he won't make eye contact with me anymore. He rubs his forehead and responds so quietly that I almost don't hear him. "Go."
"What?"
"You said you wanted to go, so go. I don't want you to, but. . . if it's what you really want to do, then do it. What kind of mentor would I be if I didn't support you on your decisions? What kind of friend would I be?" He turned so I could see the side of his face and smiled, but I could see the pain behind it. I knew this was hurting him, but he'll be better off for it.
"Thank you, Haymitch. For everything," I say before hugging him again and then walking away from his house, leaving him with a broken glass under his feet in a puddle of bourbon.

Once I'm out of Victors' Village, I quickly make my way to the fence separating District 12 from the woods. I know there's a better place out there. A safe place. I'm going to find it and I'm going to settle there. One day I'll come back and get my family so we can all live there, together. They'll be fine without me for a little while. Hopefully they don't make the same mistakes I did.

I climbed through the fence and took one last look at the place I called home for so long. Before turning my back on it, I have one final thought.
This place is for winners. . . and I'm not a winner.