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A tall, dark-bricked house stands at the end of the street and a boy cowers before it. This is his new home -- a Victor’s home -- but it doesn’t look like one and it certainly doesn’t feel like one. It’s a dreary old thing; ash from the coal mines has smothered the once white stone, turning the home into a gloomy sight. The boy’s never had a real home, one that was inviting or warm, and he had hoped that this new house could be the start of something new. He had wanted to share it with her, after all. Living with her would’ve made it a home.
“Peeta!” A voice calls from behind him, startling the young boy. The last time someone had screamed his name it had been under very different circumstances.
Peeta turns slightly, watching Haymitch stumble towards him. Peeta can smell the alcohol on his mentor’s lips before Haymitch even approaches him and Peeta instinctively steps away. Harsh smells like that of alcohol drag him back to the memories of his time in the Games. He can almost taste the mildew of that cave when Haymitch approaches him.
“Peeta?” Haymitch calls again, this time his voice soft.
Peeta blinks, eyes stinging and throat raw. “Hm?”
“Do you need some help up the stairs?” Haymitch asks, nodding at the boy’s prosthetic leg. Haymitch was there when Peeta had tried the leg on for the first time and had watched Peeta struggle to walk for the first few days. Now, even in his inebriated state, he offers his help.
“Oh,” Peeta sighs, shaking his head. “No, uh, sorry. Was just taking in the view.”
Haymitch nods, swaying slightly. The sun was just setting but Haymitch had been drunk since Katniss and Peeta had departed the train. Haymitch had said it was in celebration of their victory but both Katniss and Peeta knew different. Haymitch didn’t need a reason to drink. Being a Victor of the Games was reason enough.
“Well, I’m heading in for the night.” Haymitch sways again, this time turning slightly and pointing to another darkened house on the other side of the street. “I live there, so come by if you need anything.”
Peeta nodded, raising his hand and patting Haymitch on the shoulder. He wanted to say so many things to his mentor but he was too filled with sorrow to ever properly articulate them. He was afraid that if he started talking, he might cry. And if Peeta started crying, he might never stop.
Haymitch pulls away from the boy for a moment, his glazed eyes inspecting Peeta’s face so diligently. Before Peeta can ask, or plead with him to stop, Haymitch speaks again. “Or if you need to talk -”
“Haymitch…” Peeta warns, his throat burns again but he swallows his tears. Haymitch is being uncharacteristically friendly and Peeta knows why. He finally knows the truth and it’s too much for him to bear. “I’m fine.”
Haymitch smirks, chuckling darkly. “No, kid, you’re not. And you’re not gonna be fine for a long time. What happened in there, in that cave, was my idea. If you wanna be angry at anyone, be angry at me.”
Peeta’s grip tightened on the strap of his luggage. He had only one bag to bring into the house and it belonged to him. No one else was living there. “I’m not angry.” Peeta confesses honestly, his voice hollow. “You and Katniss protected me. I’m grateful for your help.”
Haymitch doesn’t believe him and Peeta doesn’t blame him. If it were anyone else, they would’ve been angry. Rightfully so. But not Peeta. He didn’t have space in his heart for anger. A couple months ago, he thought he was going to die. He was sixteen and scared because his death would’ve been meaningless. And now he was a Victor, spending his first night in a home he fought for and owned. Whatever Katniss and Haymitch had done to get him there didn’t matter to him anymore.
“Ok, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, kid. Get some rest. You deserve it.” Haymitch says somberly, patting Peeta on the back before turning around and heading to his home.
Peeta turns and watches Haymitch cross Victors’ Village to get to his home, passing a small garden that hadn’t been tended to in years. The entirety of this village hadn’t been cared for. There hadn’t been enough Victors in District 12 to care for it. But now Peeta was determined to make this village some kind of home for himself.
His eyes travel from Haymitch’s home to the rest of the houses on the opposite side of the street. They are all dark and hollow, including Haymitch’s house, except for the house directly across from Peeta. This house has the lights on and some type of commotion was going on inside it. It was the only house that seemed to have life in it, and he had been avoiding it since he entered the village. It was the home he was supposed to share with Katniss. Except now she was sharing it with her real family.
Just as his eyes land on her home, the door opens and Katniss appears. She is wrapping a large grey sweater around her body and her eyes are searching the village, as if she’s hunting like she had done so many times before. They’re quite a bit away from each other but somehow her eyes catch his instantly and he forces himself to turn back around. That had been the first time they’d seen each other since they had gotten off the train in District 12 and even though it had only been a few hours, his heart still burned from her words.
Peeta forces his prosthetic leg forward and slowly but surely, he makes his way up the steps of his new home. His pace is quick because of the hot flash of embarrassment tainting his cheeks. He knows he shouldn’t feel so meek around her, especially after all they’ve been through, but he can’t help it. Peeta Mellark is a sixteen year old boy after all.
Just as he pushes the front door open, he chances another glance behind him. He wants to know if she’s still watching him. Katniss is indeed still watching him but this time she has company. Katniss and Primrose sit on the steps of their new home, both cuddled beside each other. As Primrose faces Katniss, clearly talking to her, Katniss’ eyes glance at Peeta again with the same stoic expression on her face that he’s grown very fond of. Peeta feels physically ill watching them huddled together and he has to look away. Haymitch may mistake his actions for anger but Peeta knows the truth; all he feels is jealousy. And that slow burning of envy only makes him hate himself.
When Peeta finally closes the door behind him, he realizes it’s pitch black. He’s forgotten to turn the lights on but he makes no move to do so. For a moment, it feels as though he’s back in that cave and, in a deeply twisted way, it comforts him. The darkness envelops him like a blanket and the old house smells dingy, mirroring the cave in a similar way. Peeta’s back slides down against the door, sitting upright on the floor and indulging in the only warmth he’s felt in a long time. And then, seconds later, when that warmth disappears and all that’s left is something hollow, Peeta begins to cry. It’s the type of cry that mirrors a wounded animal and he indulges in his sorrow for a very long time. As he curls up against the hardwood floor, he lets his body give out and for the first time, Peeta lets himself cry.
He doesn’t move from his spot on the floor for a very long time. In fact, he falls asleep against the door when his tears tire him out. Hours later, when Peeta wakes, the house is darker than it was before and the sun has set completely. He peaks out of the window closest to the front door and stares in wonder at the moon casting its small light against the village. During the Games, there were many times where he would look up at the stars and watch them twinkle, wondering whether they were real or engineered by Gamemakers. Tonight, he’s sure no Gamemaker in all of Panem could create such a beautiful entity.
Peeta roams his new home, slowly turning on the lights as he enters every room. As he makes his way deeper into the house, he finds himself continuously shocked with how huge it is for one person. He wonders if that was the Capitol’s point; design such a big house that no Victor would ever be able to fill to remind them of how hollow they are. He’s suddenly stricken with grief all over again but this time it’s directed towards Haymitch. Peeta wonders how his mentor could have lived alone like this for so long and he wonders how he’ll do it himself. A slow realization creeps into Peeta’s mind; Haymitch is Peeta’s future. Haymitch has no one to share his home with and neither does Peeta. He had dreamed of sharing this home with Katniss after that first night in the cave where she had kissed him, but then his dreams had been shattered with her confession on the train. That train ride back to District 12 seemed to last forever.
Finally, Peeta enters the kitchen and turns on the last light in the house. His eyes lock with a basket on the dining table, decorated with wrapping paper and string. Someone has gifted him a housewarming present and it sickens him. Peeta rushes to the basket, blind with rage, tearing the beautiful wrapping paper as he claws his way to the centre. Inside is an assortment of pastries, breads, and muffins with a letter attached. His curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the envelope first.
Congratulations on your win, my dear boy. Your parents must be so proud. - President Snow
Peeta’s eyes sting again but he doesn’t let himself wallow. Instead, he reaches down into the basket and grabs onto the loaf of bread that had been gifted along with the pastries. He rips apart the loaf, feeling the texture of the crust and smelling the yeast. He knows this recipe from anywhere. His mother has made this bread.
His hands instantly drop both halves of the loaf to the floor, his face sullen. The last time he had held his mother’s bread was the morning of the Reaping. She hadn’t even said goodbye to him that day before his name was called. Only after his name was called, when he was allowed to see her one last time, did she speak to him. District 12 may finally have a winner. He wondered what she thought of District 12’s Victors now.
Peeta doesn’t know why but he needs to go back there. He hasn’t seen his mom in months and the last time they had any communication was on that bloody train. He had called her moments after Katniss’s confession, asking her if she would want to live with him in the Victors Village and her answer had crushed him. Now, for some reason, he needed her to tell it to his face.
Peeta’s eyes look to the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. 9:45pm. If he knew his mother, she’d be going out for her nighttime smoke around this time. Before Peeta could let himself think it through, his feet charged forward and out the door. He needed to make it to his family’s bakery right now before he lost his courage.
~
Everything in Peeta’s life seemed to change when his name was chosen during the Reaping. His outlook on life had certainly changed, as well as his strength. Suddenly, Peeta was doing and saying things he never would have before. That confession to Katniss in the cave had been pure courage. He had thought he was going to die anyways and he didn’t want to leave this earth before telling her how he truly felt. When she had kissed him, he had felt as though all of this might have been worth it. And then, when she had confessed on the train that it had all been a sham, Peeta felt his life change again.
Peeta’s life had been changing at all times since the Reaping, but what hadn’t changed a bit was District 12.
The Hob, arguably the poorest place in District 12, stood tall as Peeta passed it. All of its occupants were either sleeping or had gone home but even with its dingy exterior and putrid smell of coal, Peeta still smiled as he passed it on his way to the bakery. As a child, he remembers days where he and his family only had electricity for a few hours, so he would go to the Hob and smuggle candles with his brothers to use for light.
Everything in District 12 seemed to be coated in a layer of coal dust but it comforted Peeta for this place had been his home all his life. He had never been ashamed of his home before living at the Capitol since this place was all he ever knew. Now, as he trudged along the deserted muddy roads of District 12, he saw this place in a new light. Yes, nothing had changed but Peeta had. Only a few nights ago he was sleeping in the coziest bed in all of Panem, being cared for and treated as a Victor. Peeta had almost forgotten how different life was in District 12.
Peeta rounds a bend, weaving through two shacks on the side of the road as quietly as possible to avoid stirring its occupants. Finally, he sees his family’s bakery in the distance for the first time in months. It looks different. Its appearance hasn’t changed but Peeta’s own eyes have and now this bakery he once loved and worked at seemed so small and dilapidated. The white paint coating the home was chipping and fading, although Peeta remembers it brighter than ever. He’s starting to realize that District 12 was never as great as he remembered. Now, all he saw was a small shack at the end of the street that was not as magnificent as he had once thought. Maybe it was living in the Capitol that has made him so cynical or the barbaric acts he watched taking place in the Games but his mind had been forever tainted.
Peeta approaches the small white home, eyes squinting to try and catch sight of any of his family members. When he finally reaches the bakery, he doesn’t knock on the door or crouch down beside the pig pen like he had thought of doing multiple times before. Instead, he leans against the wooden bannister of the home, feeling its abrasive texture under his skin. His home had been one of the only ones with steps and a railing. Peeta remembers a time in his life where that was something to be envied.
“Peeta?”
Peeta steps back and away from his place against the bannister, jumping slightly at the voice calling his name. The Games have made him much more restless even when it was as innocent as someone calling his name. He’ll never forget Cato screaming Peeta’s name and every time someone calls for Peeta, those same screams ring in his mind. He has to remind himself over and over again that he’s no longer in the Games. That’s he’s won. That the nightmare is over.
Peeta turns his body slightly, trying to discern the owner of the voice. Then, suddenly, his eyes land on his mother and Peeta panics again. He didn’t actually believe he'd get a chance to see her. It was late and, by the time he made it to town, past her bedtime. Yet here she was, standing six feet away with the look of disgust on her face.
She looked the same. Same big brown eyes with no light. Same perpetual frown deepening with age. Her stringy brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun and her white uniform and apron was dirtied with a hard day's work. Peeta’s eyes scanned the rest of her, focusing on the lit cigarettes between her index and middle finger. She had stayed out longer for a smoke tonight. Peeta knew what that meant; something was bothering her. He remembers moments from his childhood where she would stay out for a smoke hours after everyone had gone to bed but Peeta wouldn’t go to bed until she came in from the cold. He was always making sure she was okay before he went to bed.
“Ma.” Peeta finally speaks and it’s like a weight has been lifted. Ever since he left District 12 after the Reaping, there’s been this weight pressing against his heart and now that he's seen his mother, he feels alleviated.
That is, until she speaks. “What’re you doing here?”
Peeta gulps, his hands shaking. He’s killed and suffered through the Games yet he still shakes at the sight of his mother. “I thought I’d stop by.”
“Why?” She seems agitated and Peeta knows he’s caught her at a bad time but he remains undeterred.
“Uh,” Peeta clears his throat. “Well, after our talk on the phone, I thought maybe we should talk in person.”
When he brings up the phone call, her face falls slightly and he imagines his own face does the same. That phone call had been so tense, so uncomfortable, that he never wanted to bring it up ever again but he knew he’d need to if he wanted to convince his mother. After Katniss’s confession, Peeta had called and offered to share his earnings and his home with his family. He had thought that if he couldn’t have a home with Katniss, maybe he could make a home with his family. It was a gesture that was supposed to bring them closer together but his mother had rebuffed his generosity. Peeta had gotten off the phone with his mother and went into his barracks to cry but no tears had come then. Only when he had entered his new home in the village had the tears flown so easily.
“What else is there for us to talk about?” She inquires, eyes narrowing.
“Ma, please.” Peeta pleads, taking a step closer. “So much has happened -”
“I’d say so.” Peeta’s mom scoffs. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
Peeta stops in his tracks, taking a step back as if she’s wounded him physically. “What?”
“I never said you should come.” Peeta’s mother coldly replied, flicking her cigarette on the ground and stomping it out.
Peeta watches her walk forward and past him without so much as giving him a second glance. Only when she begins to climb the stairs of the bakery, does he speak. “Ma, talk to me please.”
Peeta’s mom stops at the top of the stairs once she hears Peeta’s begging. She turns on her heels and finally looks him in the eye. “I already told you; I don’t want no charity.”
When she says that last word aloud, there’s a sharp bitterness to her voice that is intended to wound Peeta. He’s heard this tone before and it scares him just the same. “So that’s what this is about? You think this is charity?” Peeta pauses, scoffing slightly. “You’re my family. I want to help you.”
Peeta’s mother scoffs. “I don’t need any help.”
Suddenly, Peeta understands why she’s been so indignant about refusing his help. It’s the way she speaks and the tilt of her head as she does that tells him everything he needs to know. “You mean you don’t need my help. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”
There’s a moment of silence between the two of them and Peeta knows he’s struck a nerve. She’s too proud to let her son - the one she’s not proud of and doesn’t love - help her. Peeta swallows harshly and tries to alleviate the tightness in his throat. He’s always known that his mother was not proud of him. She’d always call him soft and weak-hearted, badgering him about growing up and finally contributing to the family. The worst part was that he had believed her his entire life. When his name was called at the Reaping, he was sure he’d be the first to die. His mother had told him so. But he had survived and had challenged every negative idea his mother had planted in his mind. Somehow, winning the Games had proven to his mother that he was indeed strong. And if Peeta Mellark was strong, his mother could no longer take advantage of him.
“You should go.” Peeta’s mother demanded, her voice low.
Peeta nodded, tears welling in his eyes though this time he forced these tears down. He was mourning the loss of a mother he never had to begin with. “Goodbye, Ma.”
For the entirety of the walk back to Victor's Village, Peeta’s eyes were trained to the floor. Soon, his vision clouded with tears and Peeta’s feet were forced to stop. He had to collect himself, scared his tears may blind him permanently. He found himself standing in the middle of the road for a moment, debating what to do. He knew he’d have to sleep eventually but sleeping in that house alone seemed like a worse fate than sleeping outside in the cold. He had intended that home to be filled with love and the idea of opening that wooden door and seeing darkness was scarier than anything he witnessed in the Games. What made his feelings worse was that there was a twinge of jealousy embedded in them. He was jealous of Katniss with her home filled with Prim, her mom, and Gale. Filled with love. She would go to bed loved tonight and wake up with comfort. That’s what he was truly upset about.
Peeta looked up towards the sky, eyes trained on the moon. His chest stirred and in a moment of weakness, he let out a sob. A realization had hit him; he would be alone. For the first time, he would truly be alone. And with everything that had transpired in the Games and between him and Katniss, Peeta wasn’t sure if he should be alone. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he was left alone. So, he went to the only person left.
Peeta knocked on Haymitch’s door, hands shaking as they connected with the wood. This was Peeta’s last chance. For tonight, he needed someone to be there for him. Haymitch had been a figure to Peeta during the Games. He hadn’t exactly been a role model but Haymitch had survived and although he wasn’t thriving, he was still alive and that was more than Peeta could say. He felt like a dead man walking.
Peeta heard rustling on the other side of the door before it swung open, revealing a drunk Haymitch. He was leaning against the frame of the door, a bottle in his loose grasp. He was dressed sloppily and clearly drunk but he was still a comfort to Peeta, who had no one left.
“What’re you doing here?” Haymitch slurred, a small smirk on his lips. His words were the same Peeta’s mother used but there was no venom in his tone. Although he was drunk, Haymitch was happy to see Peeta.
“Wanted to see if you needed a drinking buddy.” Peeta remarked, pulling on the bottle in Haymitch’s hand. They fought for the bottle for a few moments but Haymitch gave up easily and handed it to Peeta.
“Can’t believe I’m drinking with a fuckin’ kid.” Haymitch remarked, moving out of the way so Peeta could enter his home.
Peeta took a deep breath, taking a small swing of the liquor in the bottle before entering Haymitch’s home. “I’m sure you’ve done worse.”
Haymitch chuckles, closing the door behind him. “That I have, kid.”
Haymitch’s home was in a state of disarray. Clothes were thrown over furniture, empty bottles of liquor had been pushed into the corner of the room, and there was a nauseating smell of sweat that seemed to be built into the structure of the home. Peeta looked around once more before walking towards the kitchen and sitting down. He might as well get comfortable. This was his future.
“Your girlfriend was here not long ago.” Haymitch smirked, sitting opposite of Peeta. His kitchen was large but they seemed to be huddled together for warmth.
Peeta’s chest tightened at the mere mention of Katniss. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
Haymitch nodded, the same goofy smirk on his lips. Haymitch could be a mean drunk but if you approached him at the right time, he was a jolly fellow. “Ah, yes, sorry. Your fake girlfriend was here moments ago.”
Peeta took another sip of Haymitch’s liquor before passing it to Haymitch, who accepted it gladly. “So?”
“She was asking about you.” Haymitch continued, setting the bottle of liquor on the table in front of them.
Peeta’s eyes widened slightly, the nervousness in his veins only increasing because of the alcohol. He leaned forward in his seat. “What?”
Haymitch nodded, chuckling darkly. “Yeah. She wanted to know how you were. Seemed real concerned.”
Peeta leaned back in his seat, his heart dropping. “What did you say?”
Haymitch shrugged. “Can’t remember exactly. Said something about you being alright and that she didn’t deserve you.”
Peeta smirked, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t.”
“Oh, I did. She actually agreed.” Haymitch nodded, chugging back some more liquor.
“Why would you tell her that?” Peeta asked, his tone disapproving. Things between him and Katniss were already complicated without Haymitch’s interference.
“Because it’s the truth, kid. You’re a gem, Peeta. A real gem.”
Peeta rolled his eyes, grabbing the liquor from Haymitch. “You must be the only person in Panem that thinks so.”
Haymitch frowns, watching Peeta take another sip of liquor before grabbing the bottle and slamming it against the table. Peeta jumps slightly, watching some of the liquid pour out of the bottle once the base comes into contact with the wood of the table. Mortified, Peeta looks up at Haymitch who is now standing over Peeta with a grim look on his face.
“Don’t.” Haymitch warns, walking past Peeta and dumping the rest of the liquid in the sink.
Peeta stays in his seat but follows Haymitch with his eyes. “What?”
Haymitch leans against the sink, arms crossed as he watches Peeta intently. “I know what you’re doing and I want none of it.”
Peeta finally stands, his eyes stinging again. “Haymitch, you’re drunk.”
“Yeah,” Haymitch agrees. “That may be so. But I’m sober enough to know when someone is trying to drown their sorrows.”
Peeta takes a step back, his face solemn. “Give me a break. I’ve been through hell.”
Haymitch chuckles. “Don’t pull that card with me, kid. Tell me the truth. Why did you come here?”
Peeta shrugs, his cheek red with anger. “I dunno.”
Haymitch scoffs, rolling his eyes. In a matter of seconds, he’s sobered up. “Yeah, you do. You thought you could drown your sorrows with the drunk down the street. Well, I’m not having any of it.”
“Why?” Peeta angrily questions. Haymitch is purposefully trying to push Peeta’s buttons but he doesn’t care.
“Because you’re better than me.” Haymitch confesses, stepping forward and reaching out for the kid in front of him.
Peeta pulls away. “How do you know?”
“Peeta -” Haymitch frowns, trying again to reach out for Peeta but the boy pulls away again.
“Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m just like you!” Peeta argues, bringing his hands up and covering his face. He feels tears streaming down his cheeks but he quickly wipes them away before looking back at Haymitch.
“You’re nothing like me.” Haymitch calmly says. “You’re a good kid. You and Katniss.”
“No. Stop.” Peeta pleads, turning away from Haymitch as if he’s trying to block out the words.
Haymitch grabs him by the shoulders, turning him around and forcing him to look Haymitch in the eyes. “Listen to me, Peeta. You’re a good kid.”
Peeta continues to shake his head, his eyes glazed over as if he’s in a trance. “No. Stop it, Haymitch.”
“Peeta!” Haymitch yells, shaking Peeta slightly. “You’re a good person. People do love you.”
“Then where are they?!” Peeta shouted, ripping out of Haymitch’s grasp and stumbling backward. “If they love me, where are they?”
Haymitch and Peeta stand in silence for a moment, both unable to answer the question Peeta has posed. On one end, Haymitch is distraught at the fact that this kind, resourceful and downright amazing kid would ever think that he’s unloveable. On the other hand, every person Peeta has loved has either died or abandoned him. There is no one but Haymitch left.
“I don’t know, kid.” Haymitch finally says, taking a few small steps toward Peeta so as not to scare him. “But I’m here, and I promise you won’t have to spend your first night alone. Okay?”
Peeta looked up at his mentor and his only friend, eyes stinging with tears. He was shaking slightly but once Haymitch rested a hand on his shoulders, a calmness washed over Peeta. He won’t have to spend his first night in Victor’s Village alone. He won’t be alone. That’s all he ever wanted. Finally, when Haymitch’s words sink in, Peeta nods.
He had won the Games but lost everything else.
I guess what they say is true; no one ever wins the games, not even the victors.