Hi again! I just wanted to say a huge thank you to those of you who have reviewed/favourite my stories – it means a lot! The reviews have been so helpful and encouraging so thank you! Okay, so this story occurs in the first Hunger Games book, just after Katniss attacks Peeta when he proclaims his love for her in the interviews with Caesar Flickerman. It may be a bit over the top, and I'm sorry about that, also you may think it's a bit soppy at the end but it was great fun to write! Enjoy reading and please review, thank you! (The quote in italics below comes from the first book, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.)
Remain Determined
"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" I say. Haymitch grabs my shoulders and pins me against the wall.
His rough hands hold my smooth shoulders firmly against the metal wall behind me and I know I am about to experience the full force of his rage. To my surprise though, it seems as if he is willing to spare me the embarrassment of allowing the others to watch. His voice is gruff as he speaks "The rest of you go through to dinner, we'll be there in a minute." His voice trails off into a menacing low hiss and his attention swings back to me.
I challenge him, my deep slate grey eyes meeting his fierce steely flecked ones. We stare at each other in silent resistance for what seems like eternity until he shakes my shoulders violently, causing my body to smack repeatedly against the wall. I'm aware of the sting this causes on my bare back, but I mask the pain and just keep staring.
"I've done this before Katniss, and I don't mean mentoring, I mean the Games. I won and I just ask that you trust me." There is a ferocious grinding in his tone, as if he is pitting all his strength against the part of him which wants to rip me apart. I expect this is true but still I shake my head, despite the knowledge that I am about to elicit his extreme rage.
With my movement his fingers tighten their grip on my shoulders; I can feel their bruising pressure sharply on my tender skin. He has left my hands free and I suddenly jerk them up, pushing his arms so his hands fly away from my shoulders. I expect if he had been sober then I wouldn't have been able to manage that and I am fixated in astonishment as he almost hits the floor, only managing to steady himself when he flails against the opposite wall.
I brush my palms together and spin smugly on my heel, caught up in the fire of Cinna's perfect flaming dress. I brush a loose strand of hair back over my ear and turn towards the door. I have just taken a step when the noise of ripping fabric reaches my ears and I feel a powerful tugging sensation on the hem of my dress. I twist round and see that Haymitch has planted a foot on the bottom of the dress which trails on the floor. "Move and I swear I will tear it right off you," he threatens.
An ugly smirk plays on his lips as he reads into my dark eyes. I take a desperate swing at his jaw but he catches my wrist easily and secures it between his fingers with a grip like a vice. I struggle, digging the nails of my other hand into the flesh of his arm as I try to twist myself free but I only succeed in enabling him to get control of my other hand too. I try to push him backwards through force from my wrists but he only uses my momentum to swing me round and shove me up against the intricate metal rail of a spiral staircase.
The top rail is at about waist height and Haymitch pushes into me, forcing my upper body to bend further backwards over the rail. I can feel it digging into my spine and bite my lip hard to stop myself from releasing a whimper. Haymitch leans forward, an arrogant sneer adorning his narrow features, resting his hands, which still clasp my wrists, on my chest.
"You really have no idea..." He begins, letting go of one of my wrists but quickly trapping it to my chest again using his opposite muscled forearm. I struggle to breathe from the pressure his horizontal forearm exerts on my chest, now securing both my wrists although one hand still holds me tight. His face is only inches from my own, and the scent of alcohol on his breath almost makes me dizzy. I cringe as his speaks again, his spit settling on my cheekbones.
"I can't help you unless you listen to me Katniss, for once you are going to have to except that I know better than you do." The anger in his eyes threatens to shatter me, and I shudder at the volume his voice has risen to. "If you want to die, fine, but don't you dare go round blaming me! It's your own ignorance and pride which have got you ending up here Katniss, if you weren't so stuck up then some people might actually like you! Peeta has given you the best gift you could wish for, a personality that you don't have!" His muscles are almost crushing my body in his anger, the rail gouging holes in my back.
"You will have no Tribute left if you don't back off," I manage to gasp out, gritting my teeth. He relaxes a little and his fiery eyes meet mine. He uses his free hand to caress my cheek and he twists his finger gently in my hair as he considers me.
"Is that some perverted way of saying you're sorry?" He whispers, a smirk appearing again as he increases the distance between us but still doesn't let go. I regard him carefully, deep down I know that I can trust him, and I am also painfully aware that he knows exactly what he is doing. In the end I incline my head just a fraction to let him know, yet by the way his grip has loosened further I think he has already gaged my decision.
"Say it," he jeers, but I won't play along with this game.
"What?" I ask innocently, fluttering my feathery eyelashes at him. I'm a second too late to register the fury which flashes in his eyes and before I know it he is yanking on my hair so hard I almost hit the floor. I yell and thrash but he manages to overpower me again, I almost laugh because really, I should have seen this coming. It clicks then, within my brain, I don't have to fight this man, and for now I shall give him what he wants.
My eyes are tearing with the pain and the blood is pounding in my head as I speak. "I'm sorry, I will do exactly what you say from now on," I keep my voice steady and speak firmly, loudly. He looks down at me from my position on the floor and releases his grip entirely.
"To the letter?" he queries as he extends his hands to help me up. "Always," I reply, disregarding his hands and standing myself. He laughs as I walk past him to the doorway, at the last second I spin round and slug him in the face.
Haymitch's face crumbles beneath my fist, a cut quickly appearing on his cheek at the contact of my hand. But this time he recovers too quickly, and before I can even take a step his hands are in my hair again, pulling the last strands free of Cinna's beautiful handy work and getting a powerful grip on my now flowing locks. He yanks hard and it feels as though he is tearing the skin from my scalp, fiery pain surges through my body and I claw his face wildly with my nails.
Haymitch doesn't say a word, and I meet his gaze before his palm makes contact with the side of my face. I lurch backwards, dragging Haymitch with me, his fingers still tangled in my hair. The stinging from his slap ebbs to a dull ache but I can feel blood on my cheek from his nails as they rake my face in retaliation. There is blood adorning his face too, seeping from my original strike and I seem to have managed to split his lip.
A deranged smile leaps into my features and he smirks back in response before tearing brutally at my hair. This time I let out a howl and throw myself at him, but I receive another blow and taste blood thickly gathering in my mouth. Haymitch wrenches at my hair and claws my arms as I lay punches into his chest.
He manages to free himself again but I cling to the front of his now blood spattered shirt, he grins evilly and his fingers find my wrists and he twists them violently. I'm screaming the place down; sure my wrists will snap when he throws me onto the hard, solid floor.
However, my fingers find his forearm and drag him down with me and before I know it we are brawling like wild animals on the floor. In that moment only I and Haymitch exist and we are both intent on hurting the other as much as we possibly can. He gets hold of my hair again, pulling down hard, the world spins and the only noise I can hear is blood pounding in my head, my eyes roll back and I black out.
I am lurched back into the world only when strong muscled arms hook around my waist and jerk me backwards. As hard as I try I can't wriggle free and I see that Haymitch is being restrained too. Two male avoxes which I recognise from our apartment hold him back, but the feel of the body behind me seems familiar. I twist in those arms and find myself staring up at Cinna.
Effie Trinket clicks into the hallway in her stilettos and screams, retreating rapidly back through the doorway where she crashes into an alarmed Peeta. Haymitch is watching her and then he turns to meet my eye and laughs. I can't help a tiny smirk quirking my lips too.
"Katniss, I'm taking you to medical to get you cleaned up," Cinna informs me as he stands me up. His grip transfers to my forearms and holds firmly as I try to escape. "Get a grip Katniss," he says through gritted teeth as we walk through the door, turning back a second later to tell the avoxes to bring Haymitch there in a minute.
It takes almost two hours for them to sort me out in medical. Cinna lies to them smoothly, explaining the various gashes on my face resulted in my tripping and hitting myself on the table in my long dress. He insisted that we stopped and cleaned me up as much as possible in a washroom before we saw the Capitol medics so that there would be as few injuries to explain as possible. They ask about the now dried up cuts on my arms and I laugh and tell them my sister's cat attacked me the day I left District 12.
I'm thankful for the ignorance and gullibility of most Capitol citizens and although seeming not entirely convinced the doctors accept mine and Cinna's tales. I have to get stitches for my lip and they dress a bad wound to my shoulder which Cinna claims hit the corner of the table when I fell. Finally, after what feels like litres of antiseptic and enough cotton buds to last a lifetime, I am released.
The night is a long, black abyss of fear, pain and anticipation, coupled with a seething hate for Haymitch Abernathy. Effie comes with the dawn to wake me for a "big, big, big day!" which turns my mood even sourer. I never realised the day of my imminent death could be such an excitement for her. All the same I drag myself out of bed and force myself under the shower. I choose a cold water setting in the hope of waking myself up and rejuvenating my battered body. Instead, it only results in intensifying the pain Haymitch's brawl dealt me last night.
I groan as I carefully, slowly, pull the black t-shirt and khaki style trousers onto my body and inspect myself in the mirror. My hair falls lazily down to my shoulders in dark waves and most visible parts of my skin are already littered with cuts and bruises. My split lip seems on have healed remarkably well though, leaving only a small purple-red gash and the cut on my shoulder has also closed up extraordinarily quickly. I decide to braid my hair when I get back from breakfast, so I head down the hallway with it swaying at my shoulders.
As usual, the table is full of delicacies, none of which I feel like today and the sight of all the food just makes me want to wretch. As I take as step toward the table I realise someone is already there, standing behind one of the chairs and regarding me carefully - Haymitch.
He stands a little crookedly, his hands resting on the table to support him and despite my state I still think he looks a mess. His hair is a mass of greasy blonde strands, his face all bloody and cut and bruised. One half of his shirt is hanging loose and a stain blotches the leg of his cream trousers. His waistcoat is probably the cleanest thing on him, but it's not doing a great job of holding him together.
If it was any other day, time or place I would probably have run from the room, but for some reason his presence keeps me there and I feel all my anger at him slowly ebb away. My cheeks flush red at what I have done to him, how much damage I have caused, but then I remember he served me the same and is sending me, already smashed, into the arena today.
He smiles sadly at me and I meet his eyes. I notice that for once they are painfully sincere and for reasons I can't explain I feel tears well up in my own. I try desperately to call them back, but I can't help one escaping onto my cheek leaving a glistening pathway there for all to see. "Come here," he says quickly, and in a muddle of movement, pain and sorrow I run to him and bury my face in his chest. He lets me remain there for a minute, making soothing sounds and rubbing his thumb gently across my bare shoulder whilst the other hand draws circles on my back.
"Be strong, sweetheart," he whispers, lifting my chin so I am forced to meet his eyes. I stare into their steely depths and try I memorise them so I might have something to take comfort from when I am on the verge of death. His gaze bores into me as I explore the flecks and fire within his irises but then his eyes close and his strong arms draw me close to him as he sighs.
"Sweetheart," he murmurs again and holds me out at arms-length as if to inspect me. He lifts his hand and plays with my un-braided hair, and I feel the palm of his other hand move to rest on my cheek. I raise my own hands and splay my fingers on his chest, soaking up his warmth and strength. His hands draw my face close to his and I search his eyes one last time before my eyes flutter shut and our lips meet. His kiss is gentle, quiet, soft, yet still holds all the unspoken words there will never be an opportunity to say. I wish I could stay in that moment forever, his hands caressing my cheek, stroking my hair, my fists clutching desperately to his shirt, unwilling to ever let go.
As our lips part the sun breaks through the clouds and sends a golden shaft of light through the window, igniting our faces in a heated glow. For a moment the light catches his eyes, dances there and creates a fiery spark, then he blinks and it is gone. He takes my hand and squeezes it tight, and that is when I feel the sunshine in my soul, as if his hand is cradling my very heart. Then I realise - I don't need to memorise his eyes, they will always be watching me wherever I go, but what he has placed in my heart has far more value than anything I can see, today he has poured love into my soul.