Three years later, after losing another set of tributes and Haymitch being absolutely stubborn and refusing to help procure sponsors, Effie sat alone in her apartment, trying to figure out how to make it work the next year. It would be their fifth year together, the year when most escorts quit the position and moved on to something else.
Effie had started dating someone before the Games that year, and, although he said he loved her, she felt like something was wrong about their relationship. But, she was too afraid to back out.
The next year, Haymitch saw something different in Effie. She looked tired and ragged; she wasn't nearly as peppy as she usually was when she came to his door.
"What happened to you, sweetheart?" he asked, looking down at her right ankle, which sported a white brace that obviously meant she had been injured doing something, "Trip in one of your crazy heels?"
"It doesn't concern you, Haymitch!" she exclaimed. Haymitch heard it in her voice: fear.
"Is everything okay?" Haymitch asked, noting that Effie was beginning to tear up.
"Everything is fine, Haymitch. Now, get dressed; the Reaping starts in less than two hours."
He watched as she hobbled away, still wearing heels despite the injury; he knew it was all for television.
After the Reaping, Haymitch, Effie, and the two newest tributes got aboard the train. Effie almost fell backward off the steps getting on, and it took all three of the others to help steady her and get her seated.
"Are you alright?" the girl asked. Adalia; 13; cute, but ultimately not strong enough to make it through the first round of killings.
"I'm fine, dear," Effie said, taking her shoes off and laying back on the couch. She was in pain; she didn't care what anyone there thought of her at that moment.
"You two go into your rooms, alright?" Haymitch asked of them; the two children obliged his request and slipped off silently into their compartments. "Effie, what's going on? You've been acting funny all morning, and you're clearly hurt. What is it?"
Effie looked at him and said, "I don't have to tell you anything, Haymitch. We are not friends, and you wouldn't care anyway."
Haymitch knew she had been dating a guy that everyone in the Capitol said was trouble. Chaff had called him already and let him know that he thought the guy was treating Effie badly. "Is it your boyfriend, Effie? Is he hurting you?"
"It isn't any of your business, Haymitch!" Effie yelled. But, she knew she might as well have said 'yes,' because that answer gave it all away.
"Effie, just tell me," Haymitch said.
"He pushed me when we were with my friends a few days ago," Effie whispered, obviously ashamed. "I sprained my ankle when I fell over. I don't even know what caused it; I was just chatting with my girl-friend about a spread we're shooting next month, and I guess I hadn't been paying attention to him or something."
Haymitch handed her his handkerchief to dry her eyes on; he didn't care that it would be ruined. "Effie, has he hurt you before?"
"Yes," she admitted, dotting the edges of her eyes and sniffing. She sat up and pulled of her blazer to reveal a network of bruises on her arms; it was enough to make Haymitch wish he hadn't been drinking that morning. "I don't know what to do; I'm scared to break up with him—he might kill me."
"We're gonna get this taken care of, princess," Haymitch said, helping her back into her blazer and letting her lean on him and he escorted her into her room. "Get yourself cleaned up, alright?" She nodded and asked,
"Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?"
He slid the compartment door closed without an answer. The truth was, as much as he hated her most of the time, the woman didn't deserve to be abused in the least bit.
"Haymitch, I want to thank you again for getting rid of that scumball," Effie said after dinner was over and the kids had gone to bed a couple of nights later. Haymitch, always one to call in a few favors if he needed to, had managed to make sure the man never came into Effie's life ever again. He would never tell Effie how, though, as he knew she wouldn't approve.
"No problem, sweetheart," he said, clinking his glass to hers. She rolled her eyes and finished off the margarita she had been drinking.
"Well," she said, getting up and pushing her seat underneath the table, "I'm grateful for whatever you did. I'm headed off to bed now; we have another big, big, big day ahead of us. Goodnight."
Haymitch watched as Effie hobbled off to bed, barefoot and tender on her hurt ankle. This year was the first one he had felt any sort of affection for the escort; he tried to push the thought that he felt anything for her out of his mind. He had simply done what any decent human being would do—help someone who was in trouble and couldn't get out of it themselves.
At least, he told himself that.
