I have memorized his smell. I don't know when I did it, but I have. I can pick it anywhere; on the air, notice the way it soaks into my clothing, smell it on him, his house and his own clothes.

And it's a comfort to me, it's familiar, it's one of the only scents that keeps me grounded and even makes me feel safe.

He smells of sweat, of man, of alcohol and of the festering hatred for himself, the Capitol and more likely than not, me.

Why he allows me here, night after night, I'll never know. I've never asked and I've never wanted to. Maybe we're just better this way, I won't demand he sober up and become a role model like everyone else seems to, he can drink all he wants.

He's got reason to, the things he's seen and done, been forced to watch and been forced to do, I can understand why he drinks and I'd never stop him unless it became a threat to his life.

Of course, I have stopped him once, and he thanked me the next morning as I nursed him through his horrendous hangover. He won't demand love or niceties or manners from me, not like Peeta does, or my 'friends' do. He demands nothing from me but what I already give; just my presence, tolerating and tolerable.

I don't even bother knocking anymore, he knows I'm the only one who will turn up on his doorstep at 8o'clock at night, and he doesn't care by that time anyway. Because this is his drinking time, you see, of course he's usually buzzed during the day; tipsy on good days and a in a drunken stupor, a pathetic excuse for a Victor on the bad days.

Or so I've been told. I don't pay attention; to me he's just the same. No better no worse, he just is. And that's completely fine with me.

We're so alike, Haymitch and I. We get it, we get each other, our minds work the same way; devious, malicious, calculating. It's effortless now; we've become this way, like we're in our own Games. But we're living them every day of our lives.

We're almost toxic to the people of the recreated District 12; our aura sends shockwaves of unease through the remaining villagers, that's probably why we don't venture out much, only when it's necessary.

Peeta, however, is a God-sent angel, he's so sweet and pure, the closest thing we have to beauty in this fucked up remnants of our lives these days.

Then there's me, without Haymitch and without Peeta's influence.

Alone I am not the sweet girl, not the girl on fire anymore, not the fiancé, the mother-to-be, the Tribute, I'm not even a sister anymore, now that Prim's gone. And when my so-called mother moved away to 'console herself' I stopped being a daughter too.

I'm most definitely not the Mockingjay either, not now that Coin is in charge, my usefulness eventually ran its course, just like I knew it would. After the rebellion, the overthrowing of Snow, life was supposed to be better.

Everyone was so naive; we killed Snow only to put an even worse person in his place. To stop the death, to finally put a stopped in it all, let children be children, feed the hungry, shelter the homeless. But you know what? Nothing's changed. The Hunger Games are still going, but they only happen every two years. Because that's how lucky we are, according to Coin and her team of dogs she calls politicians.

If only Cinna could see how far his girl on fire had fallen. And in some ways I'm grateful he's not here, seeing the disappointment in those gold-rimmed eyes would be too much.

Truthfully, I'm not sure what I am anymore. Yes, I am Katniss Everdeen, but what else am I? Some people call me their Victor. I'm not a Victor, I'm just a girl who, loved her sister too much, didn't love a boy enough, fucked off a President and was dragged into political chaos then tossed aside when I was no longer needed.

What I am, what I really am, is a scarred body, a pretty face and a broken, murderous, ruthless, tortured youth who, like her mentor before her, has found comfort in near lethal concoctions of alcohol.

This is what has become of me.

I used to hunt every day, keep busy, keep myself well so Peeta would continue to love me. I know it won't last, he is too sweet, to willing and I am... Too much of everything all at once, too much of everything bad and not enough of everything good.

I am volatile, a danger, and soon I will burn up Peeta's love, wear it out until he won't be able to look at me any longer.

That day, I can feel inside, is fast approaching. But he hasn't realized yet, he doesn't hated me yet. So, he paints and bakes and lives on and loves me, and I drink, smuggle morphling from the hospital and scream into the woods and hide everything from him and, worst of all, find solace with Haymitch and at the bottom of a glass bottle.

Authors Note:

So, hi there! I don't even know what this is really, I'm just angsting everywhere and I ship Hayniss so hard.
So yes, there will be sex scenes in basically every chapter, just so you know.
Enjoy!