Disclaimer: The first five paragraph came directly from the work of Suzanne Collins, to which due credit has to be given. Borrowing her characters, again.
I
"Is that what happened to you?
"No. My mother and younger brother. My girl. They were all dead two weeks after I was crowned victor. Because of that stunt I pulled with the force field. Snow had no one to use against me.
"I'm surprised he didn't just kill you."
"Oh, no. I was the example. The person to hold up to the young Finnicks and Johannas and Cashmeres. Of what could happen to a victor who caused problems. But he knew he had no leverage against me.
"Until Peeta and I came along."
He had lied when Katniss had asked but there was one secret he never told Katniss, one he didn't think she needed to know. The only other person in the District Twelve team to know was Effie and she never breathed a word of it to anyone.
And she was lost to him; out of his reach, out of touch, unaware if she was alive or dead. His hand closed around the small, metal hair pin in his pocket as old as his relationship with Effie.
Be safe, he prayed silently to himself, repeating the words she whispered to him so many nights ago.
XxX
Haymitch burst through the dark alleyway south of the Capitol. The quiet alley tucked away at an inconspicuous corner of the majestic city was sufficiently illuminated by a dying street light. He glanced around, his vision blurred and his nose stuffy, and heaved a sigh of relief when he noted that he was alone.
The young man, who had just turned eighteen three days ago took a deep shuddering breath of the cold air. It pierced through his lungs and he prayed to the Gods and the Angels his mother once told him before, for his life to end. Does one die from inhaling cold air? He doubted it. It was just his luck to live through another day.
He continued stumbling unsteadily on his feet. Haymitch pressed the palm of his hand into his eyes, desperately wishing for his vision to return. He was afraid. He had no idea what sort of drugs he had just ingested, what recreational chemicals he had been given by that large frame man whose apartment he had just left.
He felt the bile rose in his throat. He was assaulted by the memory of that man's hands on his neck, his chest and … Haymitch shuddered. In the distance, he saw a bright sign which was in such contrast against the night sky. He made a bee line for it staggering across the streets, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the bright, ferocious head lights of the cars madly honking at him.
It was a liquor store and by some miracle, he had made it across the street intact. The man behind the counter turned to see that night's customer as the bell above the door jingled to signal a new arrival. He was hideous, Haymitch noted, while he tried hard not to stare. That man bore fangs and there was a small tattoo of a bat on his upper right eyebrow. Sometimes he wondered how terribly far the Capitol had fallen from grace.
"What'd you need, sweetheart?" he said.
He flinched.
"Not your sweetheart," Haymitch mumbled. "I need something… something that will…"
"Ah, I know what you're looking for," the man replied, a lone finger unconsciously tracing the bat tattoo on his face. "Haymitch Abernathy, right? No charge, it's on me."
Haymitch gathered the three bottle of vodka in his hands, nodded his thanks and stumbled out of the shop. His skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, his heart rate had elevated and Haymitch felt as though he was going to be sick.
With shaky hands, he cracked opened one of the bottles and brought it up to his lips. It wasn't as though he never had alcohol before. He had, of course, but never the strong stuff. Haymitch shut his eyes and swallowed the liquid, grimacing slightly as it left a trail of fire down his throat. He drank some more.
He hated it here. Hated how he was made to do the bidding of men and women who had paid for a night with him. Haymitch couldn't tell if the vodka had caused his eyes to water or because he couldn't take the memory of that evening, the worst client he ever had. Either way, it doesn't matter. He was sitting on the side walk, helpless and miserable, and very, very disoriented.
Haymitch was fast losing grasp of his surroundings. His mind fell deeper and deeper into a dark abyss that seemed to welcome him readily and almost greedily. He let himself go.
XxX
Haymitch remembered the feeling of his legs dangling over the edge of a branch, secreted away amongst the thick leaves that hid him from view. He could see everything from that vantage point perched high up on a tree at the meadow. This was his place and no one, not even his girl knew of it.
That was the trick. To think of that tree and that branch where he used to sit on and forget the fact that at the moment, some woman twice his age was kissing his neck. He imagined the wind blowing against his face, the dark green leaves, his brother calling out for him as he passed by that tree. His young, wide eyed brother; dead by the Capitol hands. His eyes flew opened and the rage took hold of him. He flipped the woman on her back and in an attempt to forget his family, he fucked her.
When he was summoned to a luxurious hotel located in the middle of the City Centre, he thought nothing of it. He had learnt that it was a complete waste of time trying to anticipate who his client would be. It was routine at this point in his life – enter the room, do whatever they want you to do, leave and try to forget everything.
Unlike any of his other experiences, the room he walked in was flooded with light. In the middle of the room was a queen size bed, and perched on it with her hands under her thighs sat a very nervous looking young girl.
He cocked his head to the side and took in the sight of her. Taking a deep breath as he prepared himself for the role of one of the many Capitol's lover boys Haymitch walked towards her with measured steps. Her eyes never left his face. She watched him with an avid fascination and fear. He found this slightly disconcerting. People were usually excited to meet him.
Haymitch caressed her cheeks and swept the lock of blonde hair over her shoulders. He paused, and ran his fingers through her hair again. That felt natural, a concept that was so foreign in a land where plasticity ran rampant.
He stooped forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. Haymitch knew his role and he could perform it almost with his eyes closed. She didn't kiss him back; in fact she pushed him away.
"No," she croaked, "please, stop."
Haymitch pulled back, and looked at her. She dropped her gaze. What a peculiar girl.
"Please don't touch me," she whispered softly, her voice almost begging for him to accede to her request.
Haymitch looked around; his eyes scanning for a hidden camera or something, anything that might clue him in as to what was going on. Was this some sort of test? A trick?
"I – I won't," he replied, dropping down on the bed next to her. "What do you want me for? What do you want me to do?"
She shook her head, still sitting on her hands. "Nothing – I don't want you to do anything."
Haymitch frowned. "I don't understand," he muttered to himself. He gave the girl next to him a side long glance. She couldn't be any older than him.
"I'm just here to accompany you, then? You must be lonely," he asked, trying hard to keep the acidic tone off his voice, running a finger down her arm. Some of his clients were sad, lonely old woman who wanted to feel young again. But this girl didn't need to feel young. She was young. Perhaps she just needed a male companion.
"N – no," she stuttered, "I'm not lonely."
"Of course, you're not," he rolled his eyes and retracted his hand. What was he doing here?
"How long did my father bought you for?"
"The entire night so we're – what? Your father?"
She nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. "I turned eighteen yesterday and he – he thought that… He thought this would be a present that girls like myself would kill to have; to be able to spend the night with a handsome, famous victor especially the winner of the second quell."
"Your own father?" he asked in astonishment.
"I don't want to do anything of that sort, please," she said.
"I'll sit right here. I won't do anything," Haymitch reassured her, sliding down on to the floor at the foot of the bed.
She began to relax, pulling her hands out from under her thighs. The situation grew increasingly awkward and Haymitch turned on the television in the hotel room to distract himself from the girl's presence. He stared at the screen, not fully comprehending the movie that was currently playing.
After a while, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned his neck slightly and the girl leaned forward towards him, still sitting on the bed.
"My name's Effie," she told him, "Effie Trinket."
"Haymitch," he nodded in response, "but you already know who I am."
"You've must have met many girls like myself."
"No," he replied. "They all wanted a piece of me. You don't. You got a boy you like?"
"No," she frowned slightly. "Why do you ask?"
Haymitch shrugged. "Maybe it's him that you want. Not me; and your father just wasted his money."
"How long… How long have you been doing this?" she asked.
He clenched his jaw.
"It feels like I've been doing this forever," he admitted. "I should go. The room has been booked till morning so you can check out by then. Tell your father that you had a good time, in case he asked," he nodded his head at her and moved to stand up.
"No, wait," she gripped the edges of his sleeve. "People talk in the Capitol. If you leave now and someone sees you, they would start to wonder and if word gets back to my father, he would know. And… It's past midnight. It would be bad mannered of me to allow you to walk off in the middle of the night."
XxX
They got to talking. There was nothing else to do while he waited for the sun to rise.
"So you're a virgin?" he asked. "Is that why you don't want to me to have sex with you? Scared?"
"I – Yes, to your first question," she blushed.
"Why's that? As far as I'm aware, everyone's seems to be enjoying screwing everyone else."
"Well, I'm not just "everyone" now, am I?" she sniffed disdainfully. The very idea that she did not stand out as an individual was appalling. Effie hesitated before speaking up again, "I just have this notion that my first time should be with someone I love and who loves me back in return. Not… Not a transaction or – or a birthday present."
"Love?" he wrinkled his eyebrows. "What are you? A closet romantic? You people are not capable of love."
Effie looked quite taken aback by the negativity in his statement. "Of course, we are. Why would you say such a horrendous thing?"
"Because I don't believe there is such thing as love anymore. Being a victor taught me that. It's just sex and money."
"You're not at all how I imagined you to be. You're quite the pessimist," Effie noted.
"And you're just as superficial as the whole lot of them."
"If you're not all happy about doing what you're doing, why don't you stop?" she asked logically. "There are other things victors could do and you're only 21, the possibilities are endless!"
Haymitch laughed; a long, terrible laugh that made the hairs on Effie's neck stand.
"As if I had a choice," he muttered quietly to himself when he finally sobered up.
"You don't like what you're doing, do you?" she asked.
"That's not a topic safe for discussion," Haymitch replied dismissively.
Effie, in her naiveté, continued undeterred. "I can understand," she nodded as if she knew all about his life, "you're famous and handsome, and everybody wants to be with you. It could be tiring, I supposed. But, of course, it's difficult to say no. Not to mention that it would be rude to say no. But …"
"But?" he asked curiously, wanting to know what other rubbish this clueless young Capitol girl could possibly spout.
"It's all about presentation and appearances here in the Capitol. I don't know how it's done where you came from," she bit her lip. "So… So, if you don't want to have to sleep with someone or go out with them, you could just… say, you can pretend to be drunk? Or pretend you are high on morphling or some other recreational drugs? I'm sure nobody wants to be seen with people like that. It won't be good for their reputation. I, for one, wouldn't want to be associated with anyone of that sort."
Haymitch stared at her. Somewhere during their talk, she had slid down and joined him on the floor, sitting primly next to him. His eyes flickered to the round table next to the window where an assortment of liquors had been arranged carefully. He considered what she said and how easily he could achieve that. Not the drugs, though. He had been drugged three years ago and his stomach still churned at the memory of escaping that man's apartment. But since that same night that Haymitch had stumbled into the liquor store and was introduced to the hard liquors, he constantly went back to them to help him cope in the darkest of time. He would rather take the booze than the drugs. It helped him numb the pain and forget without making him feel wretched.
He had been quite for far too long and Effie, thinking that he had dismissed what she said, moved on to a different topic.
"My father spent a lot of money on you," she broached a topic, "for tonight. You don't come cheap."
Haymitch flinched at how easily he had been objectified.
"You must be daddy's little girl," he sneered. "I don't know how it's done in the Capitol, but in District Twelve, fathers show their love for their daughters differently."
She shrugged. "It's a path into adulthood. It's not so much for me as it is for my family's reputation. It's a statement to be able to say during parties, that he has enough finances to send his daughter to you. That's how my father thinks and how he wants to be perceived by the society."
"Honestly? That is disturbing," Haymitch said. "And you allow it?"
"I'm not thrilled about it. I thought of not turning up at all tonight but… But I can't go against my father's wishes. It would be to dishonour him and it's rude. I have been brought up with perfect manners."
He chuckled. "You manners brought you here? The same manners that said it'll be okay to lie to your father?"
She looked at him guilty. "No, it's not okay. But this is my life and it's my body and, I – I get to choose who I want to be with. He doesn't have to know. As long as you don't tell anyone, it will be our secret."
Haymitch inclined his head in slight admiration. "You're a very odd person. You're like a jewel in this city of dust. There is something wholly innocent about you that I've never seen in anyone else. Don't ever change," he said seriously.
He slipped his hand inside his pocket and extracted a thick wad of cash which he handed to her. "This was paid to me. I'm assuming it's from your father and since I didn't perform what I was paid for, it's yours."
"You keep it," she returned it back to him. "It's his money. I don't care if he had paid his money worth but it was for you and so, you get to keep it. Buy something useful, okay?"
Haymitch pocketed them, gave her a last nod and headed towards the door.
"Wait, Haymitch," she stopped him for the second time that day. She pulled out a silver butterfly pin from her hair and pressed it into his palm. "This is my favourite. But it's yours, for you to remember tonight. For being a friend."
He gave her an amused, wry smile, his hand closing around the metal pin.
"See you, around," she said.
He left without knowing that during the course of the night, the things they discussed, the choices Effie had made and the choices he was about to make would seal their fate.
to be continued...
A/N - I wrote something with a similar theme last year in Darkest Before Dawn involving Effie. This fic came about because I was thinking that if Finnick had been sold by the Capitol, why wasn't Haymitch? And since the book was narrated by Katniss, it could be possible that he hid it away from her during MJ to stop her from worrying. Just something that crossed my mind.
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