Chapter Seventy-Six; Tearing Apart the Pieces

(Stephanie's POV)

Stephanie sat silently in the District 3 penthouse, the cream of the leather sofa soothingly cool against her skin as she ran her long fingers through Frenkin's honey hair where his head rested in her lap.

Frenkin was sound asleep. Had been for a while now.

But Stephanie didn't have the heart to wake him to make him get into bed, and in all honesty she was glad of his company tonight.

She also still felt guilty for essentially abandoning him when Frenkin had so obviously needed someone. Frenkin had always been there for her and yet the one time he had truly needed her she had left him and for what? She had only made her situation worse it would seem.

Frenkin almost curled completely into a little ball when he slept Stephanie observed, his body in the shape of a comma, legs tucked up close.

His suit would be awfully wrinkled when he woke, Stephanie thought idly. In her other hand she held Frenkin's glasses, having slipped them off his nose when he began to nod off; the action of Stephanie's fingers combing through his hair, lulling him and sending him to sleep.

Stephanie smiled fondly as she imagined Weisna back home doing something similar with Eldi sleeping as Frenkin was. It brought a warm if painful longing twinge to her heart for a brief moment.

Stephanie swiped away the tears as they fell silently from her eyes, a hint of frustration evident in her movements.

Surely she had cried all that it was possible? Stephanie was half-expecting to drop from dehydration at any moment. It can't be normal for her body to be producing so much tears – and in one day?!

Frenkin jerked a little in his sleep, his blonde brows drawn down tightly and his lips a thin white line, a slight tremor ran the length of his body.

Stephanie frowned sadly as she cupped Frenkin's cheek softly with her other hand, trying to coax the lined tension from his features, soothing him gently back to untroubled sleep.

"I should have stayed with you Frenkin," Stephanie half-berated herself silently, half-apologised to a sleeping Frenkin.

She leaned down to press a tender kiss to Frenkin's head. "Sorry," she murmured against his temple.

Frenkin's expression was smooth again and Stephanie even thought that she saw a smile tweak the corners of his lips, though it may well have been her hopeful imagination.

It was dark outside. Stephanie guessed it must be sometime after midnight.

Stephanie looked out at the charcoal black of the sky, not a single star to lessen its severity. The abundance of artificial lighting from the Capitol prevented that.

She could distantly see the moon though, a waning sickle hanging coldly in the black, alone in its vigil of the night sky.

She knew she should be sleeping. Who knows what tomorrow would bring especially considering the events of today?

Stephanie felt exhausted. Her entire body was fatigued, but her eyes were wide-open; red-rimmed and bloodshot.

Sleep eluded her still and she feared the many nightmares that now waited for her in the darkness of slumber.

How could Haymitch do this to her?

Stephanie took a shuddering breath. It was not the first or even the first hundredth time she had asked herself the question.

Physical pain at that moment was nothing compared to what she was feeling emotionally.

Stephanie wondered bitterly why they called it heartbreak.

Break seemed such an inadequate term for the abuse her heart was enduring.

Her heart felt as though it had been ripped out, then torn apart by a pack of Capitol mutts and then stamped all over just for good measure.

At least her head hurt very little any more was her only molecule of comfort; and even that was due to Seneca.

…

Seneca had held her tightly, refusing to let her go, though her protests had been feeble at best.

He had held her until Haymitch's voice had faded as he and the woman continued further on down the main hall in the opposite direction of her and Seneca.

Stephanie didn't know for how long Seneca held her or for how long she had cried brokenly against his shoulder, but finally Seneca released her, murmuring that she really had to go now.

In a dazed state Stephanie had let Seneca drag her across into the facing hall. Hurriedly he had whispered, "Ready?" and not waiting for a reply turned the corner.

Two guards stood at the only door at the end of the hall, immediately straightened to order when Seneca appeared.

"Would any of you care to explain why I happen across an unconscious tribute lying in the halls?! Well?" Seneca's voice was filled with cold fury, his words like ice as he practically flung Stephanie in the direction of the two guards, an expression of disgust on his face.

"W…we don't know Sir. She must have gotten separated in the commotion that followed," one of the guards stuttered out, fear clear on his face.

Seneca scoffed irascibly.

"Please Sir. It won't happen again," the other guard added earnestly, as he held Stephanie securely by the arms.

Stephanie watched Seneca as he glared at the guards with icy eyes, as though considering.

"Very well then. I will overlook it this time so long as this little display of incompetence remains covered?" Seneca said.

"Oh – of course Sir! No one will hear a word about it!" The guard cut in immediately, his relief palpable.

Seneca rolled his eyes before fixing a slightly repulsed stare on Stephanie.

"She seems to have hit her head – make sure it is seen too. Damn tributes," Seneca muttered darkly.

The guards eagerly agreed and without a word more Seneca turned sharply on his heel and disappeared around the corner.

They had not immediately led her into the room but rather a doctor was sent for.

With a mild semblance of annoyance Stephanie recognised it as the doctor who had examined her at the Flickerman interview and thought of her as nothing more than an 'it.'

After a hushed muttered and tense conversation, the doctor had reluctantly agreed at the guards' insistence and fixed up Stephanie's head there and then in the corridor.

It seemed the guards did not think it prudent for Stephanie to be treated in a room full of other tributes and mentors. Stephanie was grateful for small mercies.

Stephanie barely felt the doctor do whatever he did to mend the gash Ficen had caused, because slowly on the heels of despair had come a raging anger.

And perhaps it was best, for when Stephanie was ushered into the room once her wound had been dressed; her expression wasn't the broken, wild despair it had been. But cold, colder than any had ever seen it.

No tribute would look at her and think her weak, despite seeing the bandage to the back of her head.

Stephanie had barely stepped into the room when she felt two thin arms flung around her middle.

Stephanie looked down to see a familiar head of blonde hair and then Frenkin looked up at her, his eyes filled with relief.

Stephanie couldn't even muster up a smile for him, though she tried.

Frenkin having recovered from his rash actions stepped back blushing furiously and looking to the ground.

Stephanie felt a slow numbness settle over her, a quiet fury brewing beneath the surface, the sting of betrayal and a deep impenetrable sadness that was almost crippling in its intensity.

"Haymitch is looking for you," Frenkin told her quietly as he looked up at Stephanie strangely, surprised to see her looking so…calm? But calm was not the word for it. Not exactly. It was like she was frozen, her face set in a mask of indifferent expressionlessness, her eyes no longer warm and bright but…cold.

Stephanie looked at Frenkin, felt the rage bubble up to the surface but swallowed it back. It wasn't Frenkin's fault.

Sure he is, Stephanie thought bitterly.

Stephanie didn't know how long they waited in the room. She was barely aware of her surroundings, barely aware of the nervous jittery tributes around her or the solemn-faced mentors.

Stephanie absently noted that Slena was here, but the thought was barely more than a passing observation and Stephanie found even in light of what she now knew, she couldn't bring herself to care what the implications of that might mean.

Frenkin attempted to talk to her, his small hand grasping hers as she stood stiffly.

The thing was, Frenkin in his sweet innocence mistook her detachment as fear and so he whispered to her assurances to the effect that Haymitch would be back soon, and that she shouldn't worry about him.

Stephanie hadn't the heart to tell him, but neither could she even hope to deign him with an answer as her throat was feeling more and more tight as the minutes passed.

Frenkin gave up after a while, his blue gaze troubled as he looked up at Stephanie, giving her hand another hopeful squeeze.

Stephanie stood stoic, staring at nothing in particular, not even noticing.

Finally they were ushered out of the building, after all the tributes had been accounted for, mentors or their whereabouts were of less concern to them.

The car ride back to the penthouse was silent; no stylists, no escort…no Haymitch.

Under heavy guard they were escorted back to the District 3 penthouse right up to the lift itself.

And now for hours she had done nothing but sit on the sofa waiting.

A part of her was waiting desperately for Haymitch to burst through the door, to tell her something…anything to make what she saw untrue.

The image still danced across her mind with painful clarity.

It had only been for a second; one excruciating second too long.

Haymitch's back had been to her but Stephanie saw the woman's arms snaked around Haymitch, one hand grasping his shoulder, the other reaching under his blazer. Stephanie couldn't really catch a glimpse of the woman; her face was buried slightly against Haymitch's shoulder. She was quite a bit shorter than him. Haymitch's lips were pressed somewhere to her shoulder length bronze hair, held back slightly with a distinctive, white clip.

Stephanie groaned as she scrubbed her face wearily with one hand.

Why did her brain insist on torturing her like this? To keep replaying and replaying that one moment when everything had fallen apart.

But inwardly Stephanie knew why.

Because she loved Haymitch, no matter how many times he drove her up the walls or to distraction, no matter how many times she wanted to slap him upside the head…

He had been her constant source of comfort, truth and love when the Capitol around her showed her nothing but lies and deceit. She had relied on him utterly and completely, relied and trusted him.

The betrayal of her trust in him was a bitter blow.

She was furious at how he could do something like this! Couldn't he wait until she was dead at least?

Stephanie desperately wanted to hate Haymitch, to add him to the list that included Ficen and Dess.

But she couldn't. She was angry with him, livid. She resented what he had done but she could never resent him.

"I hate him," Stephanie whispered fiercely to the silent room, but it wasn't true and that was why it hurt all the more.

She loved Haymitch completely and irrevocably, underneath her anger at his evident lies she was broken.

Despite the anger, hurt and betrayal she loved Haymitch and she had thought he loved her.

Well at least he'll be fine when I die in the arena, Stephanie thought bitterly, before her heart broke all over again.