Based on the Tumblr Challenge - Prompt #49: Two truths and a Lie
Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Boo.
"I'll come back for you, I will. You'll be safe, they won't hurt you. I love you…I love you..." he says, almost out of breath as he tries to get the words out and the hand cupping her cheeks falls uselessly to his side as he walks away.
She's left standing there, dumbstruck, trying to figure out which one of those three was a lie.
It's a game they used to play; Two Truths and a Lie. A Capitol game she introduced to him on the 4th year they've been working together. A means of distracting themselves after the agony of the inevitable death of their Tributes; before Haymitch returns to District 12.
"I practice my speech before the Reaping each year. I got drunk on Vodka at 15. I'm a brunette."
"Truth. Lie...No, hang on. Truth, truth and the last is a lie. Can't picture you as a brunette," he mumbles.
"No? Then what do you picture me as?" she teases him lightly.
As the sun dips over the horizon, they realise they've learned more about each other in that short space of time than the 4 years they've spent together.
Over the years, the game has been incorporated into their daily speech, played at random.
The light streams through the window of his room, and Effie stirs from her slumber. Her head resting on the crook of his neck, she does not realise her arms are wrapped snugly around his torso.
Haymitch is awake, has been awake for a couple of hours. He likes holding Effie close to him as she sleeps, feeling her body heaving with the subconscious action of breathing. It soothes him, observing Effie Trinket rest.
"Morning," she ventures, stifling a yawn, and propping herself on her elbows to look at him, "How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough." Comes his inevitable laconic reply as he languidly trails random patterns on her bare back with a singular finger.
"What are you thinking?"
"Yesterday night. How amazing you are. The Rebellion," he replies gruffly.
"Let me guess. Truth, truth, lie," she said punctuating each guess with a kiss on his chin, his lips and his nose.
He grunts and in one swift movement, he's on top of her. "Wrong, Princess. Lie, truth, truth," kissing her lips.
Such blissful times do not last, and as the Rebellion swiftly falls upon them, Haymitch begins to drift away slowly from her as plans of the Rebellion occupies his days.
A loud explosion brings her to her feet from where she was sitting on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine. From the television screen, she watches in sheer horror as chaos descends on the arena. They've broken out of the arena,she tells herself. She follows Haymitch worriedly around their penthouse as he begins to gather things and stuff liquor bottles into his haversack.
"What'd I do now, Haymitch?", she asked despite knowing of the plan herself, out of fear.
"Stay here, Eff. Stay here where they can easily find you, they won't suspect you. You go on pretending that you know nothing. You run and they'll come after you like vultures."
"What about ... What about you? I'm scared, Haymitch. For you, for us,"
"I'll come back for you, I will. You'll be safe, they won't hurt you. I love you...I love you..." he says. He tenderly plants a kiss on her temple and walks away.
She choked out a sob as she watches his retreating back, filled with trepidation and a sense of dread. She stuffs her fist in her mouth so he won't hear her. He won't turn around; he won't look back at her because he knows his resolve will crumble if he does. She knows it, too. If he turns, she'll run into his arms, she'll beg that he takes her with him, to Thirteen.
But as everyone has a part to play in the Rebellion, Effie's duty lies in the Capitol and in maintaining appearances for appearances sake. Plutarch and Haymitch has decided earlier that due to her Capitol upbringing, she won't be suspected of being a rebel. The role of deflection, distracting President Snow and his cahoots by providing false and misleading information whenever she can falls upon her. It is a gamble, admittedly, but a war entails risks and sacrifices and Effie herself had agreed to the plan.
Anything, she thought, anything to end the horrors of the Games.
That was then. She was brave, she was ready to face whatever came her way, there was fire burning inside her. A hatred so deep for the Capitol it smothers any fear she feels.
She's all alone now in the Penthouse. There is no Haymitch Abernathy to lend her strength, to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, to whisper to her the vision of a better future. She feels so cold, so empty and, so terribly afraid.
"Miss Trinket!" someone shouts as they bang on her door. Effie stands rooted to the spot, the fear in her so palpable she can feel it suffocating her.
"Miss Trinket, open this door, now!"
She tries to calm the frantic beating of her heart; she takes a deep breath, and wipes her sweaty palms on her dress. She normally frowns upon such behaviour but the appropriate moment for all things prim and proper has long passed.
Glancing one last time around the Penthouse that holds so many memories of her and Haymitch, both good and bad, she walks towards the door. Her hand is on the door knob, about to twist it open when they throw open the door. The impact causes her to stagger and land supine on her back, her arms and legs splayed out to her sides.
The shadow of a Peacekeeper falls over her and she looks up to a sneering face of a man who possesses the innate joy of inflicting pain on others.
"Where is Haymitch Abernathy?"
"I don't know. Please, I don't know where he is. The bar – have you tried the bar?" she gasps as his boot presses down on her throat, constricting it at an agonisingly slow speed.
"Don't lie to me," he hisses. She can feel his putrid breath, his spittle coating itself on her face. Her eyes widens in fear.
"You live with him in the same house for weeks and you're telling me you don't know where that drunk is? What kind of Escort are you?" he looks at her, disgust evident in his voice at the thought of how incompetent she is at her job.
He lifted his boot off her throat and she rolls on her side, coughing and gasping for air.
"What's going on? Where's Katniss and Peeta?" she questions him helplessly. Pretend you know nothing, Haymitch's voice floats into her mind.
When she was dragged kicking and screaming by the Peacekeepers, oddly she finally finds her answer; truth, lie, truth.
Despite what they thought and what Haymitch told her, she's not safe. Nobody is. Haymitch lied.
The Capitol can torture her, threaten her and mock her but they will never be able to shake her off her faith that Haymitch loves her and he will come back for her, wherever she is. That's the truth she will hold on to as she lay curled on her side in that dark, sinister cell.
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