"Feet down, Haymitch!" She was the most irritating woman I've ever known. Worse than my own mother and that's saying something. She is always nagging me about something. Who does she think she is? She's far from perfect. She's arrogant, irritating, annoying, whiny and not to mention loud! She has no damn right to be telling me what I can and can't do. "Haymitch, you're hardly giving off a good impression with that posture!" Here we go again. "Effie, shut your damn mouth for 10 minutes, give us all a break." "Manners go a long way, that is no way to speak to a woman." She knew how to get under my skin and she does it so well, she doesn't even need to try. I glared over at her, sitting perfectly straight, one leg tucked neatly behind the other. I'd love to know who she thinks she is. She caught me glaring at her and I kept the eye contact, she needs to be pushed off that pedestal that she's placed herself on. "We've got to go get ready for the meal, I think you do too, you look a mess!" Katniss whispered, as if she didn't want Effie to hear our conversation. "Be nice, you're impossible to tolerate today." "Alright, alright, I'll see you later, sweetheart."
As I made myself look somewhat presentable, with the help of my liquor and a bit of silence for once, I looked at myself in the mirror. "Who are you, you damn fool-" My thought was cut short by a three fast taps on the door. A knock only used by the woman herself. "Haymitch, I know you are in there!" She shouted through the door in her overly emphasized capitol accent. "I'm coming, I'm coming, can't a man get some damn peace on this train?" I shouted, slowly opening the door. "Well, haven't you cleaned up well, you look almost-" she cut off. "I look almost what?" I replied, too quickly for my own liking. "You look almost handsome, if I didn't know your personality, I'd think you'd look like a fine gentleman. Unfortunately, your personality ruins that image for me, anyway!" She spoke fast; like she was trying to dig her way out of a hole, but the surprising complement stunned me. "Well, thanks, I guess. You don't look too repulsive today, you're half decent." This was the nicest conversation we'd ever had and I'm sure I caught her blushing a little through her artificial pale make up. "You shouldn't wear so much of that junk on your face, you'd look better without it." I muttered, trying not to push the boundaries. This was nice, natural, even. "I'll bear that in mind, as long as you start making yourself look presentable. You really do scrub up well." She smiled warmly, squeezing my arm in a gentle and unfamiliar way. I tried to suppress the smile and banish the pace of my heart that was increasing. This can't be. We hate each other; it's how it's been since day one. "May I come in?" She enquired, only then I realised we were still standing at my door. "Yeah, 'course." I quickly swept the dirty clothes and the empty liquor bottles from the nearest chair and placed them behind the bathroom door. "Sit" I commanded. "Why, thank you. You're really stunning me tonight, Haymitch. You're so, unlike yourself." I gave a half smile as a response, how was I to respond to that? Of course I am, Effie, I've recently discovered some unknown feelings for you. No. I can't let on, I'm supposed to not give a damn about anyone but myself, I can't let my reputation down. "Haymitch?" She said, almost sang, in a melodic tone I can't say I've heard before. "Yea?" I replied, trying to imitate my own regular tone. "There's something different about you, I can't quite put my finger on it, but you're different. Has anything happened?" Her inquisitive tone wasn't forced or fake, I wanted to tell her, but ever since the games, I've kept to myself. I didn't want anything that I would be so afraid of losing or ruining. So I kept to my drinks, I drank away everything that hurt, everything that kept me awake at night, everything that made me disgusted in who I am. Effie Trinket can't ruin this for me now. My silence made the room tense and awkward, until I felt a tear slowly roll down my face. Within a second, she was by my side, placing her porcelain, well-crafted hand at the side of my face, wiping the single tear. "Haymitch," she spoke in a gentle whisper, "please, talk to me. I know I've been harsh on you in the past, but I don't want you to believe I don't care. Speak to me." I caught her eyes, filled with emotion and care and I couldn't speak. A lump the size of my fist clogged in the back of my throat and all I could do was place my rough, damaged hand over hers. That's when I began to cry. "Now now, you must tell me what's wrong, Haymitch!" She said, the concern still lying under the heightened tone. "I… I'm just stressed. With the kids going and everything. They're special, them two." I blurted out, damn. Missed it. That was the perfect time and I missed it. I'm such a damn fool. I mess up everything. She smiled, "I know, but I'll be here to see you through it! I seemed to have misjudged you altogether. Now come on, it's time for the meal, I'll see you in 10 minutes?" Then she tottered out the room, the echoing of the clicks of her heels was all too loud for me and the moment we'd just shared was too confusing. What was I doing? Was this acceptable? Does she feel something too? Of course she doesn't, she's from the capitol and I'm merely a winning tribute. I'm nothing. I wouldn't deserve her even if there were a chance she felt the same.
I left my cart, dreading dinner, dreading seeing her, dreading spending more time with her. I sat across from her, keeping my head down. It wasn't until I caught her eyes locked on mine, giving me the brightest smile that made me stomach turn into knots.