Hey Hayffiers! So this is the penultimate chapter of Escape, I know it's a bit wordy at first, but believe me it does get interesting - I just had to set the scene.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I may be writing another fic of this from Haymitch's POV (I may even do that before I get round to chapter 5 because I really want to get into his mindset first).
Also, I wanted to say thank you to all the people who have taken the time to actuallly read this, and especially those who reviewed - seriously, it means a lot to me, so thanks :) x
It's been a long day watching Katniss' trial, but ultimately worth it, I think. At least now I know she won't be sentenced to death for shooting 'President' Coin. One less thing for me to worry about.
Thankfully I wasn't called to speak today – I don't think I could've coped with that. I didn't really want to be involved anyway; I just wanted to see her safe. However, to do that, I had to come in person, since the cut that makes the television never has any truth in it.
I needed to see this for myself.
But there was another reason why I came here today. As I stand to leave, I look down at the courtroom floor, just to catch a glimpse of him for the last time.
Haymitch Abernathy.
The man now entrusted with watching over Katniss in her 'deranged state'. The man I was stupid enough to put my trust in so many months ago.
The man who saved my life.
At least, that's what they tell me.
Apparently I should be grateful to him and Plutarch. I'm told that once I was imprisoned, they fought tirelessly to keep me alive. They had planned this from day one, making sure I was arrested to stop Coin killing me, making sure the Capitol thought I was a rebel to stop them killing me. I can see why Plutarch would've thought it was a good plan. It was efficient, easy, and kept his hands clean. But Haymitch... I was convinced he thought about me as an individual, not a number. Obviously not. It seems that all they cared about was the end result, and, as long as I came out alive, it didn't matter what I had to go through.
This is the first time I have laid eyes on Haymitch since the interview night. I don't know what I was expecting, but from this distance he looks much the same as before.
I could've seen him sooner, but I didn't let him visit me when I was in the hospital. They said they were trying to make me better, so I decided Haymitch wasn't someone that would help with that. He was persistent at first. Every day the nurses would come with increasingly irate messages from him. I could hear him in the corridors shouting at them. But I always refused.
I was angry with him. But I was also afraid. So afraid of what he might do, or even worse, what he might say. I still am.
I don't even know why he wanted to see me; probably just to yell at me some more, manipulate me. Anyway, eventually he stopped trying. I still have to tell myself that's a good thing. He gave me hope before, and then he took it away. I'm determined not to let him do that again.
However, a small part of me still longs to see him again. And I hate myself for it.
I don't realise I am staring until he glances up suddenly and catches my eye. Damn. I didn't want him to know I was here. I turn to leave, hoping I can escape before he gets the chance to confront me.
I walk at a brisk pace, weaving through the crowd and trying not to push past too many people in my haste. They mutter under their breath all the same, although I suppose I should be used to that by now.
Initially, after my release, I'd been referred to a therapist. At first it did help. Due to my confinement, I've got used to spending a lot of time in my own head. I had to practice conversing normally again. It's not too hard; I've always found it easy to make small talk. However, if I'm not careful, I often find my mind circling back to darker areas.
I thought that maybe with enough willpower I could get some measure of normality back in my life, but I've had to accept that I'll never be exactly the same as before. I can't forget what happened, and, try as I might, the nightmares always come back to remind me.
It doesn't help that ever since I've returned to the public eye, whispers follow me wherever I go. Of course, people are polite enough to my face, but everyone roughly knows my story. To them, I am nothing more than the clueless escort turned damaged woman. Imprisoned by my own people, bone thin, with PTSD and enough scars to put people off; I'm tainted. And because of that, I don't seem to fit anywhere. Both Capitol and District people make a habit of avoiding me, either out of shame or disgust.
To be honest I don't blame them. If I could, I'd avoid me too.
I force my way down to the ground floor, although there is no thinning of the crowd. I would be shocked at how many people are here, but after all, who would want to miss the trial of the girl on fire? Yet one more person ruined beyond repair by others' doings. Of course they want to hear the gossip.
I wonder how many of these people actually know the real Katniss Everdeen.
I navigate the winding hallways, looking for a discreet exit. Maybe I actually can get away without having to speak to him. I'm halfway down the last corridor when a gruff voice demands my attention.
"Effie, wait."
I almost stop at the sound of his voice.
"I don't want to talk to you Haymitch," I say hurriedly. I just need to forget all this and get as far away from here as possible, but for some reason my pace slows. It's been so long since we last spoke.
"And why is that sweetheart?" he asks sarcastically. I know he's just trying to get a rise out of me, but my heart begins to race and my palms grow clammy from distress.
"I'm busy," I try, still walking away.
"Why are you here?" He asks, dropping the sarcasm entirely.
I come to a stop. Maybe if I give him a good enough answer, he'll let me go.
"For Katniss," I say without turning. "I needed to see whether she's… coping."
"Right…" he says slowly. I wish I didn't have to read his expressions to know what he means. I fight the urge to turn around - this is hard enough as it is; I can't look at his face. Those eyes. However, it sounds like he wants to say more… or wants me to say more.
But I can't. I've put this – whatever it is – behind me. If I try to talk this out with him… well I don't know what will happen, but I don't think I want to find out. We've never had a good track record for discussing things civilly, and I'm just not strong enough for it at the moment. I don't know if I ever will be. It's better if I just go.
I make to leave until his voice stops me yet again.
"Tell me why I couldn't visit you," he demands sharply.
I decide to be honest as I realise he's not going to let me dodge his questions. "I didn't want to see you, and I still don't." I say coldly.
"Why not?" There seems to be a note of irritation creeping into his voice.
I sigh, defeated. I want to tell him that it's pointless. Because you won't understand. Because I know how this is going to go, and I don't want to fight you anymore. I thought I could leave without doing this, but he seems determined to get it out of me.
"Because I'm angry with you, Haymitch."
There's a long pause. I keep my back turned.
"Why?" he asks in a measured voice.
"If you don't understand that, then I can't help you," I say dismissively. "I have to go."
I'm almost at the door before he replies.
"That's right princess, just turn your back and walk away, same as usual."
I freeze, my hand on the door. I don't want to have a scene with him, but he's trying his best to provoke some sort of response in me, and I can feel my anger intensifying in response.
"What do you mean?" I ask in a careful voice, trying very hard to keep control of myself.
"Effie, look at me," he says, surprisingly gently. I give up and turn to face him, longing and curiosity finally winning out over common sense.
He's leaning against the patterned wallpaper, arms folded, looking arrogant as ever. But there's something else that I can't put my finger on. I allow my eyes to run over him briefly, taking in the details. Like everyone else who has been through this war, he doesn't look too great. There are additional lines around his face - he looks quite a bit older. Tired. By the yellowish tinge to his skin, I would say he's had more than a few drinks since we last met, but he doesn't seem too bad.
I can sense his eyes studying my face in a similar way. I'm wearing my usual clothes today; trying to blend in. I also put on a lot of make-up, hoping it would hide the worst of the effects of the last few months. He looks me up and down, causing me to shift uncomfortably and my heart beats a little faster. I attempt not to be intimidated, but I can't look at him.
"You're dressed the same," he accuses me, frowning.
At this comment, a fire flares up inside me. I've been through so much, come so far; of all the things in the world, why would my appearance be a problem for him?
"What does it matter what I look like?!" I snap.
"Because you're doing what you always do, pretending everything's fine. It shows how little you've changed." He says simply. I actually gasp in shock. How can he say that?!
"I haven't changed?!" I ask incredulously, my voice rising in pitch. He looks like he's about to make another comment but I get there first, letting my anger drive me forward as I tear into him. "What about you? You've done nothing but hide away these last few months. Look at Katniss, Peeta, Finnick. And yes, even me. We all paid some kind of price but you…" I laugh once without humour. "You're exactly the same; still sarcastic, still drinking… still heartless."
I almost regret that last one, but he deserved it. His eyes flash at my outburst, but his face remains calm, unfazed.
"So you think I've had it easy princess?"
I fight the impulse to slap him right across the face. God I hate him! So patronizing even now. I don't think he realises how hard it is for me to control my emotions right now. I told him I was angry, and he's still doing his best to wind me up. I was prepared to be civil, but if this is how he wants it…
"That's how it seems to me," I say. I know I shouldn't push him, but I can't stop myself. All the words I haven't been able to say, all this time. I'm only telling him the truth and he's asking for it anyway.
"You don't care about anyone but yourself," I say icily.
Finally my words seem to get through to him and that self-righteous smirk falls right off his face. However, it is replaced almost immediately with fury.
"You have no idea what I had to do to protect you Trinket" he growls, moving towards me, "no idea what I went through in 13. I know what it's like to be tortured too you know."
I begin to feel nervous as he comes closer, but I'm determined to stand my ground.
"What because they made you sober?" I ask snidely. "So you couldn't bury your problems and run from the guilt?" I have no time for his self-pity; if anything they did him a favour. "It's about time you faced the cold hard truth about who you are." I spit.
I'm half expecting him to rip me apart after what I said, but he just stands there, slowly shaking his head. When he finally speaks, it's in a calm voice.
"Oh I know who I am, I've known that for a long time," he says slowly, "but what about who you are?" He asks. I keep my eyes on the floor, refusing to reply. That is a question I cannot answer and he knows that full well. He sighs deeply. "You don't see it, do you Eff? You've still got your mask on. You're still hiding."
He says it softly, even using my name, but somehow his words manage to make me furious. He's talking like he's disappointed with me and he has absolutely no right.
"Did it ever occur to you that I'm still trying to protect myself?" I ask, my voice growing louder. He looks confused, which only makes me angrier. No matter how I'm behaving, what I'm doing, he has no right to judge it - because it's all his fault. "You know nothing about what's going on in my head, Haymitch. Nothing." I shout, finally breaking. "You can't know how I feel because I barely do!" I'm losing it now, but I can't stop. "It's all a power play! Manipulation and lies and I've had enough! You're just like them!" I yell. "You were controlling me, choosing what was best for me, like it was your decision to make!"
The confusion on his face clears as he realises what I'm saying. "You're comparing me to the Capitol?" He asks, taking a deliberate step towards me. "They took my family, my friends. They took everything from me," he says, his voice shaking. "They took my life." He's close to losing it but I carry on, determined to make him see.
"You did the same thing! You lied to me, took over my life and then abandoned me – decided my fate and left me to live it out. You're exactly like them." I hiss. We are so close now; he's virtually stood on top of me.
"I did what I had to do to keep you alive," he says firmly. "I didn't give you that bracelet for fun; I set this up so you had a chance."
"A chance at what?"
"Living!" he yells.
I flinch at his raised voice, and let my eyes dart up quickly. I drop them when I meet his fiery gaze. How is it fair that he can be so sure of himself, so determined that he did the right thing, when I can't even look him in the eye.
"Sometimes the living part is worse," I whisper.
I wince as soon as I utter the words, convinced he'll be furious, but he freezes. After a few seconds of silence, I glance at his face again. I just catch a glimpse of something, a few flickers of pain. Good. Maybe now he understands.
I take a step back, hoping he is too preoccupied thinking of that night, when he said the same thing. He notices me move though.
"So you'd rather I'd left you to die?" he asks quickly, scowling down at me.
"I'd rather people didn't keep interfering with my life!" I shout, letting my rage overshadow my sadness, my fear. It drives me forward. "They tortured me because of you," I'm screaming now, "they thought I had information because of you!"
"I was doing you a favour," he snarls back. "Do you really think you would be here now if I hadn't-"
"Hadn't what?" I cut him off, "Lied to me?!"
"It was for your own good." His voice is rising to match mine. He looks furious, but I swear he can't be madder than I am. "I couldn't tell you what was going on, it was better that you didn't know anything!"
Oh well that sounds familiar. Is he expecting me to be grateful? Being kept in the dark, fed false information the whole time just to keep me out of the way - he's doing exactly the same thing, and just like them, he thinks it's okay.
I don't want to hear what he has to say. He can't justify what he did.
"I don't care. You threw me into something I had no idea about. I didn't even get a say about my own life!" I yell in his face.
"I barely got a say Effie! Both sides wanted you dead." I recoil at his words but he carries on. "I tried to help you, but… obviously I shouldn't have bothered." He says with malice.
"Maybe not," I say, just as bitter.
There's a long silence as we stand there, glaring at each other. His lips are set in a hard line, his brow knitted together. My eyes skirt around his face, but never meet his. Eventually he sighs deeply.
"Look Effie, I was trying to help you," he says wearily. "This is the real world and someone has to call the shots. You need to wake up sweetheart; move on."
He says the last part in a neutral voice. I honestly can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not, but its rich coming from him. How he thinks he's got any right to tell me what to do, I don't know.
"You're telling me to move on… And what would you know about that?" I ask resentfully. He looks hurt, and for a second I feel bad. But then I remember that I'm done feeling sorry for him. He talks like the last few months have been nothing, like I should be able to just skip over them and forget it all. He of all people should understand that that's just not possible.
"I was wrong before," I say quietly. He's not going to like what I'm about to say, but after all, he was the one who came looking for the truth. Now he's dragged it out of me. "You're not the same as the Capitol," I breathe, "you're worse."
"Worse." He repeats slowly, trying to take it in. His face is inches from mine and I can feel his breath on my cheek at his next words. "Please tell me how on earth I could be worse than them."
Finally, I meet his gaze and battle the distress I feel as I stare right into his eyes.
"Because I thought I could trust you," I admit. I had meant to say it forcefully, but my voice breaks as I realise that there's not one person left in my life I can rely on.
I drop my eyes and start to turn away, fighting to hold the tears back. He's got his answers now.
He grabs my wrist though, forcing me to stop and pulling me back. It's like an electric shock. Panic. That's all I can feel.
I spin around, hoping to wriggle out of his grip, but it just tightens.
"Listen to me," he says, but I can't. The fear is all I can think about.
I try to remind myself that this is Haymitch, a man I have known for years. But then I remember that I don't really know him at all.
"Haymitch get off my arm," I demand. My voice rises but there's no power in it. I can't seem to catch my breath.
I can't get away and he moves yet closer, leaning over me.
He's just like them.
He's one of them.
"Just -"
He's going to hurt me.
"No Haymitch, let go of me!" I cry desperately. Everything's a blur and the words just come tumbling out. "You're a bastard and I hate you!" I scream, "Get off me!"
He drops my arm abruptly and steps back. I almost regret my words, but cruel as they were, I'm not sure they're untrue.
I glance up to his face. He looks shocked. Maybe now he believes me.
"You really want to know why I didn't let you visit me?" I ask before he has a chance to talk. He just stands there, so I carry on. "Because I was scared."
I meet his eyes. The fire that was there last time, the burning rage and loathing, all that seems to be gone. I can see only hurt.
"You're scared of me?" He asks. I can barely see his face through the blur of tears in my eyes, but there's so much pain in his voice. How can he not believe that after everything I've been through? I'm afraid of a lot of things now. I never thought I would be frightened of Haymitch, but I have learned the hard way that he is damaging.
I know he is looking at me but I daren't meet his eyes. I can't. He hurt me in a way I never thought he could.
"You did this to me." I confess slowly. My legs are shaking so badly I can barely stand up, but I have to get away. Now.
However, just as I make it to the door, he manages to tear my world down one more time.
"I'm sorry Effie."
The pain is searing, like a knife in my chest. Oh how I want those words to be true. But I can't believe him – not again.
"Liar," I whisper.
The tears fall freely as I turn away for the last time.
