Chapter nine
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EFFIE POV
Tax throws me an unkind look as he saunters into the private training. His humility towards me on the first day of training was obviously a blip on an otherwise arrogant and ruthless radar. He's been tagged as the favourite almost from the moment he was reaped, with good odds and queues of sponsors approaching his mentor and escort already. My sponsor count on the other hand stands at a lowly zero. Tax has become increasingly self-involved and, most importantly, downright rude and impolite. He was nice to me on that first day because he obviously thought I was an easy target but showing even the smallest amount of aptitude for anything at all, especially archery, seemed to get on his nerves and if the situation weren't so dire I might find it endlessly amusing. Having done okay in interview- better than him by anyone's standards- his hatred of me seemed to have doubled but what can I say? I spent my entire career lying and plastering on a fake smile and saying what needed to be said for an easy life. How is it my issue if he can't behave in front of a camera?
I tap my feet nervously and try to think of a way to best show off my skills. Haymitch told me to try and work with the worst case scenario which would be 23 highly skilled people trying to kill me all at once. However I highly doubt that everyone will ally against me or that everyone has a developed special skill so I decide on a nice round 10. The six careers and a potential four add-ons that are good enough to be part of the crew and decide on a simple bow and arrow and throwing knife set to show off my skills. Haymitch told me to not rely heavily on weapons but still show what I can use. I try not to think of how I'm meant to take the life away from another human being with my own bare hands.
Annabella's sat next to me twitching her leg, I can't tell if it's from nerves about the private training session or about the breakfast she just ate. I can see it developing inside her, a combination of her adolescence and the society she has grown up in. I can see her planning ways to get out of lunch that she knows won't work, scrutinising the fact that she's obviously put on weight, not being able to handle the rapid changes in her body. In 4 days I've put on 9 pounds in weight, mainly in muscle I think. My thigh gap has all but closed and instead of protruding bones and acute angles I've become covered in lean, strong muscle. It's incredible to believe that everything's just sprung back with so little time but I guess my body knows when I need it to step up. Annabella's body has followed suit and become leaner and stronger but she's not seeing it that way. All she's seeing is fat piling onto a skinny body that she's worked hard for. I want to hold her and stroke her long blonde hair and let her cry until the confusion and heartache and fear goes away. We both know that can't happen though, if she starts crying now, if either of us do, we both know the tears will never stop.
The room empties all too quickly and soon it is just the two of us left, gripping each other's hands like if we let go then one of us will just float away. Our sweaty palms gripped together so tightly I can feel her knuckles digging into me. Within seconds of us being left to our own devices Haymitch appears out of the door to the staircase looking shifty, knowing he shouldn't be here but carrying my old ballet bag over his shoulder dutifully, bringing my salvation just as he had promised last night. As he arrives he drops it by my feet unceremoniously, swooping down to peck my lips, my heart flip flopping in response. Annabella lets go of my hand, knowing her time of comfort is over and I need to focus on myself right now. I slip the old shoes onto my feet, my toes aching in response, knowing what is coming, the battered ribbon looping around my newly formed calves exactly the same as they did in my mislead youth. I stand with new found confidence. I hold my arms out, asking him without words to take my hands and hold me steady. I do a few pointe exercises, rolling onto the very tips of my toes with one foot and then swapping to the other while lowering down, I need to make sure my legs are still up for this, it would be properly crap if I went en pointe and broke both my ankles. The muscles in my legs are slightly weaker then when I used to do pointe classes but nothing feels too wrong so I bite the bullet and hop forewords into a pretty good pointe to say its been so many years, only needing Haymitch's hands for the slightest support. I do the same again, lightly hopping into pointe and gracefully lowering out, I let go of his reassuring, calloused hands tentatively, holding them out in front of me in the stereotypical ballerina circle. I must still look a little wobbly because he's hovering closely, ready to catch me at a seconds notice. I turn a single slow pirouette, making sure to slowly lower down off pointe to challenge my muscles. I do the same again and start to go faster and faster, my hair flying around me, dropping in and out of pointe throwing in la secondes turns and fouettes. He's stepped back now, giving me room, seeing that I've got this. With the extra space I've been granted I do some 'tricksy shit' as Haymitch calls it and launch myself into an arial walkover, a cartwheel, some backflip stuff I was only allowed to do when I turned ten. I'd forgotten how, despite the fact it was forced upon me and I despised it, this was exhilarating and... Fun. A slightly hysterical giggle escapes my lips as I throw myself into an aerial cartwheel, tucking my arms into my chest and splaying my legs out in a star shape, landing en pointe and turning out in a graceful pirouette easily.
"Annabella Snow, District 12" the emotionless tannoy announces and I skid to an instantaneous stop. Fear spreads across her young features and she stands slowly, I can see her hands shaking so I rush over to her and pull her into a tight hug "you'll be wonderful" I reassure her, tucking a stand of her light blonde hair behind her ear and dredging up a watery grin. She nods like she's just humouring me and I pull her back into another reassuring embrace. My point shoes give me a little height and we are about the same now, so she holds onto me easily, her head slotting above my shoulder perfectly.
"Annabella Snow, please make your way to the private viewing room immediately" the announcer insists again. She takes a deep breath and pulls her hair away from her face in a gesture that has become familiar to me. She hates wearing her hair up but understands that waist length, thick, poker straight hair is not the way to go during exercise so pulls into a rough messy ponytail before anything important. She turns and walks away with her usual grace. That child would make the most marvellous dancer, everything she does exudes this effortless grace that I'm sure my mother wished I possessed. With a small swish of hay coloured hair she is gone, I want to sit and wonder what she's doing, pondering what we can do tonight, in the last night before the games to make her feel better. I look at Haymitch sadly; knowing today will be our last day together and the minutes are running away faster then I can try to hang on. I won't kill her, I shan't. I will get her out, get her out to live her life, to grow up and get married and have kids. She'll get out so she can go to university an use that clever little head of hers the way I never could. I will die in that arena at some point but I will die protecting her. I walk over to Haymich, placing my hands behind his neck and pressing my lips to his firmly, desperate to remember the way they feel softly moving against mine. Memorising the way his calloused fingertips trail lightly across my skin leaving blazing heat in their wake. His lips leave mine and he pulls me close, another thing to commit to memory; the way it feels to be pressed right up against him, his arms holding me so tightly I feel as if they're the only thing holding me together. I grasp desperately at the time we have left, 20 minutes ticking away to zero. I pull away reluctantly after what I estimate is fifteen minutes has passed. I sit and untie the ribbons, slipping my pointe shoes off and lacing my trainers back onto my feet.
"Look after her" I tell him "make sure she's okay when you go back upstairs. Don't make her eat dinner until I get there" I finish, worried he might unknowingly pressure her
"Yeah okay but she's going to have to start eating quicker. She's not going to have time to nancy around like that tomorrow; she gonna need to take food where she can get it"
"It's not that simple" I explain as I slip my pointe shoes back into my bag
"Sure it is. Chew your food quicker" he states, totally oblivious to the problem. I realise that he's probably never come across eating disorders before, coming from a district where food was so scarce but in the Capitol a few extra pounds isn't seen as a triumph over your circumstances, it's seen as a weakness and a failure.
"She doesn't want to eat" I reiterate "she's put on a lot of weight in muscle and growing up in the Capitol is tough. You're expected to be thin and beautiful above all else. It was worse for dancers; I was told on many occasions by my mother to become stronger but at the same time lose weight... I nearly died you know. I nearly starved myself to death in the only place in all if Panem where food was abundant. When I first came to twelve, I don't think I've ever ever been more ashamed in my life." I glance up at him fearfully, I know he won't get this one, its too extreme, too Capitol but I want him to know even if he doesn't understand.
"I'm sorry that happened to you" he apologises simply. I want to laugh. He is apologising to me? The man who had to kill 23 other children just to stay alive, who is haunted by recurring nightmares and a worrying dependancy on alcohol is saying sorry to me for refusing to eat? "I'm just sorry it happened to her" I reply, keeping my thoughts to myself.
"Euphemia Trinket, District 12"
The tannoy calls and my heart freezes. He drops a light kids on my distracted lips "good luck princess" and with a slight wave he's gone. It's all up to me now.
I step into the sterile room confidently despite the fact I want to quiver like a child and sit on the floor and sob. I Velcro the set of knives to my thigh for ease if use and place the quiver of arrows on my back before setting up the simulator and grasping the bow. Orange holograms flicker to life, already starting to move around me. The world drops away. It's just me, my weapons and this simulator. I pretend Haymitch has broken me in here for one of our combat sessions, that this isn't important at all and it's just me and him messing around like always. The first hologram moves towards me in a flash of orange and the arrow shatters into its heart before I even have chance to register that it's happened. I launch myself over an incoming sword and throw one of my knives into another holograms neck before spinning to send another into the sword baring opponent I had just dodged. It has begun. One by one they fall, I slit throats, shoot arrows, throw knives, jump, dodge, kick, claw; anything I can do to keep them away from me. With a final sharp swish an arrow sinks through the shoulder of the final hologram, disintegrating it into orange blocks that fade away before my very eyes. I look down and notice orange slashes on my clothes, nothing deep just a few nicks that would make life difficult in the arena. I place my weapons on the side and leave without a word, trying desperately not to think about the pile of metaphorical bodies I'm leaving in my wake.
I miserably spoon the last of my dinner into my mouth, noticing Annabella's only a third of her way through dinner and disapproving as much as I can without being a total hypocrite. She knows that I know and with a stern look she forks more rice into her mouth sadly. I desperately wish I could somehow convince her that its not worth it but she won't listen; god knows I never did. When she finally finishes we let her forgo pudding and migrate to the couches just in time to get the final scores for training. Tax got an 11, no surprises there. Most people get between 4 and 6 with the better contestants hitting a seven or eight, nobody anywhere near tax's range.
"Annabella Snow, 9" Ceasar Flickerman announces in his overly dramatic voice. I hug her close to me, expressing my delight and relief at her high score but there's no escaping whats coming now. Me next.
"Euphemia Trinket...11" he states with surprise and the room explodes around me, everyone seems to be embracing me all at once and I can't help but feel equal part happy and sad. I'm good enough to protect her but I'm also going to be at the top of tax's list meaning I can't be near her until he's dead.
My heart thuds in my chest.
I'm going into the arena. Tomorrow.
One more chapter until arena time guys! Thanks for following me this far, reviews are love :) xx
