The Novel
Time slowed and in that moment, there was only them in that room, blindly exploring each other; eager to touch and eager to please.
The passion was exhilarating. Haymitch had never felt so alive as he was in this moment with her. When she dug her nails into the flesh of his shoulder, he hissed in pleasure, thrusting deeper into her as he drew satisfaction from her soft moans and burying his fact into the crook of her neck.
The instance his skin touched hers, he had felt such raw intensity and it showed in every kiss, every caress and every move. Even in bed, Effie was just like herself. She was loud and did not hold back. From the moment the first moan had escaped her lips when he let his tongue have a taste of her, she had been vocal; sighing in delight, whimpering with need, breathing his name into his ear.
It drove him mad.
So he made sure she was mad with need just as well. He fucked her only to stop and watched her body writhe and he would start again, this time harder, until at one point, she was begging for him to finish.
That was his undoing, to have her completely at his mercy so when she rocked her hips against his, clutching on to him dearly, he came apart.
He rolled off her and lay on his back, his breathing coming out in ragged puffs. Haymitch licked his lips, the taste of her still lingered and he thought to himself that he would never get bored of this.
Her fingers crept across the small space on the bed between them to hold his hand only to have him retract his hand back. Effie pulled back, a little uncertain that she had crossed some unspeakable boundaries but when he drew her into his arms to let her snuggled into him, she tossed him a soft smile.
There something about their sweaty skin pressing against each other as they held on close to one another that made him drift off to sleep.
Morning came and brought with it a sudden maddening rush once Effie realised that she had a mere half an hour before the time for the viewing. Haymitch said nothing even when she ushered him out of the house.
The short walk from there to his house was filled with a rising panic that he had just slept with Effie Trinket, a character he wrote.
A walk of shame, he thought bemused as he glanced behind his shoulder to see Effie by the bay window making last minute preparations.
Settling down in his kitchen, he made himself coffee which was laced generously with liquor. He tried to push down the recurrent memories of the night before – the smell of her skin, the taste of her lips and the sound of her voice when she came apart under his touch – only to fail miserably. She was all he could think about and he sat there trying to convince himself that there was nothing wrong with the situation.
It was a losing battle so in a bid to distract himself, he trudged to his study. Sitting down on the worn out chair, his fingers hovered over the keyboard and then he started typing.
The words flowed like it had not done for months. It came easily to him and he started building Panem up from the Dark Days. He had always been interested in the politics around the world so he weaved that into the story and created a dictator by the name of Coriolanus Snow and an empire which he ruled with fear and an iron fist. Drawing inspirations from Effie's advice, he began to picture what would happen if his world was ruled by this man and he wrote that in, too.
This was a far cry from the modern Hollywood romance Effie and him had plotted about the night before except for the star-crossed lovers' portion which would have to do, but it was still something. It was definitely a sequel to The Plague and by the time he realised it, Effie was standing at the doorway to his study. He glanced up to see her watching him with a fond smile.
"You're writing again," she observed. "Did you find your inspiration?"
Standing up, he came around to where Effie was and locked the door to the study behind him.
"Don't want to jinx it but guess I did," he said and gingerly rested a hand on her waist.
She took that as an invitation. Locking her arms around his neck, she kissed him deeply and whatever shame he felt earlier vanished. He pinned her against the wall.
"Dare I say it… I gave you the inspiration you needed," she grinned, slipping her hand passed the waistband of his trousers.
He let his head fall against her shoulder as she worked him into a state and hours later, they were both in his bed, the sheets tangled around their naked body and their muscles aching in a good way.
Just as surprisingly as it began, he found himself slightly unsettled by the fact that somewhere along the way, Effie had moved in. She was spending her days in his house when she was not out at Peeta's bakery and the night in his bed. During the morning when she was not around, he locked himself in his study, writing away. In a way, it was almost domestic and he found himself not minding it as much as he thought it would.
The second novel was beginning to take shape. The characters he created including those that came alive were slowly being written into his story as he had intended them to be. He couldn't be more satisfied than he was right then.
He was in a good place and this was not something he would carelessly admit but he felt that way.
He was surrounded with people he came to love. They were real to him – the things they did and the path they paved for themselves here was all real – and he began to flip the entire scenario in his head. In his mind, he was borrowing them as characters for his book. It was no different than JK Rowling loosely using her teacher as Severus Snape, he rationalised.
Wasn't that what Effie had wanted in the first place - for him to draw inspiration from the people around him to write his book?
He was wary at first that he might be rewriting their lives but even as Katniss volunteered in place for her sister in his book, the Katniss who lived next door to him seemed to remain the same.
Yes, he thought as he turned off the light in the study to joined Effie in bed that night, he was in a good place.
When the morning light spilled into the room, Haymitch stretched his hand to the side of the bed he had begun to think as belonging to Effie only to find it empty which in itself wasn't unusual.
He trudged down the stairs into the kitchen dressed in nothing but his sweatpants but when he saw Effie pacing the room looking mildly distressed, the sleepiness disappeared and he became alert in a second.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his gaze darting this way and that trying to locate the source of her anxiety.
At the sound of his voice, she raised her head.
"I can't leave," she moaned, sounding a little hysterical. "I tried to leave this town but I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?" Haymitch frowned. "What do you – hold on – why are you going to leave?"
An unsettling feeling washed over him. He knew the past weeks with her were too good to be true. He never could have a moment of peace and this was it – the other shoe was dropping. His stomach coiled as he braced himself for the worst.
"You're leaving me?" he narrowed his eyes. "You seeing someone else?"
"Haymitch," she ran a hand over her long locks, "I cannot for the life of me remember my life in the city. Is something wrong with me? How long have I been here?"
"I don't understand what you're saying, Effs."
"Are you not listening to me?" she snapped. "What is my life like in the city?"
"I – "
He faltered. They had never talked about it. He had never asked because everything he needed to know about her he already did but even so, the fact that she might have had a life in a different place before coming here had not even crossed his mind. His head was beginning to spin with questions. Could she even have a life in the city since when he wrote her into existence, she had immediately come to exist here in this town?
"Exactly," she pursed her lips. "I remember nothing much. It is as if that period of my life did not exist."
Haymitch would have waved off this absurdity except it really wasn't. It was a possibility that her life there never did exist.
"I woke up this morning and I thought about my cat," she started. "I left my cat in my apartment. So naturally, I tried to picture my apartment but nothing comes to mind. I have a cat," she repeated. "She must be all alone. I saw a cat wandered into your backyard looking at your geese and… I have a cat."
"Effie…"
"Where do I stay before… before this? What is my address?"
"You don't have a cat," he insisted. "You never had a cat."
"How would you know that?"
"Because I – What do you mean you can't leave?"
"I got in the car," she explained. "I wanted to make the drive to the city for my cat. I wanted to bring her here so I drove out. I reached the square only to realise that I cannot remember where I stay or how to get there, and – Haymitch," she looked up at him with bright pleading blue eyes, "I realised I do not remember much else. What is wrong with me? I need the doctor. I need a brain scan – I could have a tumour. I need to know."
Stepping forward, he grabbed both her arms. "There's nothing wrong with you."
"No," she denied. "We cannot be sure until I have a doctor look me over. You need to take this seriously, Haymitch."
"I am," he assured her.
Somehow, he was beginning to think that this fracture in her mind was because of him. After all, she was in his second novel together with Katniss, Peeta, Finnick and Annie. He never knew how he even brought them to life and who could really say what would happen now that he was using their characters to write them back?
Haymitch made a mental note to really talk to Peeta or Finnick just to see if they were showing any disparities as Effie.
"Do you remember when you asked me about alternate universes?"
His heart stopped at this sudden, unexpected question.
"Yeah," he answered cautiously.
"I have been having dreams lately… nightmares. I dreamt of prisons and…." She shuddered. "It was horrible."
A terrible feeling pierced through his heart.
"That never happened," he told her and he vowed to keep any pain from her character on the pages. "It's not going to happen."
Effie shot him an odd look.
"Why do you talk as if you know all there is to know about me?"
Haymitch stared hard at her and took a few steps back. He pinched the bridge of his nose, let his hand fall in dismay at his side as he breathed out. Effie did not belong in this world. Neither did the others and this domesticity he was fooling himself into was never meant for him or them.
"I don't remember how I met Katniss and Peeta," she informed him when he was quiet for too long.
When he answered, his voice was flat. "You were their agent."
"Yes, but I do not remember them walking into my office or meeting them for the first time. I asked Peeta and he couldn't remember it too."
"Oh, fuck," he breathed out.
It was happening to Peeta.
The discrepancies were starting to show. The plot holes were becoming glaring.
"You're not real," he admitted with his back turned to her. He couldn't look at her. It hurt too much. He wanted her to be real. He wanted them to be real. They were his. "You're not real, sweetheart."
I know some of you are saying that you don't know where i'm going with this but bear with me. We're nearly there.
Leave me a review. What do you think of how they fell into a domestic routine or how Effie will take this news?