Chapter 2
Effie stares longingly at her closet. There are clothes like Haymitch said, and although they're not grey and dull like District Thirteen's, they aren't like what she is used to. She was hoping for at least one silky dress to feel nostalgic over her past with. Instead, she has blue jeans, button up plain white blouses and black t-shirts, and a pair of overalls. Overalls—how barbaric! After a few minutes of staring with pursed lips, Effie relents and trades her grey smock for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
Effie spends the afternoon cleaning her house. She has never done much housework in her past—servants took care of the mopping, dusting and the polishing of silver and her mahogany furniture fixtures. But she finds cleaning to be a numbing experience, so she doesn't mind it. Her mind goes blank when she's on her knees scrubbing the dirt from the cracks in the kitchen tile. Cleaning gives her an excuse not to think, an excuse that she'll gladly take. The few months have been mentally dreadful for Effie. The stories she heard, the scenes she saw, the conclusions she came to were too much and stole any chance for peaceful sleep. Effie was once a person who fell asleep with a smile on her face. Now she is lucky to even have a faint smile grace her lips.
Evening comes with the drop of the sun. Effie's house is cold, but she has sweat dripping down her temple. Her back aches and her arms burn. She feels physically exhausted. It's funny; mental exhaustion has a way of stealing your sleep, whereas physical exhaustion burdens you with the need for sleep. Effie gladly falls into this need. She grabs a blanket that smells stale and nestles on her couch. She hasn't eaten any lunch, or dinner. She's not hungry. She's never hungry.
She's safe beneath the blanket, safe from the outside world that has no boundaries when it comes to decency. She's safe from her thoughts, at least until her thoughts turn into dreams. No one is safe from their dreams.
She's in a white, sterile room. Everything smells like bleach, not that this is a bad thing, for if it didn't smell like bleach it would smell like blood. She spent six days in this room in total, but she revisits it every night.
Flavius, Octavia, and Venia sit around a table. They're huddled together, whispering into each other's ears. They think their being here is a process of their promotion. Effie rolls her eyes at them. She knows they aren't being awarded. Something happened when the Quarter Quell's arena's screens went black. Effie knows something happened, and the uneasiness in her gut tells her it wasn't good. Haymitch left her side the second the reception cutoff. It hurt her; she thought they were a team.
A door opens. The four of them jump. A peacekeeper walks in. He wears his white uniform, except his helmet is off. A snarky grin is in its place. He looks around the room. His eyes fall on the prep team with mockery. "Get out," he says. "You're free to go." Flavius, Octavia, and Venia stare at each other, confused. Does this mean they don't get their promotion? But they leave. Effie gets up to leave, too, but the peacekeeper grabs her arm at the door. "Not you."
Effie turns on the couch and falls to the ground. She's awake. She grabs her arm, expecting to see the hard grasp of the peacekeeper, but no one is there. This is her dream every night. Sometimes she's lucky enough to wake up on the first day of her stay in the white room, like tonight. But sometimes she's not, and she's forced to live those six days again, and again, and again.
The teapot whistles, and Effie pours herself a bland cup. She takes it to the back porch where the cold is, to keep her awake. She sits on the edge and stares off at the village's fence. A forest lies behind.
A lantern catches her eye. It's moving through the forest, climbing the fence, and landing on the other side gracefully like a cat. The lantern comes a little ways closer so that Effie can see who's behind it with the full moon's help. It's Katniss. She wears her father's leather jacket. It's unzipped. She looks at Effie, taking her in. Her face is pale, lips blue, expression blank. Effie lifts her hand to wave, and Katniss darts away, like a deer being hunted.
Effie stays outside. The cold doesn't bother her. Numbness beats temperatures. She watches the sunrise from behind the tall pine trees. It's orange. Orange, like Flavius's hair, Cinna's famous designs, District Thirteen's mockingjay propaganda. Orange like fire.
"Effie? Effie, you're here right?" It's Peeta's voice. Effie sets the cup of cold tea down on the porch and walks inside to greet him. She tries to smile, but her lips are cracked, threatening to spill blood.
Peeta looks good. His sunken face has filled out. His eyes still hold circles underneath, but they're a light grey rather than black. He's gained weight. And he looks almost content. It's too early to be happy, but content is a good state of mind to seek.
"Did Haymitch tell you I was here?"
Peeta takes her in. Effie can't tell if the look on his face is relief or disgust. She touches the grey headscarf that she forgot she was still wearing. "I'm the one that told him to go get you." He takes a step closer. "It's good to see you, Effie." Peeta puts the basket he had in his arms on the table and goes in for a hug. He smells like bread, and Effie holds on to the comfort he offers.
They sit, and Peeta spreads out the freshly baked bread he brought and the jam to go with. He tells her about his and Katniss's life in District Thirteen for the past week, how they're slowly fallings into a pattern of life.
"But how is she? Katniss?" Effie places her hand on top of his. She can't believe this is the same boy who was damaged so badly by the Capitol, who wanted to kill everybody. He's come a long way.
Peeta stares down at their hands. "She's…she's not so good. She's not herself." He looks up, and Effie sees fear in his eyes. "But we know she'll return. It's just going to take time. Everything takes time." He offers a weak smile. "Her mom and I are here for her, and now you are, too."
"I don't know how much help I'll be, Peeta. She probably hates me."
"I think she hates everyone right now, except for Haymitch."
"Really, how is Haymitch helping her?"
"He offers her his booze, helps her forget. I tell him this isn't the right way to recover, but I don't think anyone can stop a habit that's been going on for twenty-five years."
"He's drinking again," Effie whispers. She thought his breath smelled of alcohol when he picked her up, but a tiny part of her had such hope that he would stay sober. She should have known better; hope is overrated.
"Yes, but who needs alcohol when you've got my bread and jam?" Peeta offers her a piece of steaming bread with an overly large grin on his face. Effie sees the lie behind his smile, and in that moment seventeen year old Peeta looks as old as a seventy year old man. After watching Effie's reaction, Peeta's grin falls into an expressionless straight line. "Would you take the bread?"
Effie takes it, but she doesn't eat. She's not hungry.
"Haymitch told me what he got you for clothes, but he forgot the winter gear." Peeta pulls out a leather coat, a wool black sweater, and a pair of hefty boots. Effie takes the sweater and pulls it on. It's warm and a little itchy. It's perfect.
"Thank you, Peeta."
"Well, I should get back to Katniss." He stands up. "Come over if you need anything. Haymitch probably won't be much help, but Katniss's mom and I are here. I'd suggest unwinding some. Take advantage of the warm water we have. I can't be the only one who missed it in District Thirteen." Peeta offers her a genuine smile. It doesn't hold sadness, but it holds acceptance. He stands up and pulls Effie into another hug before leaving through the front door. The door's close makes the house radiate with hollowness.
Effie follows Peeta's suggestion and takes a shower. The water is burning hot, but by the time the droplets hit the ground, they're nearly beads of ice. It takes half an hour for Effie to lose her physical numbness and become warm. She took her headscarf off prior to getting in, and she runs her fingers through her shoulder length hair. Real hair was never accepted in the Capitol. You either had to dye it a strange color or wear extravagant wigs. Effie never could muster up the courage to damage her real hair, so she hid it. And she hid it. And eventually she grew to hate it. But now her real hair seems like a better option than her oily headscarf.
She gets out and changes into her clothes as fast as she can. She can't stand the vulnerability nakedness brings. She pulls over her black sweater and hugs herself. As a young child, her mother would always hug her really hard after she got out of the bath. The hugs stopped when she turned five and her mother became the escort for District Four, but they were nice while they lasted.
Effie finds a brush and runs it through her golden waves. She finds petroleum jelly and rubs it into her lips. The blood mixed with the jelly makes them shine pink. She looks in the mirror, and her blue eyes stare back at her. Hidden behind the color is hollowness that came when she broke from being in that sterile room for six days.
Effie peeks through her curtain and stairs at the house across the street. It's Haymitch's. All of the lights are out inside, even though it's one pm. Effie laces her boots and pulls on her heavy, leather coat. It makes her feel like a man, for she's used to having dainty trench coats.
It's cold outside, and she embraces the burn of air in her lungs. Not all burns are bad. She steps up onto Haymitch's porch and knocks three, stern times. She looks around the village while waiting for it to open. All of the houses look like corpses, even the ones that are lived in. She thinks of them as corpses because it's death's fault that they're not alive with human life. But then, death is President Snow's fault. Everything merciless can be traced back to President Snow.
Effie is clutching her shoulders in a vulnerable cross with her arms when the door stutters open. Haymitch drawls on the other end, a bottle of clear liquid in one hand. He leans against the frame with his lower lip sticking out. "Who are you?" He takes a long swig from his bottle.
"It's me, Haymitch." Effie touches one curl self-consciously.
"Effie?" Haymitch drops the bottle and it shatters on the porch. Effie jumps inside to avoid the liquid from soaking through her boots. "Is that really you, Effie?" Haymitch strokes her hair as if she is a show dog. "You're so soft," he mumbles.
"Oh, Haymitch, would you please get off of me?" Effie makes a move to push him away, but Haymitch hiccups and loses his footing, crashing into her further and grasping onto her shoulders. "Oh, Haymitch," Effie mutters again, bitterly. She pushes him off and he crashes to the ground. Out. Cold. She curses under her breath before pulling him further inside and shutting the door behind them.