Then finally, August arrives with our drinks, and I don't have time to wonder if it means anything. August balances a tray in his right hand and casually places the wine in the center of the table. "Unfortunately, it took a while, all hell is breaking loose downstairs," he jokes, and I put on my usual broad smile. He puts the liqueur in front of me and the water and wine in front of Haymitch. "Have you already decided what you want to eat?"

Instead of worrying about the food, we talked about completely different things. If only we had stayed with the harmless. I shake my head in embarrassment and reach for one of the menus. "We must have somehow forgotten that," I remark lightly and give August an apologetic look. "This season keeps us busy!"

August laughs happily and puts his hands in the air. "No hurry, my dear! Our opening hours are not limited to half an hour." He winks conspiratorially. "I'll just be right back."

After I thank him warmly, August disappears downstairs. Then I take a first look at the menu. It is richly equipped. However, it consists mostly of everyday dishes, unlike the dishes served in the Training Center. I absentmindedly reach for my liqueur as I study the pages. It actually tastes the same as it did back then.

"Look at me, princess." Haymitch's words make me wince, but I do as he says. His voice is calm and muffled. For a moment he looks at me without any emotion on his face. Then his features relax a little. "I think we should wrap your mother up properly," he says, and it takes me a second to realize he's talking about my earlier story. He forces a grin on himself and yet his following words sound more honest and serious than expected. "There are moments when they let you down, but you are stronger than you feel right now. You don't have to comply for them to like you. Just be who you are."

Eyes bright, chins up and smiles on, never let them see the destruction.

This man sitting in front of me never fails to amaze me. Sometimes in a negative way, sometimes in a positive way. It's so paradoxical that I can't help but smile. And while we can never be more than friends because of so many things working against us, I'm beyond glad that over the past two years our relationship has improved to the point where I can call Haymitch a friend without a shadow of a doubt.

"Now to the really important stuff," Haymitch continues without stopping, waving the menu in the air. "Any plans for lunch?"

Haymitch couldn't resist drinking for long either. I can only see his gray eyes watching me over the glass as he sips the wine. He's changed so much. Not just since the last Games, but since we first met. I hardly recognize the man in front of me. And yet they seem to resemble each other. When I see his trembling hand, I regret for a moment that I ordered a liqueur. But then I remember my own feelings and the regrets are gone. Sometimes people are just this: Reflecting sunbeams in glass. Beautiful. Tangible. Then gone. And you can't get the wonderful moment back, no, you can only remember it beautifully.

"I don't know," I sigh, shifting in my chair and taking another sip. "To be honest, I'm not hungry at all."

As hard as I try to avoid Haymitch's gaze, his eyes eventually find mine. They are soaked in resentment. "You have to eat something," he replies confused and provocatively rocks his glass in front of his face.

"What are you taking?" My annoyed reaction is not long in coming.

"I," Haymitch begins, lengthening his speech, "just spontaneously decided on the rump steak." His lips spread into a grin.

August returns, this time with a notepad in hand. He pulls out his pen and nods at me. Since I can't think of anything else, I spontaneously order the first salad I find on the menu. I get a grim look from Haymitch for that. He orders his stupid rump steak and seems happy with himself. August smiles at me one last time and disappears as quickly as he came. There must be a lot going on downstairs, otherwise he'd certainly have stayed for a chat.

The liqueur is slowly becoming noticeable. The dizzy feeling is alien to me because I don't drink alcohol often. Two of my fingers gently touch my right temple and for once I allow myself to lean back in the chair. I wouldn't have allowed myself to do that in front of my mother.

"You can't tolerate alcohol," Haymitch remarks. He's the exact opposite of me in this regard. I shrug and take another sip provocatively. A numb feeling creeps through my veins. As a student, I could tolerate a lot more ...

I hear Haymitch laugh. "Sweetheart, it's not that simple. When Effie Trinket closes her eyes in broad daylight, something has gone terribly wrong."

"That's life," I say, trying to force a smile on myself.

Instead of replying, he pushes the glass of water across the table to me. "This outcome of things was clear from the start, I just wanted to be prepared," he says, laughing to himself.

I drop my glass a bit too hard on the table and gratefully reach for the water. "I'm sure you know all about it," I say before I can stop the words. Damn liquor!

He stares at me in perplexity for a moment, but then shrugs. "Everyone deals with it differently."

Although I have no idea what he's addressing, I nod and give him an apologetic smile. My facial muscles feel dull. "You're so wise." To keep from saying more inappropriate things, I press my lips together quickly.

Haymitch's mouth twitches. I guess I'll never get used to the fact that he really smiles at me. The pain that used to be associated with his smile is gone. My thoughts are foggy, but I can still recall the memories of the old Hunger Games without any problems. Haymitch with his bottles. Haymitch getting drunk to escape the images on the screens. Making a fool of himself in front of sponsors and dragging my name through the mire. Haymitch pulling me into a comforting hug as our first tribute is slaughtered.

This man sitting in front of me seems to have nothing in common with this man in my memory. Looks aside. But this Haymitch seems infinitely composed, serious and marked by events long past, as if they had happened only recently. The shadows of things long gone still haunt his memory. Gone but never forgotten.

"You okay?" Haymitch asks, noticing my reaction. My eyes are on him, but my mind is elsewhere. For a moment he looks almost pained, like he's thinking the same thing, but that's impossible. It was different for him. Nothing serious.

Shaking my head, I free myself from my thoughts. "Can we please stop talking about things like this?" I force the words out, my voice sounding more intimidated than I'd like.

Haymitch nods and remains silent. It's a small response to my request, but it's enough to release the fear in my body. The little alcohol doesn't help either. I empty my glass before Haymitch can reach out for it. His look speaks volumes. He's worried. One who drowns his fears in alcohol is not good. Two is a disaster.

The laugh that comes out of my throat sounds completely out of place. At the same moment the tears return, but they will not fall. "By the look of it, there's probably nothing left to be happy about today."

I want to stretch my hand out to him, but my limbs are like a lead weight. With a gasp, I rise and excuse myself. The walk to the ladies' room doesn't take long, but my legs don't play along, and it seems far too strenuous. Everything spins and it's hard to walk in a straight line. Luckily, they have their own toilet on this floor, otherwise I would have had to walk up the stairs on the way back. The door slams shut behind me. The light shines subdued and makes the vestibule to the toilets appear smaller than it already is.

I slowly force myself to the sink and look at myself in the mirror. My wig is still in place and so is my make-up. And yet my skin feels kind of brittle. I lean forward, startled. No wrinkles to be seen. I don't understand my body. My mouth twists into a dissatisfied line. I see it in the mirror at the same moment. Then the scales fall from my eyes.

It's not my skin that's looking dull, it's my facial features. The acquired facial expressions that I have trained myself over the years. It seems my body can't decide whether to stay in line or fight back against the unnatural. The crack in my facade is much deeper than I thought. The conversations with my mother and now with Haymitch drained me. I wish I could hose my face down with cold water to keep my skin looking fresh, but I'm too afraid of ruining my makeup.

Unmotivated and with my head down, I trudge back to our table. When Haymitch sees me, he gives me a small grin and his hand tells me to go faster. The meal has already been served. With a sigh, I sink into the chair across from him. I'm surprised to find that he was waiting for me, even though his food could have gotten cold. We start eating in silence. Although I chose the salad at random, it tastes good.

I glance at Haymitch under my long lashes. His eyes fixate intently on the flesh, which is why he doesn't notice my gaze. He eats with a knife and fork. He eats properly with a knife and fork, as a man should, and I wonder for a moment who taught him that. In the past, he sometimes ate like this when we were invited for an important occasion.

I drink as much water as possible, but the heady feeling doesn't go away even when the glass is empty. However, the hunger flares up in me with every bite. Still, I don't regret ordering just a salad. In fact, I like the food at the Training Center.

My eyes wander across the burning street. There are hardly any people on the road. Just a group of youngsters huddled around the fountain and splashing each other. We used to do that too. We didn't care if our parents complained about our behavior afterwards. We were young and free and carefree. However, not for long. And today most of us act like our own parents did back then.

My plate is long empty when I lift my head to feel his eyes on me. How long has Haymitch been watching me? "You look much healthier with something in your stomach," he remarks, visibly satisfied, and smiles.

I bow my head in embarrassment and give him a half-smile. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes to avoid his gaze. He makes me wriggle. I do not know why. I feel foggier than before.

Somehow, I suddenly remember our conversation on the train. "Are you going to tell me what plan you've come up with?" Haymitch sighs and leans back. "I'm not blind, Haymitch. Do you think I wouldn't notice if you suddenly put on some muscle and show up sober to the reaping?"

Unexpectedly, his eyes bore into mine. He's eyeing me with such intensity that I almost flinch, startled. "Day after day nothing seems to change and suddenly everything's different," he then says. "They changed each other."

Of course, I know immediately who he means, but I still don't quite understand the meaning. "What do you mean?"

"After Snow announced the terms of the Quarter Quell, Peeta was right there at my door. He was different. Not calm or patient, but completely beside himself and nervous. He made me promise to do whatever it takes to save Katniss from the arena. No matter what the cost."

I stare at him in horror. Peeta loves Katniss. Unconditionally. He'd give his life just so she could survive. "So you agreed?" My voice sounds uncertain. It doesn't feel right

He neither shakes his head nor nods in agreement. "Katniss came at dawn. She wanted exactly the same thing as he did. I already supported her in the last arena, so now I should do him a favor."

You see it on TV, you read about it in books, you hear it in songs, and yet I'm sure I've never felt that way about anyone. I doubt most in the Capitol have ever felt anything like that. Sometimes I wonder if we're just not capable of it because of who we are. But what Katniss and Peeta have is love. Katniss is probably not even aware of how she feels for Peeta and yet a blind person would recognize that it's love. The two tear my heart apart. They didn't deserve any of this. Nobody deserves this suffering.

Haymitch's gaze hits me like a slap. I want to be angry with him, furiously angry, but I don't have the strength. My hand finds its way to my mouth and covers it, my eyes widening in shock as I realize he's probably fooled one of them. "What have you done, Haymitch?"

Haymitch immediately hears the accusatory tone out of my voice because his eyes automatically darken. "What I had to do," he replies.

I shake my head hurt. I'm not hurt, they are. "They trusted you, Haymitch!" I snap at him angrily.

"I had no choice," he hisses, shooting me a look that tells me to drop the subject, but I don't get off that easily this time.

"You did a great job, Haymitch Abernathy. Have you already thought about who you might actually support?" My tone is harmless, almost childlike, but there's an edge to it that underscores my anger.

Haymitch's hand, which has been on the table, forms a fist and if I thought he couldn't scowl any more, I was wrong. Haymitch twists his mouth and shows me his teeth. I only get to see them when I've really pissed him off. And I haven't done that lately. We're alone up here. There's no one to hold back from.

"What damned business is it of yours?" Haymitch snaps at me, his voice getting louder with every word. "I am their mentor and I know what's right for them! It's none of your business how I make sure to get their asses out of the arena!"

It's too late for me to backtrack because the bomb has already exploded. "I do have a say, though," I reply immediately. "You may be the mentor, Haymitch. But that doesn't mean you're a good mentor."

"Oh, and because I'm such a bad mentor, I brought two tributes home last year, right?" He's leaning over the table, his eyes sparkling with resentment.

"That might be true, my dear, but what were you doing all those years before that?" I ask him, slowly getting angry myself. "While you've been drinking yourself into oblivion year after year, other mentors can proudly claim to have produced a dozen victors."

The empty wine glass shatters before I can blink. I gasp, startled, and my body reflexively backs away from the shards of glass digging into my arm. A surprised squeak escapes me. The first thing I see is the blood spurting from Haymitch's hand. He doesn't seem to care at all. He seems even less concerned that as he grabs my arm, he pushes the splinters deeper into my skin. I'm not sure if the blood on my arm is his or mine. Probably his.

Haymitch opens his mouth to say something but shuts it again. His lips tremble. That's the sore point. Back then. "Stop blaming me, Effie," Haymitch hisses quietly, but without looking at me. He turned his head towards the window. "What happened happened, and I can't undo it any more than you can." It's the first time, in all these years, that either of us has brought it up.

I search his eyes, but he refuses to look at me. As if I could read his feelings in his eyes. And I probably could, right now. My anger suddenly vanishes. Sadness creeps back into my body and I bow my head. I know he's waiting for an answer. For a counterargument. But all I do is glance at my watch. I don't even freeze in my motion like I would have otherwise.

"We're way too late," I say, and it doesn't take much effort to keep my voice untouchable. He promised me we'd be back on time, but I can't even be mad at him.

The pressure on my other arm instantly eases and I sigh with relief. Haymitch's body freezes for a moment and his eyes widen. His head snaps in my direction and he looks me over, but this time I'm the one who averts my head.

"Go wash your hand in the bathroom," I command in an emotionless tone.

Haymitch does what he's told, even if he purses his lips in protest. Sitting alone at the large table for a moment, I take a closer look at my arm. It's actually not my blood. I carefully run my fingers over the bloody skin and feel the small grains of glass in it. The blood wipes away, revealing my nearly unbroken skin.

Haymitch takes his time. I choose not to hold it against him, even though we'll be late. After I happily said goodbye to August and said hello to Cecily, I leave the restaurant and wait in front of the door.

The sun is no longer beating down on us and is slowly moving west. I walk to the fountain at the end of the side street. The youngsters from earlier have disappeared. Only a few people walk the streets. The water ripples and glistens in the sunlight. Suddenly I realize how long I haven't been here. The last few years have completely absorbed me, robbed me of every free minute. I enjoyed it at first, but over the years it became an increasing burden.

Lost in thought, I stretch out my hand for the jet of water. Lost in old memories. In that moment they feel so real. It hurts to remember. Everything used to be better and so much worse at the same time. I wish I could turn back time. Ghosts in my head that won't go away. Last time I was here with Aurelia. I can feel the pang in my chest. Life goes on. You can't live in the past forever, you have to come to terms with it.

"Wanna go swimming?" Haymitch suddenly asks behind me. He sounds uncertain.

I turn around, startled, angry that he startled me out of my thoughts. They hurt, but I still can't tear myself away from them for fear of getting hurt even more. He must have read something on my face because his gaze softens instantly. "I thought we had to hurry?"

I shake my head violently and feel the emphasis of the alcohol. Maybe he is making me feel so sentimental. I stumble towards him uncertainly. "Aren't you hot?" I ask before I can bite my tongue. The liquor seems to be very keen on lifting my spirits in Haymitch's presence.

Haymitch laughs and looks down at his black suit. "A little," he admits.

Without thinking, I grab his arm and start walking. I see him smile out of the corner of my eyes.

-

Hi and welcome back,

I hope you liked this chapter. Please leave me a comment or a like so I know! :) From now on, there will be an update every other week. just so you know!

See you soon

Skyllen :)