The walk home is disorienting and exhausting on more than one level. Haymitch pushes our pace until we are well on the road to the Victor's Village. I try to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, on staying next to him and not falling behind, but my mind keeps wondering if someone is following us. My eyes try and take in everything that they can and so as a result the scenery runs together and I lose my breath. Every so often we have to stop so I can catch it again. When we are finally truly alone, Haymitch stops suddenly and faces me. He doesn't speak, just moves and puts his arms around me, holding me tight against him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, giving me a good squeaze. I can only nod in response. His arms are steady and I have to fight the urge to go slack in his embrace like I did back in the courtyard. We stay like this for a minute or so and when he lets me go I just stand there looking at him. He doesn't have anything else to say.
The first thing that Haymitch does when we arrive at his house is to take me to his attached bathroom and throw me into a hot shower, clothes and all. The garments are beyond filthy anyways and so I don't mind the hot water as it soaks through the fabric and starts to wash away the weight of the last few weeks from me. I stand directly under the showerhead for a long time just letting the warmth flow over me. Relishing the way it encapsulates me like nothing else I've ever known. I feel safe for a brief moment, protected again for a second before I remember where I am and who I'm with. Haymitch's previous warnings about his inability to protect anyone come back to me in a rush and I feel a sharp stab of anxiety to go along with it.
He was so inisistent that this was a dangerous place, that I couldn't find safety in this home and with him but the minute I left was when I was swept up. But leaving wasn't entirely my decision. When Haymitch sent me out I couldn't think of anything to do except comply. I had nothing else to give to our relationship, to our arrangement, so I hold no ill will towards him. What gnaws at me is that he pushed me away and told me to leave even after we had seen the Peacekeepers outside of my house. I understand the compulsion to protect oneself at all costs. But there is also the small voice inside me reminding me to remember how it had felt to be so close to him. To breathe in the warmth of his skin and immediacy.
When I peel off the dirty clothing I leave it in a corner of the shower, planning on never touching it again. I'm finally able to scrub my skin until it is pink and sensitive to the hot water cascading over me. I take my time in the bathroom when I'm clean, wrapping myself in fluffy towels and rubbing at my hair with one until it is partly dry. I work out the kinks with my fingers and finally am able to really see the effects that my confinement had on my body. My skin is sallow, eyes pulled at the corners like they are still waiting for a strike. My bones are a little more prominent and I feel stretched over my frame like I have shrunk. I don't like this person in the mirror, but I reach out and press my palm on the mirror over the spot where her heart would be. Comforting myself, promising myself that eventually I will be okay again.
There are fresh clothes for me laid out on Haymitch's bed and I when I slip into the clean skirt and sweater, pulling on a pair of knit legwarmers for comfort in the cold house, I feel somewhat human again.
Haymitch is waiting for me in the kitchen. There is a pair of places set at the table, one across from the other, and he's sitting at one with his hands folded in front of him. When he sees me enter he stands and starts to move about grabbing a bowl and moving to the fire where I catch sight of a pot sitting on the edge keeping warm. I smile to myself while I take a seat at the table and he places a bowl of a steaming hot grain in front of me.
"You cooked?" I ask, my first real phrase to him and he smirks.
"Don't get used to it," he replies and adds a small dish of butter to the table and I reach for it with relish.
"Thank heavens for little miracles," I mutter as I stir a generous dollop of butter into my grain, not sure if this was his intent but not caring. Haymitch and I settle into the rhythm of sharing a meal, even one as simple as this, and the more food I eat the heavier my limbs start to feel, signalling the settling of my fatigue. I end up eating another bowl, filling myself to the brim before I push the bowl back and settle myself deeper into the chair. Haymitch has been taking measured sips from a mug and watches me slowly blink at him in the warm kitchen and I wonder what is in that mug. Whether or not he's managed to get his hands on more liquor. If she's home, my guess is my grandmother has found a way to be back in business.
It hangs over our heads that now is the time for me to air grievances over what has happened. I can tell that Haymitch feels guilty, but I have no interest in piling on more torment on a person who already carries so many dead and so many tortured memories on his shoulders. But I can't let him off scott free.
"Why did you come back for me?" I say when I've let the silence stretch on long enough. He shrugs in response, then leans himself back and runs a thumb and forefinger along his eyebrows, probably trying to iron out the words before he speaks.
"I knew when you'd gone that I was wrong," he says, starting slowly but the words coming easier as he continues.
"I went to find you the next day but Ripper said you'd been taken. She didn't know where, so I went to the Justice Building but they weren't any help. Kept telling me different things every time I went there."
I'm surprised that he was so persistent, so intent on righting his mistake that he became a thorn in the authorities sides.
"How did you find me?" I ask.
"Lucky guess," he admits. "There was talk they were stepping up the executions, that Thread was starting to get desperate. No passenger trains had come in or out lately and so I finally just looked for you that night at the cells. And there you were."
Haymitch goes on to tell me that after that night he spent a frantic two days arranging my release. He spun a tale, backed up with forged documents from a certainly disreputable source, that I was officially employed as his housekeeper by the Capitol and that whatever lies anyone might have told regarding my whereabouts or activities were to be disregarded because he could vouch for me. It was such a thin plan, such a weak excuse, that I am shocked it worked. But he attributes his ultimate success to the newness of the force. We were lucky that they barely know us.
"So," I finally say when he seems to be finished. "Does that mean you're going to start paying me for cleaning your house?" Haymitch laughs. But it's what is needed at the moment. I am so drained that I cannot process much more. I desperately need sleep. Haymitch walks me upstairs again and leads me down the hallway to my room but instead of the wrecked space I'd left behind, there is instead a room that has been put back together and made ready for me.
"This doesn't make everything okay," I say quietly and almost unaware that it's come out of my mouth. Haymitch nods and I think he understands what I mean. While I can comprehend his decision to push me out, I am not ready to give him my full forgiveness.
Sleep is difficult. Whenever I close my eyes I cannot escape the memories that immediately surface. When I do finally drift off, it's nightmares that are my companions. I toss and turn for hours until I am struggling against the sheet I've been wrapped in, trying to get a clear breath again and finding my heart racing. The sun is setting when I pull myself up and pad quietly down the hallway to find solace. I knock but open Haymitch's door at the same time, unsure if he's even going to be inside. He's sitting on the bed and looks up from a book when I enter. His eyebrows lift up in question.
"I can't sleep," I say and he automatically shifts over, making room for me. I slide in and find his free hand closest to me, curling my fingers into his palm so that they're protected by his. It's simple, but just being near another person soothes my mind and fears. The tension seeps out of my part of me and I feel like I am sinking into the bed, like I am falling away from the world yet remain anchored by my hand curled in Haymitch's.
Finally, I am able to rest.