Author's note: I would love to put this in longer chapters, but it'd take away the grace of the text I guess. Some of the sections are long while some are short. I try to keep it interesting. This is a short chapter. The next one will be a bit longer I guess (I really can't remember). I think the storyline in this chapter speaks for itself as to while it's good to cut off where I cut off :)
Thank you EVER so much for all the feedback. It makes it all more fun!
This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.
"I'm going to find Haymitch," He heard her say from the other cart. "He's probably in the bar,"
"Shut up, woman," Haymitch muttered to himself, mostly because she was right.
"Mr Abernathy, could you… Could you help me in here?" she asked. Everything this woman said seemed to demand him to reply.
"No," he replied.
"We have a volunteer this time, don't you think she-"
"No, she just did it to save her sister,"
"She has spirit!"
"You have spirit, but you never win these things do you?" He teased her. He didn't know why he wanted her to break. He'd broken her on several occasions before and it was never pretty, but somehow there was a point just before she started crying where she seemed so real.
"Mr Abernathy, me winning depends on you working with me," She sat down next to him in the bar.
"It's because of that hug ain't it? I was drunk,"
"Haymitch, you really don't get it, do you?" she asked and left as fast as she'd come. Before he processed her actual words he noticed she'd used his first name. It sounded so weird when she said it calmly instead of shouting it alongside profanities. No. He didn't get it. He didn't get her. She was so bipolar. He took his drink and decided to go check out the new victims. That Katniss girl, she did volunteer. Maybe, just maybe something could be worked out.
"What is that?" Haymitch felt terribly sober as he stared at the otherwise decent, bubbly escort who'd blush if their hands touched in the elevator. Effie sat with her eyes wide open staring at him while the blade fell to the ground from her blood stained fingertips. She didn't even breathe. Half a second later she covered up her thighs as fast as she could, but the light pink nightdress didn't do much to conceal the blood making dark patches through the thin fabric.
"Trinket, what the hell are you doing?" he said as calmly as he could, taking her by the wrist and pulling back the fabric with a slight sob from her. The fabric had covered her thigh in blood, but it was clear to see the cuts.
"Go away!" She suddenly snapped out of it and pushed him away with all the force she could muster. The blood on her hands left a few smears on his blue shirt.
"Get out of my room!" she shouted at him, but he figured he could take her, if she became violent.
"No fucking way, Trinks, give me that," He didn't even know why he was so angry with her. She shouldn't be doing this to herself, not Effie Trinket, the brainless robot of the Capitol. She'd picked up the blade again. It seemed to be from one of those lady-shavers, but broken in half.
He took it. Wasn't hard to force it out of her shaking hands. The blood on his shirt didn't bother him as much as when it got on his hands.
"Trinket. Look at me. Look at me, Effie," he demanded of her after sliding the blade into his front pocket. She was obviously scared. When her eyes met his he realized she was clean. Her face was stripped of make-up, her eyes lens free and deep blue. Her blonde hair flowing down to her shoulders, slightly wavy. Something changed inside him when he saw this. His anger disappeared. He couldn't be mad at her, not like this. She looked so helpless and tiny.
"You're beautiful like this," the last bit of drunkenness in him blurted out to her. This was not the situation to be giving compliments. She looked at him all confused and raised a hand to her face with a silent 'oh'.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Haymitch asked softly and sat down on the bed next to her. All he'd wanted to do was to say sorry for upsetting her earlier. Mostly because after talking to this years tributes, he felt he might finally have something to work with and he didn't want her to be smouldering with heavyset anger at him if he wanted to give it a shot.
"Effie, please talk to me, you're hurting yourself. It's not normal,"
"You drink," she said after a few moments of silence.
"There's a big difference between cutting your own skin and drinking," Haymitch replied.
"Why do you even care? You barely tolerate me," She didn't look at him anymore.
"This is not about me," Haymitch said, because it was true what she said. Sometimes he'd wanted to kill her, in all seriousness. But the times he wanted to off her, she'd acted like a puppet on a string for Capitol officials, probably not even speaking with her own voice.
She didn't say anything more. He kept sitting there, through the night, watching her blood coagulate, not knowing what he should do or not do. He tried speaking to her a few times, but she was just weeping too much for her to reply. At one point he put a hand on top of hers, which seemed to calm her down a bit. She got tired, very tired and just to add to the awkwardness of the situation she ended up dosing off leaned against his shoulder. It felt so peculiar to have a woman push her body against his, even though this was so far from sexual as human contact came; it'd been a long time. He guessed that was sometimes what he'd thought of, when he thought of Effie Trinket. Sex. Not because he'd found her desirable or beautiful with all that make-up and costumes, but simply because she was the only woman in his life, who actually seemed to give a shit, though he treated her like a piece of trash, which randomly had been given the gift of speech. There was not much to fantasize about when the urge checked in, so sometimes it'd just end up with her. He breathed heavily and let her fall asleep. Maybe he could tuck her in for once. He couldn't think of anything but the cuts on her thighs. Not so much because they were there. He'd tried it once before as well, but it didn't do anything for him. No. Because he'd never misjudged a person as much as he'd misjudged Effie Trinket.
She acted as if nothing ever happened when the tributes where in the room. It was like watching her after the time he'd hit her, except he now knew. He knew why she never told anybody about anything more private than her recent shoe purchase. He knew why she'd disappear into bathrooms at weird times during the games. If only he knew why she did it. A part of him really wanted to help her, but he didn't see a way out of it.
"We'll be arriving in the Capitol shortly," she informed them coming into breakfast, wearing her make-up, wearing her wig. Haymitch couldn't help but let his gaze slide down to the purple silk skirt. He wondered how she kept the wounds from breaking and leaking through the delicate fabric. His thoughts were cut off by her clearing her throat. She saw what he was doing. He poured some liquor in his coffee. This got crazier every year.
"Cinna that was simply dazzling," she said and gave the stylist a kiss on the cheek. Peeta was on stage now, talking to Caesar. Haymitch looked at Katniss and gave her a grunt and said something about her dress being pretty. He hadn't talked to Effie alone since that night on the train, but this night would be his. He wanted answers, because she'd been sending him a lot of mixed signals. Sometimes inviting him to sit next to her, placing her hand next to his on the table so close she could as easily have just put it over his. Sometimes not even holding the elevator door when he ran for it. But she seemed to be consciously avoiding being alone with him and he didn't know how to react to anything she did, though somewhere in him everything changed the night he saw her at her weakest point and he couldn't shake the slight stab of jealousy of Cinna who seemed so oblivious to her troubles and just accepted her gratitude for his work. If Haymitch didn't know any better he'd call them alike, Effie and Cinna. Both trendsetters and trying to make it in the games, though they both seemed to be stuck with 12. That was before he knew Cinna asked specifically for 12. That was well before he knew why Effie actually stuck to 12.
