I wake with a start, shaking. My nightmare wasn't particularly terrible, probably just a glimpse into the future. However, it scares me that seeing Peeta, Katniss and Haymitch die in my dreams wakes me up in a cold sweat night after night, feeling utterly powerless. Other escorts don't seem to experience this, but then again they probably think nothing of having a victor, it isn't such a big deal for them as it is for 12. Yes that must be it. Nonetheless, I can't shake the feeling that something bad is coming.
On this summer night the train feels too stuffy, and the room that reminded me of home before now seems confining and alien. I need air.
As the train re-stocks, I have an hour of freedom around the border of District 7. I go out to the end carriage, the one where the windows fold away into the ceiling. The forest is very beautiful, the warm night air sweet and calming, but it's not enough just to look, I want to be part of it.
Checking that no-one's watching me, I hop off the end of the train. I begin making my way to a fallen tree a little while away, feeling the summer grass beneath my bare feet. I don't know why I'm suddenly so eager to explore this place, the thought of mud or bugs usually makes my skin crawl, but I guess I just want to feel something real. I sit on the mossy log, only a few hundred metres from the train, and curiously, I graze my fingers across its soft surface - the only soft things I encounter are usually man-made.
I try – unsuccessfully - to organise the jumble of thoughts and feelings in my head. Everything seems so confusing nowadays, and I can't tell what the right thing is for me anymore. I close my eyes and hope to lose myself in relaxation like I can at the spa back home.
It's nice to be still like this, with no city noise or music or chatter, just the sounds of nature and night animals. How different it is to what I'm familiar with, yet at the minute it is preferable to everything I'm used to.
At the sound of a bottle smashing, I jump, my eyes flying open just in time to witness another being hurled from the train. I roll my eyes as I wonder what Haymitch's latest rampage is about. He clumsily navigates his way off the little platform, a third bottle in his hand. He doesn't seem to have spotted me yet, which is odd as he usually has his wits about him, but right now he looks distracted by something. He ploughs forwards, shouting obscenities. To be honest, I'm hardly surprised to see him in this state. He had promised Katniss and Peeta that he would stay sober for them, but obviously that's too hard for him to cope with now, after nearly twenty years of alcohol abuse.
He suddenly stops in front of me, stands up straighter - studying me. The look of anger in his features is replaced by one of intense confusion. He doesn't seem to recognize me, which is hardly surprising since I am only in my nightgown.
"Well, your sobriety didn't last long," I say. There is a flicker of recognition in his eyes before his brows knit together again. He continues to stare at me and I begin to feel quite nervous.
"You know it's rude to stare." I remind him. This seems to make the penny drop.
His eyes narrow. "Why are you out here?" He asks, although it's more like an accusation.
"Couldn't sleep" I say quickly, hoping he'll drop the subject but knowing he probably won't. He wants to know why I'm out here in the dark when I could be in a warm, comfortable bed, like most Capitol citizens would be at this hour. I don't think I'm like most Capitol citizens anymore.
"They have pills for that, sweetheart" he replies, not missing a beat. His snarky response annoys me enormously. He might think that I'm lying to him, but it should be clear that this is none of his business.
My eyes narrow to match his. "They didn't work" I say coldly, plainly telling him to drop it.
As he just continues to frown at me, I change the subject myself. "So, what is it this time?" I ask. Like I care. He's always angry about something these days and since he so often brushed aside my early concerns for his feelings, I rarely bother to ask now.
He flops down next to me and grunts, taking a swig from his bottle.
"Same old," He says nonchalantly, avoiding the question.
He turns to glower at me again.
"What?" I demand angrily after a few minutes. This man has a habit of getting under my skin, so much so that I pretty much disregard all decent behaviour when we speak.
He stays silent and looks me up and down with those hard eyes. I start to feel uneasy, so I cross my arms and look away, trying to shield myself from his accusing stare.
He takes another long drink. "You look better like that," he says quietly.
I can feel the frown on my face as I try to follow his thought processes – he changes the conversation so quickly. I move to straighten my wig before remembering that I'm not wearing one. No make-up either.
I realise that Haymitch has never seen me like this before. I feel so exposed.
"What do you mean 'better'?" I ask.
This can't be better, I'm not trying. Everyone says I look bland without make-up; the rule in the Capitol is 'more = better' be it colour, accessories or corrective surgery.
He eyes the bottle in his hands, "More human." He says softly.
I can feel a blush colouring my cheeks. I find it weird to think that he has not only been paying attention to how I look, but actually has an opinion on the matter. The way he said it sounded like approval and the fact that his eyes are busy confirms this for me. I find this oddly flattering, but for some reason I don't really want to accept his 'compliment'. I don't want to experience the warm feeling currently welling up in my chest, the small smile on my face, because I can feel myself softening towards Haymitch. And that troubles me.
Obviously I do care for him – to a certain extent – but we have a love/hate relationship, each existing to keep the other in check. I cannot let that change now, especially with the Capitol watching us like a hawk. I will not give them another excuse to get angry with us, no matter how lonely or vulnerable I feel. I decide to act as I usually would.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask sharply. I deliberately raise my chin; behave as I would when scolding him for bad manners at a formal event.
For a split-second he looks slightly torn before an empty look fills his eyes. He gives a short, unpleasant laugh and says with his usual drunken malice "Doesn't matter sweetheart, I didn't expect you to understand."
Even though I know I shouldn't, I let that one slide. Usually I would rebuke him for being so patronizing, but at the moment I just don't care. He can think what he likes about my intellect; if I try to respond now it will come out wrong and he's already suspicious.
I look away, blatantly showing that he is unwelcome, but he carries on.
"So, why are you out here?" He asks again, eyeing me sideways.
"I told you," I say, still hoping to avoid the question, "can't sleep."
Haymitch just looks at me and I know he's not going to let this go. I sigh, resigning. "Nightmares." I say simply.
I wait for him to respond, but he just nods, unconcerned, and takes another drink. I feel like smacking the bottle away from him. He's obviously interested, but now he just sits there, more involved in the alcohol than the person in front of him. I decide to carry on; see if that'll make him acknowledge me.
"It was Katniss and Peeta." I say. Nothing. "It's so awful; they only just got out of the arena and now they have to go back." Still nothing. As I confess what I saw, the true tragedy of it all begins to really dawn on me for the first time.
"It's not fair." I murmur, more to myself than him at this point.
I barely whisper the last part, but suddenly I have his attention. He gives a bitter laugh, and I glare at him, waiting for an explanation.
"And how would you know what's fair, Princess?" He asks spitefully. I try not to be offended by that comment and act to ignore him, waiting for his usual rant about the Capitol and how we're all the same – selfish, stuck up. However, I am not prepared for his next words or how deep they cut me.
"Just because they're your little victors," he spits at me. "Just because they won't come back this time and you're afraid you'll lose all your fancy Capitol privileges. You don't care about them, Princess, not really."
My mouth drops open at his audacity. I'm used to the Capitol being a problem for him, I know he likes to annoy me, but this is just too far. He doesn't know anything about my feelings towards Katniss or Peeta, so how can he come up with something as dreadful as this and deliver it like a divine truth?!
As I stare at him, he leans in and whispers with a cruel smile "Nightmares? What, did your salary get cut?"
For an instant I feel hurt, and he seems to see that this time he might've gone too far. But it's too late now. His words are out and my upset abruptly turns to outrage as I jump to my feet. Suddenly I'm shouting at him.
"Of course I care about them, which is more than I can say for you!" I yell, furious. "I've always helped them, every year I support the tributes, what the hell do you do?! Sit around drunk, spreading your misery!" This time I do hit the bottle away. It flies a few feet before smashing dramatically on the ground.
I'm startled by my actions and for a second, even he looks shocked by the intensity of my anger, but he swiftly stands, towering over me.
"What you do doesn't help." He responds fiercely. His hand clamps down on mine, easily wrapping around my wrist, forcing me to face him as he holds me there in a vice-like grip. "They're already dead, so why pretend otherwise? We know how it's going to end." He says with finality.
"But we don't Haymitch, they could win!" I shout, wrenching my wrist from his iron grasp. "Someone has to, and last time it was them." I turn to the train, emphasizing my point. "They won and they lived." I say plainly, spinning to face him again.
He's back on the log, watching me with a small smirk, like I've missed something totally obvious. I just glare back at him.
After a while he sighs and says tiredly, "Sometimes, sweetheart, the living part is worse."
So that's it then. Since I've effectively already killed the tributes by reaping them, he sees no point in even trying. They all lose either way. Just like Katniss and Peeta. Somehow they won their games, but it's only brought them more trouble. Haymitch is right, of course.
I continue to stare blankly for a long time as his words sink in.
Eventually I focus on him, and his eyes – those deep grey eyes – hold mine. In them I see so much pain, so much hostility and a fire I know he is trying hard to contain. But he can't hide it. Under all the sarcasm and the drunken maliciousness, it's always there. Burning. And this is worse, so much worse than when he lets it out. Because I can see just how much he really does care. How much he hates what has been done to these children – what has been done to him. And how much he hates those involved.
The fight goes out of me as the implications hit home. It doesn't matter what I do or what I say, he will always associate me with the killing of innocent children. With the killing of his family.
I want to make it right, but what can I say?
"I know." I finally respond.
"No Princess, you don't know how easy you've got it." he says with a look of disgust on his face.
The anger rises up again as I try to defend myself. "Do you really think this is easy for me?!" I snap. Big rain drops begin to land around us, but I barely notice. "It's hard enough to know that everyone hates me for doing a job that I have come to despise," I hiss, "but knowing that at any moment, everything I hold dear could disappear like that." I click my fingers. "That's not easy!"
In the back of my mind, it registers that what I just said was potentially very dangerous for me, however I dismiss the thought almost as quickly. There can't be cameras out here, and I'm past the point of caring about what I say anymore.
"So you're saying that because you're from the Capitol, you deserve more than me." He says simply.
"I don't mean that!" I shout, beyond frustrated. "I'm just trying to point out that you're not the only one who's been in this situation." I try to catch my breath and calm down, but to no avail. The longer he watches me, the angrier I get. "You're convinced that you have it the worst, that no-one will ever understand. If you could just-"
"And you think that if you act like everything's fine, then it will be. You think you know fear, but you don't. I don't care what you say; at worst all you have is a threat." He moves closer, staring down at me. I think this is the closest I've ever got to feeling scared of Haymitch. "You don't know anything, Trinket."
There's a long silence as I try – and fail – to ignore what he said. Because it's true. I don't know anything about what he's been through, or what is to come. My anger dissipates, fear quickly filling the void. I never know what's coming next.
"No." I agree. I feel grateful for the now heavy rain hoping it will conceal the tears that threaten to spill over. For a while, I refuse to meet his eyes, and I wonder why it's taking him so long to insult me. He is still standing straight over me but after a few minutes, when I finally do look up at him, his eyes seem too grey.
I take a deep breath, hoping to get the words right. "I understand, it's their fault, and I'm one of them. I don't blame you if you hate me, but…" But what? I trail off as I try to think of an ending to that sentence, knowing I won't find one. I watch the rain form puddles on the floor, feel it run down my face and my arms, soaking me. There's no way to make this right. Not now.
"I don't hate you, Effie." He says very quietly.
I glimpse up at him. I want to believe him but he looks so drained - I really can't tell if there's honesty in his eyes. All I see is pain.
"I think you do." I barely whisper.
"Do you hate me?" He shoots back.
Do I hate him? We have our differences - that much is certain - and obviously Haymitch frequently irritates me, but we've been together so long. He's never tried to hurt me, not really.
"No." I decide. "But that doesn't change anything. How many times have we been down this road? We never get anywhere, just piss each other off and I don't think I can take it anymore." I admit.
He doesn't seem like he's going to remark on what I said, so I look towards the train, trying to figure out if I actually want to go back or not.
I don't realise how cold I am until I feel Haymitch's hand on my arm, moving me closer to the forest. I jump at his touch, but when I face him he has already turned away.
"Come on." He says, walking in the direction of the trees. Without thinking, I follow him away from the train.
We come to a stop under a big pine tree. Beneath all its needles, the trunk is barely wet, no rain penetrating the ground at its base. I join him where he leans against the tree, wanting to keep my distance but too cold to resist. I assume we're done talking, and I'm content to stand in silence waiting out the shower. I would've thought that he's probably too mad to even look at me right now, so his next words come as a surprise.
"I'm not angry with you Effie, not really," he says. I turn to face him, uncomprehending, but he's looking past me now. As I try to read in his face what the words aren't telling me, his brows knit together and he once more becomes completely absorbed in fury. "But, what they did... I still can't…" He trails off, hands balling into fists. He takes a few breaths to calm down, still looking away.
"I let them down." He says finally. His eyes are glazed over and it's like he's not even talking to me anymore. "I promised I'd look after them, I thought I could protect them… but I didn't. It's all my fault and they're dead because of me." Haymitch's voice becomes detached – emotionless.
His honesty stuns me and for a long time I can't think of what to say. Of course it wasn't his fault, but me saying that would be of no comfort to him. His eyes look almost completely vacant, no anger or spark like there had been a moment ago.
Without thinking, I reach my hand up to his cheek. My touch brings him back to the present immediately and his eyes examine my features. I brush away the stray raindrops as they find a path down his face. We stand like that for a long time before he gently removes my hand. I drop my eyes, certain that he will walk off at any second, but he moves closer to me, holding my hand against his chest. I look up and find his face very close to mine. Those sorrowful grey eyes bore right into me.
"I'm sorry." He whispers softly.
In his words is everything I've ever needed to hear. After all this time, all the fights and arguments we've had, but really there's no hate there. Not for each other.
"Me too." I sigh.
There's nothing remotely romantic between me and Haymitch, but there's always been chemistry. With two people as strong willed as us – particularly in this current situation – we are bound to either rip each other's throats out or come together as one mind. Something had to give, and I know that what happens next is inevitable.
I lean into him, our lips finally meeting as we fall apart. My hands grab onto his shirt, tugging at his collar as I feel his own arms wind around my waist, his hands on my back pulling me closer to him. His lips move with mine, the kiss surprisingly soft, not angry or forceful but slow and gentle. He tastes like wine and tears, rain and sorrow.
As much as I know that this is wrong – maybe even forbidden – I know this is what I want. I want to be here with Haymitch as we each satisfy the other's need for comfort.
I want to stay in this moment forever, quiet and undisturbed with the one person that really does understand what I'm going through. For so much time I've felt alone, but now, finally I feel safe.
However, nothing lasts forever, and before long Haymitch has to come up for air. Too soon. I pull him back to me, desperate to stretch this out for as long as possible. Never in my life have I allowed myself to just feel emotions; without rules or protocol. I need him.
"Don't stop." I breathe.
I don't realise that I'm crying until the tears reach our lips. I hope to sustain the kiss but Haymitch holds me back, trying to get a look at my face. I think how petty I must seem to him, barely able to keep myself steady when I finally realise how bad things could be. How long has he known this and never said a word? Probably his whole life.
"Oh, Effie" His voice seems so sad and he looks older than ever.
I feel so small.
My breathing starts to become shallow but I work for control – I can't allow myself to cry in front of him. "What's going to happen to all of us?" I hold onto his arms to anchor myself but the tears keep coming.
After a long pause he finally says "I don't know."
I almost break at his words. It's obvious by the look on his face that whatever happens, it's not going to be good.
"So what do we do?" I ask him, although I'm fairly certain I know what he'll say.
"Nothing, just …" he pauses to sigh, "keep going."
I want to ask how, but somehow I know that the answer won't help me.
I don't want to do this anymore.
"I don't think I can." I murmur, looking down.
"Effie," he says gently, gripping my shoulders. "You have to, sweetheart. It's the only thing that'll keep you safe."
"But I'm not-" he interrupts my protests.
"It's too late to stop now," He says firmly. "As far as they're concerned, nothing has changed – not yet. I know you're not like them, but you have a role to play, which means waiting for the correct time to do what's right."
I stare at him for a long time, waiting for the words to make sense. All I manage to grasp is that, for now, I have no choice but to keep up the pretence. At some point though, there will be a change. My mind keeps going in circles.
"How will I know… when?" I ask him.
"I'll tell you sweetheart." He promises. I move back into his arms, hoping he really will keep me safe. "I won't let you down." He says, determined.
So I was right then, something bad is coming. Something I'm not ready for, but will have to face nonetheless. Hopefully though, it's something I won't have to face alone.
Haymitch holds me for a long time. He's warm and comforting and familiar, and I lean in closer, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as if that will keep me stable.
After a while the rain begins to ease off.
"We should go back now." I say, but still cling to him.
He looks down at me and, after a few more minutes, gently unfurls my fingers from his shirt. Keeping hold of my left hand, Haymitch begins to lead the way back and I link my fingers through his. I trail a little, and as the train comes into view I abruptly drop his hand, stopping there.
He studies me for a long time before reaching out and placing the back of his callused hand against my cheek.
"You can do this." He says calm but sure, moving his hand under my chin to lift it. For a moment, a sad smile spreads across his face but he quickly turns and stumbles away, shouting and swearing once more.
I use the time it takes him to approach the platform to get it together. I must remember my role. I wipe away the last trace of tears whilst attempting to arrange my face into a mask of anger and annoyance.
After two deep breaths I march after Haymitch. Upon reaching the train, I see two Avoxes at the door, looking rather confused as he ploughs straight through them on the way to his room. They turn to look at me, as if for an explanation, and their eyes widen as they take in my bedraggled state.
Without him, I can feel myself falling apart again and I try desperately to find some words – any words –that might fit the situation.
"That man," I breathe harshly "is impossible. He's going to ruin everything!" I explode at them. One of them, the boy, reaches out, but I ignore his offer for help. I just have to get away from here without making them suspicious. I don't think I've ever had to try so hard to keep up a charade.
"If we must stop another time, I want this train on lockdown." I lean into the words, "I am not having this again!" I say sharply.
I push past them, no time to check if they buy it, as the fear overwhelms me once more. I barely make it to my room before everything unravels.
I'm not sure how long it takes for me to calm down, but I'm guessing it has been some time, as the sun is just breaking the horizon when I finally rise from the floor.
A new day.
This is the time to repair any damage and, as I perfect my wig and make-up, I know the role I have to play.