Prompt: Hey Karine! Would you ever consider writing a prompt of H's reaction if Effie was actually sexually assaulted in prison? That prompt of Effie begging jo not to tell H had me thinking, and you have been doing quite a bit of first time fics for yourself lately so I figured why not ask. And you know i love me some angst. So I guess this is kind of a prompt but would totally understand if you don't want to. I also don't remember if I have a prompt on the waiting list or not lol
If you're still taking prompt I have one : effie lives with haymitch after the war and they have a discussion about what happened to her. She reveals she has been raped and haymitch is furious. And so at the end they BOTH cry. Thanks !
TG: this isn't my default HC and given the topic of the prompt, proceed with caution.
Sharing Your Burdens
Effie almost sucked on the cigarette, desperate as she was for the relief nicotine would bring. Her fingers were shaking so badly she could barely hold it. Her eyes darted around, surveying the dark street.
Twelve was always so dark at night, no lampposts in the Village, no night lights from clubs or headlights from cars… There were the stars, she supposed, but the sky was cloudy and the only glow piercing the night was the reddish bud of her cigarette.
She hated the dark.
Running off to the porch may not have been the best idea.
But Haymitch hated when she smoked inside and…
The front door creaked open and she tensed, tightening her dressing gown around her by reflex, too aware her body was naked under the silk.
Haymitch had gotten dressed. Sweatpants, tee-shirt… Everything he hated to wear in bed. He liked sleeping naked, he always had. Even in the dead of winter, it was rare for him to wear anything under the blankets. Not anymore though. Not since she had showed up at his house with her problems and he had taken her in. Not since she had migrated to his bed after a few months and it had become obvious she wanted the comfort of his arms but not the press of his naked flesh against her body.
"It's too cold to be outside wearing just that, sweetheart." he chided her and draped the plaid he had snatched from the back of the couch around her shoulders.
It took all she had to suppress a flinch when his hand accidentally brushed her neck.
If he noticed, he didn't let on. "Do you want some tea?"
"Sure." she said flatly.
He nodded, more to himself than to her, and disappeared back inside.
The blanket was a nice idea and, after a moment, she felt a little better. It was hard sometimes to determine if the cold came from within or from the temperature. She tucked herself on the swing seat Haymitch had surprised her with for her birthday – the exact model she had always dreamed of and that looked so pretty on their porch – and wrapped herself so completely in the plaid all that was poking out was her hand and the cigarette she was still holding.
She wasn't sure how long passed before he walked back out with two steaming mugs but she caught the moment of hesitation when he eyed the empty spot next to her. She shifted a little toward the armrest so he would understand the invitation for what it was.
He placed the two mugs on the rough uneven floorboards and sat down next to her, letting his gaze get lost in the sky overhead. Still cloudy. No stars.
The liquid in his mug was an off-color and she figured he had generously spiked it. Since he was drinking, she didn't feel guilty about crushing the bud of her cigarette in the ashtray next to the swing seat and slipping another one from the packet she kept there for that exact purpose.
Well, she kept it hidden behind a flower pot. It wouldn't do to let the children know of her bad habits, would it? They were already acquainted with too many of her demons.
He started making the swing seat rock slowly by pushing on his legs. It was a slow rhythm, back and forth, gentle, soothing…
She tried not to make a parallel with sex and failed.
Perhaps his mind had gone there too because he sighed. "I'm sorry."
He sounded dejected, self-loathing and bitter.
Everything she didn't want.
"I am the one who should say that." she remarked. She had said that. She had said that when he had slipped halfway inside her and she had panicked despite the fact she had been the one to tell him she was ready and wanted it.
It wasn't the first time either.
"No." he snapped, taking his eyes off the sky to glare at her. It wasn't a mean glare though, it lacked heat. "I've told you a thousand times, Effie. You never apologize to me for not wanting a fuck."
He had told her a thousand times.
Way before sex had even become a problem.
It was one of the reasons she believed him when he said it nowadays.
But how soon before he became tired of being noble and went to seek elsewhere what she couldn't give? She had been in Twelve for two years. They had kissed and they had fooled around a little but every time it became more serious, more heated… Every time clothes were shed and…
She turned her head a little so she wasn't looking at him. She could still feel his stare burning her cheek.
"Do you hate me?" she asked in a small voice.
It was ridiculous. She knew he didn't.
But a part of him must have hated her.
She would have hated it if her partner worked her up and promised sex only to pull out when it was starting to become good. And she was lucky he even pulled out at all. After all, once he was inside… Not all men would have done that and she knew it. Given how long it had been since the last time they had actually had sex – since the last time he had actually had sex – it would have been finished in a few thrusts. He could have taken his release and just…
Sometimes she thought that would be the best option, to force herself through it once, that it would help remind her he would never hurt her, that it could be good if only she…
"Princess." he said softly and he sounded pained. "You know better."
"I really wanted to." she insisted, annoyed to hear the tears in her own voice, to feel their burn in her eyes. She took a hasty drag of her cigarette and then blew out the smoke slowly, watching its tendril dissipate in the air.
He was silent for a long time. Debating, more likely than not.
It was not the first time they danced this particularly awkward dance since she had moved there. They hadn't actually gotten that far enough times that she couldn't count it on her hands but they had gotten there before. Sometimes she freaked out when he started using his fingers. Sometimes she managed to control herself until he penetrated her. One glorious time, they had even made it until he started gently thrusting, trying to find a pace that worked for both of them and she hadn't been scared, she hadn't freaked out, but it hadn't felt good and she had started to cry. She wouldn't have told him to stop that one time but he had been terrified by the tears and had immediately pulled out. They had never managed to get to the finish line. Hell, they had never managed to go much further than the starting line. Not once in two years.
"I'm happy you're here." he offered cautiously – he was always so cautious after something like this. He wasn't like that with everything else. The flashbacks, the nightmares, the panic attacks… He dealt with those calmly and efficiently. He took care of her. He never hesitated. He knew what to say every time. But this… This was different. Perhaps because they never addressed it. The torture, she had told him about a little. The humiliations, she had vaguely hinted at. The all-encompassing fear… It was obvious in her every trigger. But this… He must have figured it out, she supposed, but they hadn't talked about it. The only time he had asked, well before they had even made the decision to give themselves a chance, she had lied. She felt the weight of that lie now. She didn't regret it because she had done it to protect him, because she had known he would feel guilty and would hate himself. She didn't regret it but she felt the weight of it.
"But?" she prompted. There was a but in that sentence. It was in the way his voice trailed a little at the end.
He took a deep breath, bent down to pick up his mug. It wasn't good if he needed the liquid courage.
It wasn't good but she had known it wouldn't last forever, hadn't she? Men wanted sex. A woman should always be pretty, sexy and, above all else, available if she wanted to keep her partner. That, she knew very well. It had been drilled into her. She was lacking on all departments since the war.
"But I'm not sure you're happy." he admitted.
It wasn't what she had expected.
She had expected 'but we're not working out' or maybe 'but I think we need to take a break' . She should have known better really. Haymitch was… Haymitch was a lot of things and he would probably deny it but she sometimes thought of him like one of those birds who mated for life. Once he decided he loved someone – not that he had said it so explicitly but it was implied – he was all in.
"I am happy." she protested, frowning at him. It was a lie, of course, and she waved her cigarette in the air. "As happy as I am likely to be. I am doing better here than I was in the city. I love being with you. I love being with the children. I love…" She couldn't say she loved being in Twelve where the new beauty salon was considered the height of decadence in terms of luxury but, somehow, the District strangely worked for her. It certainly worked better than the city she used to love so much but that was so scarred she didn't recognize it anymore. It worked better than her fellow Capitols insulting her in the streets and calling her a traitor. Twelve's survivors hadn't been thrilled about her arrival but the victors vouched for her and that was enough for a lot of them. She had made some friends, even. It was good enough. "I love our life."
That, at least, wasn't a lie.
They had a routine and that was something she didn't think she would ever have again. The kisses hello in the morning, the familiar bickering, the laughter, the more real fights that were rare those days, arguing over changing this or that inside the house, dinner with the children, cuddles on the couch or the porch while she sketched and he read… Wash, rinse and repeat. She loved it.
He was silent again, measuring his words like he rarely did. He took a sip of his tea, purely to waste time and then winced. "Do you think maybe… Maybe you should talk to that head doctor? Aurelius? Peeta and Katniss both like him, you know. It's…"
"No." she snapped. "No more doctors."
She had been locked in a hospital room after her rescue. Locked in. With guards at the door, to make sure she was safe or to prevent her from escaping – that had been up for debate. She had been locked in there with people who hated her because she was an escort. With nurses who touched her when she didn't want them to, with doctors who probed and hurt her a little more to piece her back together… They should have been kind but war was war and they hadn't been.
"It's not the same kind of doctor." he pacified, reaching for her arm. She recoiled and he immediately dropped his hand between them. "You wouldn't even have to see him. It's all through the phone."
"No." She was growling like a cornered animal and she forced herself to get a grip. She tossed the cigarette in the ashtray without bothering to crush it and picked up the mug of tea. The blanket slipped off her shoulder and, after a second of hesitation, Haymitch slowly pulled it back up.
His fingers brushed her skin and she flinched again.
"Effie." He licked his lips, rested his hand on her shoulder, over the plaid. She could still feel the warmth of his palm through the silk and the wool. "This… thing we do with the sex stuff…"
"I do not want to talk about it." she cut him off.
Usually, that would be enough for him to back off.
He had always backed off before.
But that night he seemed determined. He gently squeezed her shoulder. "I know. And I've given you space cause I get that. Fuck, if I don't get that… But it's been a while now and…"
And he wanted to have sex, which wasn't an unreasonable request to make of one's lover.
Again, she tried to imagine forcing herself through it just once – because maybe once was all it would take to fix the mess in her head. She tried to figure out if she could do it. Keep a straight face through the whole process, pretend to enjoy it because he wouldn't go for it otherwise, pretend that…
It used to be so easy.
She had slept with so many people – people she didn't even want at some point, for money or for something else even. Sex used to be sex. A mean to an end. A commodity like another.
She was hating herself for not being able to shake this off as easily as she used to.
It shouldn't have been any different.
It shouldn't.
"Perhaps you should find an alternative arrangement." she suggested, a lump in her throat. She took a sip of her tea in hope it would make it disappear but the tea was strawberry and with just the right amount of sugar and, if anything, the fact that he knew how to fix her tea so perfectly made her want to cry even more. "A discreet one. I am sure there are women in town who…"
"The hell are you talking about?" he scoffed.
She forced herself to be reasonable, to set her jealousy aside. "It is done in a lot of marriages in the Capitol. Not that what we have is a marriage but…" She shook her head. "Of course you have needs and, since I do not seem to be able to satisfy those needs, it is logical that you would want to find a mistress or…"
A flash of anger passed on his face and her heart started racing in her chest. She knew he would never hurt her. She knew. But it was hard to see someone angry and not panic nowadays.
"You think that's the solution?" he snorted. "I go and get myself a woman for the night? You're good with that idea? You're good with me touching someone else? You're good with me…"
"Of course not." she hissed. "But the other option is for you to just fuck me and not stop even when I beg you to so I can get over this stupid ridiculous block of mine and we both know you will never go for that."
It was more than she had intended to say and she took another sip of her tea. The tea was perfectly good but the simple act of swallowing it made her nauseous all the same.
Haymitch had shifted a little while he was speaking, his body was angled toward her now, his hand still on her shoulder, his body close enough that she could almost feel his warmth. He was watching her, studying her…
"Where does the block come from?" he asked.
"I don't know." The words came easily. Swift and automatic, born from too many times spent answering questions she truly didn't know the answers to or simply didn't want to address. At some point, during the war, those three words had been the only ones she had known to utter anymore. They had been the sum of her existence.
His fingers clenched around her shoulder and released it just as quickly. He took a long gulp of his mug and then put it down on the floor before staring at her again.
"Liar."
The word seemed to hang in the night.
It wasn't accusative.
He wasn't blaming her for the lie but he was calling her out and that was crossing a line.
"Fuck off." she snarled, resorting to the vulgarity she hated. She shrugged his hand off too.
He didn't try to reach for her again but he didn't actually move away either. He looked a little sad in the semi-darkness. "Sweetheart, I asked you a question once and you said…"
"I don't want to talk about it." she hissed.
"I know." he granted. "I know but fuck this isn't healthy, Effie…"
"Oh, and you are an expect at healthy now?" she scoffed, standing up and striding back inside. It probably would have been more impressive if the blanket hadn't been trailing after her and if she hadn't almost tripped on it twice.
She was hoping he wouldn't follow her but he did so she aimed for the kitchen.
"I ain't a fucking expert at anything." he retorted. "But not dealing with stuff that eats at you? Yeah, that I kind of know, sweetheart, and what you're doing right now…"
"Do not tell me what I am or am not doing." she interrupted, going straight to the sink to toss what was left of her tea, more than half the mug really. "I am a grown woman. I do not need you for wisdom."
"You spent a year in the city hoping it would all go back to normal if you pretended hard enough you were the same old Effie and you didn't have problems." he spat. "How did that work out for you? Cause the flashbacks, the panic attacks… They didn't start to get better until you figured out the triggers. Until you fucking faced the demons. Fuck, Effie, you're doing so much better with loud noises and the claustrophobia and the smells, don't you see this is the same thing?"
"This is not the same thing." she snapped, rinsing the mug and leaving it on the rack to dry.
"Yeah, it is." he insisted, following her to the pantry when she stormed there only to realize a small room with a tiny window and no other exit truly wasn't the best choice right then, not even for the cookies she didn't really want, so she stormed back out, relieved when he stepped aside to give her room to pass. "It's the exact same fucking thing. Until you confront it…"
"I am not a child." she scoffed. "This will not go away just because I put a name on it. And there is nothing to name anyway. If you are so desperate to get laid, just go find someone else and stop pestering me."
She strode in the living-room with him on her heels and, since she didn't want to sit down so he could finish harassing her into that conversation, she walked around the coffee table, behind the couch and out of the room again – he followed right in her footsteps.
"Stop making this about me wanting a fuck!" he shouted, clearly losing his patience. "That's fucking unfair! You know fucking well I don't want anyone else and that it's not about that. Hell, I fucking told you I'd be happy being just friends if that's what you wanted. Fuck, Effie, I don't care if you don't want me to ever touch you again. I don't fucking care as long as you're here and you're happy! I don't fucking care if my balls turn blue! That's my fucking problem, not yours! It ain't about that! It's about you and the fact you ain't… Are you even listening to me?"
She was growing agitated in a way that was definitely not good.
She had kept her cool the whole night.
She had kept her cool when he had rocked into her and she had panicked.
She had kept her cool afterwards.
But now her fingers were prickling and her breath was short and…
The stairs were the next logical escape because going outside wouldn't help. It would make it worse.
What she needed, wanted, was the safety of her bedroom.
"Effie!"
She knew he was getting frustrated but she wasn't expecting him to grab her.
It was just her arm and his grip wasn't strong. She shrugged him off with her first attempt.
"Don't touch me!" she yelled.
Yelled.
Loud enough that the children probably heard from their own house.
Whatever frustrated anger he had been nursing immediately vanished from his face. He lifted both hands in the air in a pacifying gesture. "I'm just worried, sweetheart." Her eyes darted around without her even realizing it, looking for a way to escape, looking for… He kept talking. He kept talking in a soft soothing voice she had heard him use to coax Peeta out of an episode or Katniss out of a depressed sulk. She hated that he had to use that voice on her. She hated that… "I think I know why… I think I know why you can't bear the idea of sex anymore… And that's… That's okay, sweetheart. I'm… I've told you times and times again… I'm not in any hurry. I can wait. If you're never ready again, then you're never ready again. I'm not gonna leave you over that. Fuck, I'm never gonna leave you. So… So you can tell me, sweetheart. You can tell me and maybe that's gonna help and…"
"Help?" she sneered, ears ringing and heart racing in her chest. "You think it will help?"
Someone laughed and it took her a whole minute to realize it was her.
Haymitch looked very wary and a bit sick at the same time. "Yeah, I think it would. Cause… You pretending nothing happened, it ain't working."
"Working as in I cannot keep my legs spread for you, you mean." she snarled.
He didn't take the bait though.
He slowly lowered the hands he still had up in the air. "Working as in it's eating you alive cause you flinch every time someone touches you skin on skin… Cause you want me to hold you at night but you curl up in a ball the moment you fall asleep… Cause… Cause I don't know if I'm gonna trigger something every time I kiss you… I've tried letting you set the pace, princess. I've tried giving you your space and pretending I didn't figure it out. I've tried. It ain't helping you."
She hated him in that moment.
She hated him for not making it all about him and his sexual needs because it would have made it a lot easier.
Her sight was becoming blurry and her breath was coming in fast, not enough air to her lungs. She didn't want to have this conversation. She wanted to escape it.
But Haymitch was stubborn. Much more stubborn than her.
And he wouldn't be satisfied until…
"They raped me." she spat. "There. Are you happy? I said it. I have been raped." Tears rolled down her cheeks but she ignored them. "Surprise, surprise. It didn't magically fixed me."
She stormed up the stairs then, leaving him to look sad and heartbroken and in pain by himself in the corridor because he had been looking for it and it was his fault. She had been very happy with the silent status quo.
She staggered to her bedroom, lightheaded like always before a panic attack, and stopped short when she saw the bed with its still tangled sheets and its blankets that had spilled on the floor when things had gotten heated.
The sheets weren't dirty.
They hadn't gotten far enough for that.
But still she suddenly couldn't bear the sight of the bed and what it represented– her failure to get over it, the fact that she wanted to be able to have sex with Haymitch because she loved sleeping with him – so she dropped on the old frayed armchair in front of the window despite the fact it was covered in his dirty clothes.
Well, to be fair, there weren't many dirty clothes because she had trained him to pick up after himself for the most part but there was his shirt of the day and it wasn't even a conscious decision to curl up there while she hyperventilated, her face buried in his shirt, breathing his smell in.
She wasn't sure how long the panic attack lasted and she was only vaguely aware of Haymitch coaching her through it, telling her to breathe, brushing her blond hair away from her face…
When it finally stopped, she was exhausted. Her body was heavy and spent.
She waited for Haymitch to gather her up close and carry her to bed but he dropped to the floor next to the armchair instead. She couldn't see him. She was curled up facing the window, and he had sat facing the opposite way, with his back to the side of the chair.
She hated having anyone at her back at any time but Haymitch… It was different with him. She trusted him. Always and forever. With her life and everything else.
"What if we do it together?"
The question made no sense at first. Haymitch sounded exhausted too but not the sort of exhaustion that came with a tiring day, more like the kind that came with a tiring life.
"Do what?" she asked, uncertain.
He couldn't mean the sex since they had pretty much already been doing that together – hell, she had tried to do it by herself to get herself ready and it hadn't worked that well either, it certainly didn't make her panic but she couldn't make it feel good anymore; what happened what complicated enough, the fact that her body felt so different than it used to be was another problem.
"Therapy." he muttered, as if it was a bad word.
It made no sense. "You want to go to therapy. You."
"I wanna help you." he sighed. "If that means unpacking my shit so you feel comfortable dealing with yours, then… Fine, let's do that." She was so shocked by the idea that Haymitch Abernathy might be willing to do couple therapy that she almost missed his second sigh. "Why didn't you tell me before? You were ashamed?"
He didn't sound judgmental or accusative and that was the only reason she didn't bite his head off. That and because she was tired.
And maybe a little relieved that it was out in the open.
The secret… The secret had been heavy to bear.
"I am not ashamed." she snapped. "It was not my fault, I am aware of that. I was barely human to them. I was just… I was a toy."
"Toys can be ashamed too." he replied, his tone strangely flat. "I was ashamed. Still am."
She frowned and moved as if to turn to face him but he shuffled to the side a little, as if he wasn't ready for that yet so she stilled. "You are ashamed because I got… hurt?"
She couldn't say that word again.
It felt dirty that word, as if it would diminish her, as if it relegated her to the ranks of a victim. She was not a victim. She had survived. She had survived and she was determined one day she would… She would get over that block in her head and she would reclaim that part of her because she did love sex. It was at her core of her personality. And it could be great and fun and she wouldn't let them sully that. She wouldn't let them take it away from her.
She had felt humiliated, that had been their goal at the time. But shamed… Forcing themselves upon her hadn't been the most humiliating thing they had done to her by far. She hadn't been ashamed because of that.
The fact that he might be though that was…
"I feel guilty and mad cause you got hurt." he corrected. "I'm ashamed I let myself get sold."
Her whole body went rigid.
There it was, the cold again.
That icy wave that paralyzed her whole body with panic and fear and…
"You do not have to tell me about this." she whispered.
He had hinted sometimes.
It was impossible not to hint when it had taken so long for him to accept her getting on top of him, to accept her taking control… And there were other things too. Like how, by his own admission, he hadn't ever slept twice with anyone except her, how roughly he had fucked her at first as if he wanted to punish the Capitol through her, how he had never cared enough about anyone else's pleasure to learn how to make it good, how perfunctory he had been about the whole thing before she had taught him sex should be fun…
But they had never outright discussed it.
"I escaped it longer than most cause my family was dead and I didn't get it yet that there were other things to dangle over a victor's head." he explained. "I think Chaff… I think Chaff made deals behind my back to protect me. Mags too. Didn't see any of that back then. You know… Figured it out years later. The way he pushed me toward Alina… I knew he didn't want me to stay a virgin forever but…" He snorted. "The first time they sold me was a little after Alina so I think he was just trying to make sure I didn't give them that. Sells high, you know, a victor's first roll in the hay."
There was a lot of bitterness and loathing in his voice and she didn't know what to say.
She did know how sordidly high a victor's virginity could sell unfortunately, and she was grateful to Chaff if he had indeed protected him from that. To be sold for your first sexual experience…
"The first few… They were women." he continued after taking a deep breath. "It wasn't that bad cause I could pretend. Even when they had weird kinks, it was still… I could pretend. The men, though… There was no faking that. Couldn't get it up. Didn't want to take the pills. They weren't happy with me." He made a sound that wasn't quite a snort. "Got off once or twice anyway though. Couldn't help it. Body's got a mind of its own sometimes. Didn't mean I enjoyed it. Didn't mean…" He swallowed hard. "So, yeah, I'm ashamed."
"It was not your fault." she countered. "You should not be ashamed. They should have been ashamed."
"I know." he granted after a few seconds. "Doesn't help the shame when I think back about that. Probably explains why I don't want to think about that. Didn't last long anyway. Nobody wants a drunk who's got dubious hygiene. Plenty of others got it worse than me. Shouldn't complain."
"Of course, you should." she scoffed. "It is irrelevant that it happened to others or that they might have been hurt in worse ways. That does not negate your experience." She did shift, then, turning so she could see him. He didn't move. He kept sitting where he was sitting, his back to her, leaning against the armchair's side. She could only see the top of his head. The dirty blond hair with the occasional silver strands. "Is that why you never told the children? Because… Because you are ashamed?"
The subject of victors prostitution had arose once or twice in the time she had been in Twelve and, while she hadn't missed a beat, she had frowned when she had realized Katniss was somehow under the impression Haymitch had escaped that. She had kept his secret, of course, but it bothered her to think he had lied because he felt somehow responsible for what had happened to him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his tone still flat. "Cause… I understand if… If it's because you came or something… I get that. Doesn't mean you wanted it. Doesn't mean you enjoyed it. Doesn't mean it's your fault. I can… I can hear, Effie. All of it. Cause… Cause what I feel for you… It won't change. I just… Why did you lie to me?"
There were so many reasons.
"Because I knew you would be mad." she admitted.
"I ain't mad with you." he scoffed.
"I know." she sighed. "But you are mad and it hurts you. You feel like you failed me, like you should have protected me… You feel guilty about what happened to me and I know you, this… You will think it is worse than the rest, that it's the worst thing they did to me."
"Ain't it?" he challenged. "Cause to me it's…"
"I was so thirsty I begged them to let me drink pee." she cut him off. "For a while down there, I was almost convinced my name was Abernathy's Bitch. I spent weeks locked up in the dark in a cell so small I couldn't move, soiling myself, smelling my own body rotting to death… You tell me what's worse, Haymitch, because I really don't know."
He flinched at the Abernathy's Bitch tidbit. It was nothing new. Nothing he hadn't been aware of.
But that part always made him flinch and made the guilt flare and she was sorry about that but he needed to understand… It was a whole. Not one thing more than the other but a whole.
"I did not want you to have to carry that burden like you carry all my demons on your shoulders." she added. "It felt like my own problem. I wanted to handle it by myself."
"Yeah…" He drawled the word out hesitantly and then finally turned around, moving to his knees. They stared at each other over the armrest. "Thing is… Sex is a thing we do together. And I need to know… I need to know if what I do's gonna hurt you. I need to know the limits so I don't cross them. Cause… I've done a lot of shitty stuff in my life, princess, but the one thing I never want to do is hurt you again. Physically or otherwise."
"You would never hurt me." she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
"Didn't say I would do it on purpose." He shrugged. "I ain't angry, Effie, I get where you came from but you not telling me they… raped you, it wasn't good. Cause if I'd known…"
"If you had known, you would have treated me differently." she argued. "You wouldn't have wanted to touch me anymore. You already hate touching me after we fail to…"
Every time something like what had happened tonight occurred, he would pull away for days every time she tried to initiate something or, worse, behave like she was made of glass that would break if he held her too tight.
"It's not that I don't want to touch you." he argued and his lips stretched into a small smirk. It was forced, she thought, but it was the intent that counted. "You know I love to touch you. Thing is, I don't know how to touch you. I don't know what feels good and what hurts you. I don't know where the limits are."
"Well, I don't know either!" she exclaimed, too tired to try and polish her voice into something proper.
He carefully reached for her cheek, giving her plenty of time to retreat. She leaned into his palm.
"That's part of the problem, sweetheart, yeah?" he commented.
And she supposed he was right.
Maybe it had been unfair of her to hide something like that to protect him when he was involved anyway since they were intimate – or trying to be intimate.
"I thought it would fade away with time." she confessed. "I thought we would work our way to it and I would be fine because… I trust you, Haymitch, I do. And I love it when you touch me. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Nothing's wrong with you." he denied, brushing her hair back before cupping her cheek again. "And I know it ain't about me. Don't worry about that. Still, though… I really think maybe you should talk to someone. Not Aurelius, if you want someone else. Maybe you want a woman, I don't know. And I know you hate doctors but…" He shrugged. "I think you need to talk about it. You ain't like me, you always feel better when you talk about bad stuff."
It was true.
When she really was upset, unpacking it for someone else helped.
But what he was asking her to do… It was scary.
"You would really do it with me?" she asked uncertainly. "You would go to couple therapy with me?"
He made a face at that name but it was what it was. She was pretty sure if they both went to see a therapist together, it was called couple therapy.
He swallowed it though. "Like I said. I'm gonna do what you want. If you want me to just hold your hand while you talk, I can do that. You want me to sit there and be quiet, I will. You want me to unpack my shit so you feel okay sharing yours… Hell, sweetheart, I've got enough shit to fill this whole house…"
She snorted. "Language."
He looked so relieved when she rebuked him that she felt a little bit guilty.
He had been more than supportive since she had showed up unannounced on his doorstep. Even his drinking had been kept to a minimum because his priority was clearly helping her.
She relied on him too much, she often mused.
She didn't feel like sharing that thought tonight though. He would just tell her he wanted to help.
But perhaps they could address it if they did go to see a professional.
And perhaps he needed it too.
She had had no idea he was still bothered by the special appointments from his youth.
He wasn't really the talking and sharing type but if he needed it to heal and if he was willing to do the work – for her – she should be willing to do the same for him.
And she wasn't oblivious to that maneuver.
She pouted. "You know I will say yes because now I feel you need therapy too."
His smirk was genuine this time and he used the armrest to haul himself to his feet. "I don't have a clue what you mean, sweetheart." She pouted harder but, mostly, to hide her smile. When he held out his hand she took it and let him tug her to her own feet. "You wanna go to bed or you wanna go down and watch TV or something?"
She entertained the idea of watching mindless TV programs for a little while until she fell asleep on his shoulder while he read his novel but dismissed it.
She was exhausted physically and emotionally.
It wouldn't take her long to fall asleep.
"Bed is good." she told him, tugging him toward the mess of sheets and blankets.
He resisted just enough that she turned to him, eyebrows raised in question. He was a little hesitant when he leaned in but she crossed the rest of the distance once she realized what he wanted.
The kiss was sweet but not chaste and she stepped further into his space when his tongue poked at her lips. She opened her mouth, allowed him to deepen it while his hands tangled in her hair…
They were both a little out of breath when they parted. He pressed his forehead against hers, his fingers still buried in her hair…
"Maybe if we go to therapy they can fix me and I can finally fucking say the words I wanna tell you." he half-joked. "Cause I fucking feel it. I feel it so badly, Effie."
She wanted to cry again so she kissed him instead. A long peck this time, nothing too deep. "I love you too. More than anything. More than anyone."
The next kiss was pressed to her forehead and she pretended she didn't see how shiny his eyes were because he would have hated that.
"Let's go to bed." he said, slightly gruff.
He cleared his throat and she kissed his shoulder over his shirt and, for the first time in forever, she felt a little lighter.
She supposed that it was what happened when someone helped you carry your burden.
Hope I didn't make a mess of it! My default hc is that while she was hurt and tortured for info for a while, she wasn't actually assaulted that way because I feel she and Jo would be dirty hurt and not really appealing. I prefer to imagine it that way. Although i do hc the torture wasn't pretty because a huge part of it was mental and that leaves the biggest scars. Rape is also a weapon of torture, it's been used in war time for centuries... So, yeah... It's not out of the range of possibilities if we consider she was captured and tortured during the war, I guess.
That was a long chapter! Thoughts?