A/C: So...I'm not even sure about this one. I started writing it during finals week because if I studied astronomy one more time I was going on a rampage. It has nothing at all to do with the original story, I only kept the characters and setting so don't message me going "Holy shit did you even read the books?" Yes. Multiple times. If you've read anything else I've read than you know I take every liberty and change just about everything. So, anyway, I'm kind of eh about this one but I figured I'd see what you guys thought. Let me know and thanks for reading!

I heard their screams every time I fall asleep, see their faces in my nightmares. The alcohol helps me fall asleep, but it does nothing once I start to dream. I was a victor of the Hunger Games. I should be proud, I brought fame and fortune to my family and district. But all I seemed to get was pain and misery. I had nightmares every time I slept and they didn't stop once I awoke.

My Game are over, but I still relive every moment. From that feeling of despair when Effie Trinket called my name to the moment I became a victor. I had been a long shot from the second I started: basic survival skills, no interesting personality and as much of a killer instinct as a kitten. I received a five in training, and the public dismissed me as forgettable and expendable. They were unimpressed when I survived the blood bath, mildly interested when I survived my first attack from another tribute, surprised when I made it to the final five and shocked when I became a victor. Throughout my entire time I received only one gift from a sponsor, a hidden blade at the very end.

Despite being such an underdog I quickly fell from the Capitol's grace. It had been a relatively boring Games by their standards and they wanted someone more interesting. All I wanted was to go home and forget. They won't let me forget, though, victory tours and the replaying of my Games force me to relive it. The Capitol have been showing recaps of my Games in honor of the Reaping taking place for this year's Games. Every time the screen comes on I barricade myself in a room and drink until I pass out. I can't watch it, I can't see what I did, I already relive it every night.

"Come on, time to wake up," a voice called from beside me.

I jumped awake and lost the grip on the bottle I'd fallen asleep clutching. My fingers snapped to catch it, but I was too slow and it fell to the floor with a thud. It was empty of course.

"I'm not going," I mumbled to no one in particular.

"But you have to," my sister said, walking into my room.

My sister, Kasie, was the only person who lived with me in the Victor house. She somehow manages to live with the screaming and bottles of alcohol that litter every area of the house. I think she feels guilty she was too old to volunteer for me, not that I wanted her to. She now takes care of me the best she can like she did when we were younger. Our parents are both gone, my father died of a fever and we never met our mother. Our father would never tell us if she was alive or dead, or anything about her. All we know is that her name is Emaline. After our father died my sister took care of me, but we both needed to take out tessera to survive. If it wasn't for her I wouldn't have been alive to become a victor.

"You're a mentor now, try and get District 12 its third victor."

"Two in 10 years was a fluke, a third would be a miracle."

"Well, try," she said, peeling off the sheets. I shivered at the sudden chill, but forced myself to become upright. I stumbled to the bathroom and changed out of my sweat drenched clothes into a presentable, but plain dress. My sister came in and started brushing my hair, what was left of it anyway. In the arena a girl had pulled out chunks of my hair in a battle, so I chopped off most of it to cover it. It was mostly filled in but I kept it short, afraid someone might use it against me again. Kasie tried to cover the dark marks under my eyes, and to clean the nails I bit in anxiety, but it all seemed futile to me. Under the powder and creams I was the same person, a shell of my former self. I ate little of my breakfast, the broadcast from the Capitol playing in the other room unsettled me.

"Have you asked Peeta for any advice on being a mentor?" Kasie asked.

"No," I replied.

Peeta Mallark, my mentor in my Games and now my fellow mentor this year. I resented Peeta, he had been no help when he was my mentor. He tried to make me into an innocent little girl, but I was too harsh for that. I couldn't be sexy, brutal or even personable, so I became nobody. The crowd seemed to be more interested in Peeta than me, and I hated it. I hated him because he was everything I wasn't, what a victor should be. Peeta was my next door neighbor but I hadn't talked to him since I got home.

"You should give Peeta another chance, he's a nice guy."

"He was useless, everyone was more interested in him than they were me. While other tributes received gifts I survived on my own!" I yelled.

"Just a suggestion," she replied calmly.

I felt guilty for snapping, but I didn't want to talk about Peeta.

"It's almost time, you better go," she said.

I sighed, got up and walked over to her. I gave her a quick hug and walked out to the square. People were starting to gather, children with anxious faces and parents who looked equally nervous. I walked up to the stage and took my seat.

"Calista, I'm so happy to see you, you're always right on time," Effie Trinket said as she spotted me.

"Hello, Effie," I replied.

"Aren't you excited to be a mentor? I know Peeta enjoys it, but I guess that's obvious. Oh, there he is now!"

I saw Peeta walking up to the steps towards the stage. He looked the same as ever, tall, stocky, with a slight grin on his face. He spoke briefly to Effie, then came to sit next to me.

"Hi, Cali," he said pleasantly.

"Peeta," I said curtly, purposefully avoiding eye contact.

"Your hair looks nice, you can't even tell what happened anymore."

I sucked in a sharp breath and pursed my lips. Every time Peeta spoke I wanted to murder him. The nice guy act infuriated me, no one is that nice all the time.

"I don't think District 12 has ever had two mentors before, these tributes are pretty lucky," he continued.

"Yes, lucky is the word I'd use."

Before he could respond the Capitol broadcast began. I sat with my fists clenched, trying not to relieve my own Reaping. I half expected Effie to call my name again. The female tribute was a young girl, only 15, but she looked like a fighter. The male was older and the clear favorite. Despite being from District 12 he was tall and muscular, the girls would love him.

After the Reaping we boarded the train to the Capitol. Peeta immediately sat down with the tributes and began talking strategy. I grabbed a bottle of liquor from the bar and headed to my room.

"Don't you have anything to say to them?" Peeta asked. He walked over and stood in the doorway, blocking my exit.

"Yeah, congratulations!" I yelled. I pushed Peeta aside and went to my compartment. Peeta wasn't that easy to shake, though. He followed me in and grabbed the bottle from my hand before I could open it.

"We have a job to do."

"You look like you've got it covered," I said, reaching for the bottle.

"No, Cali, you're a mentor, they need your help if they want any chance to survive."

"Oh, like you helped me survive?"

Here was the blow up that had been coming for months. I hadn't expressed my anger to Peeta, just tried to ignore him completely.

"What are you talking about? I thought I was a good mentor."

"You did nothing! I survived by myself!"

"I got you that hidden blade in the end."

"Yeah, after I got myself to the finals, I got there without any help from you!" I yelled. I was standing face to face with him, almost nose to nose. My eyes pierced into his, daring him to back down. His gaze was wavering, he was trying to be angry but he knew I was right. A second of hurt flashed across his face and that was all I needed. He shoved the battle back in my hand and walked out without another word. I smirked and took a long swig from the bottle. The liquor burned, but I felt my anger melting.