Author's note: So this is the end? Yeah, it is! I rewrote this at least ten times, trying out different endings, but I guess I came to the one I like the most (I'm so torn between everything) I won't say anything more, read away!
Thank you to everybody who has taken the time to read, review, favorite and follow this story! It got way more feedback than I dared hope for and I think you are all beautiful little darlings for making me feel so great :)
I don't have any plans for writing more Hayffie right now, sorry to say, but I've written a bit cold on the pairing and I want to explore something else. I'm not really into other fandoms or ship other people, so I might just lay low for a while.
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.
He couldn't take his eyes of her. He hadn't forgotten what she looked like, but somehow she still seemed so new to him. Her walk had a slight limp to it, but she'd learned pretty good to walk on her substitute foot, though she was about 4 inches shorter than usual, since she couldn't wear heels anymore. Her clothes were less extravagant, but still richer than most of district 12 could hope for. A simple white dress with gold brocades, she'd look like a goddess if it weren't for the scars still shining back at him in the sun. He couldn't judge if there were more than when he last saw her, but he could see that there were no new ones on her wrists and legs. She wore short sleeves.
"You look great," he said truthfully to her and didn't wait to pull her into an embrace, touching her hair, which she hadn't even bothered to cover with a wig. He felt her tears through his shirt and he couldn't get his heartbeat under control or stop smiling. There were tears in his own eyes as well. He closed them and let his cheek rest on her head. It felt good, he didn't remember the last time he'd been this happy.
"I was scared…" Effie admitted as she put the few belongings she had in the closet Haymitch had prepared for her.
"They can't recognize you," Why was it so hard to stop smiling?
"They will eventually. You know, Snow's initial plan was to put me back here during the rebellion and let the district do what they wanted, they won't just forgive and forget Haymitch. I wouldn't,"
"A lot has happened since then," Haymitch promised her and looked at her scarce baggage.
"Where is everything? I thought you owned a lot of stuff…"
"Well, during the rebellion a lot of the Capitol was burned down, my apartment was in one of the complexes completely wrecked," she said without emotion, "I haven't bought much while I was in the hospital, so…" She suddenly laughed a bit. She didn't laugh often, so Haymitch first thought something was wrong. It sounded like a wind chime, her high-pitched voice giving in to laughter.
"You know it's not like I care anymore, Haymitch, isn't it crazy? When I heard all my stuff was gone all I thought was that it was easier to get to 12 without it," she shook her head and watched him pick up a photo from her suitcase. Obviously her parents, not an old photo, seemed to be back from when the time he met her. She looked like her mother.
"And I didn't own a lot of stuff. You've never seen me wear my own clothes until today. Everything I got for the games was sponsored, none of it was mine. The Capitol didn't really pay me well for the escort job, because there's so much honour in it and because it was for 12. I merely got by when there wasn't a Game going on. Escorts mostly tend to … live out the other meaning of escort, though I never… Oh, yeah, never mind," she added with a sigh.
"I just thought..."
"You thought I was rich because I'm from the Capitol?" Effie laughed again and patted him on the head.
"There's no shame in being happy about where you're from, Effie, you don't have to denounce the Capitol, just because you don't live there anymore," He couldn't believe he was the one to tell her that. He didn't want to comment on her remark about the sexworkers. There was many. Even himself had been considered for the trade when he won the Games, but he was probably deemed too dangerous. He couldn't picture Effie as being sexy and flirty. He knew she thought of Snow, because for a short moment her face grew so dark he felt she was never going to return.
"I love the Capitol, I love the fashion, the colours, the luxury," She turned to him with a brilliant smile suddenly flashing through the deep, dark thoughts, "but I love you even more," He was hit by a weird sensation and couldn't stop himself from kissing her and pushing her suitcase from the bed and to the floor.
"I have no idea, why you're that stupid – must be the blonde hair," he whispered, while she gently moaned under his hands. There was nothing he wanted more than her body and mind right now.
He got even more excited when he pulled of her dress and realized there were no new scars. No redness or infection, just small white bumps, which would never fade more than they were now. He traced a few of them with his fingers, while not allowing her to pull from the kiss and explain herself like he knew she wanted to. The bumps felt funny under his coarse fingers, like silk, sticking to the calloused skin around his nails. He liked it, though he didn't allow his hands to linger on her thighs for too long, there were more tempting places nearby.
"Damn I've missed you," Haymitch said teasingly as their damp bodies finally parted.
"I know," she snapped back at him and placed her head on his shoulder. She held back now. There was still underlying awkwardness in their movements, when they weren't having sex – that just came natural. Everything else was still only partly charted territory for both of them.
"Don't sleep, Peeta and Katniss has invited us for dinner," he said softly as she fell asleep. He couldn't bear to wake her up, so he let her stay. He didn't get up himself. He could stay here forever, with her lying like a ball of warmth next to him. Less than a year ago this had been impossible. Less than a year ago she was in a coma. Less than a year ago he'd been crying himself to sleep thinking he'd never see her again, after she'd gone back to the Capitol. Less than three hours ago all of this had been untrue, when he saw her standing on the train station waiting for him. Everything was at peace now.
"I love you," he said to her, calmly and finally in the right moment.
"I love you," she replied back in her sleep. He smiled and closed his eyes.
When he turned on the light the next morning something was wrong. The first thing he noticed was the smell. The dull smell of dried blood and fake rose. He saw it shortly after. The rose, standing elegant and tall in a vase on Effie's bedside table. She laid next to it, still sleeping. Haymitch poked her side.
"Effs, wake up," He drew the knife from under his pillow and stared around the room.
"Effie, wake the fuck up!" he repeated a few moments later, when she didn't respond.
"Euphemia Trinket!" he yelled louder, still scanning the room, which seemed as harmless as ever. A dreadful thought came over him. Turning around towards her, he saw her pale face, lying there untouched save for a tiny dripple of saliva running down her cheek. It was stained with blood. The knife fell from his hand. This wasn't happening. As fast as he'd gotten up, he crawled back into the bed, next to her, putting his fingers on her wrists, checking for pulse. When he didn't find one he checked her breathing, her pulse on her neck, anything. The panic almost paralyzed him, but it was true.
"Effs," he whispered and kissed her face, her hands and her neck as if she was Snow White and just waited for someone to kiss her back to life. "Wake up," he pleaded of her in desperation. He didn't want to believe it. Nothing was true. Nothing was supposed to happen this way. He tried to remember his training from a long time ago, but he crushed her brittle ribs in a failed attempt at revitalizing her. It was over. He fell back when he realized.
"I'm sorry!" he cried, "Oh … Effie," he couldn't even begin to know how he was supposed to react. He looked at the rose on the bedside table.
We're still here, a note next to the rose said.
They had killed her.
The Games weren't over.
Author's Note: Just another thank you to the people who were concerned enough to send me messages about self harm treatments. I do have personal issues with that subject and I have been battling depression for a long time, though writing about it in this way makes me feel better. It warms my heart that people care enough to actually go out of their way to find advice for me and message me, though they don't even know me.
I hope you can forgive me for killing her. I tend to kill of my favorite characters, when I start loving them a bit too much. Not saying I won't bring her back to life some time in the future for another take on her faith with Haymitch.
Thanks for everything
~ Mette
