Effie does her best to try to convince us to stay, but I am rooted in my resolve to board the first train out in the morning. My exhaustion does not improve my mood, nor does the endless loop of the video of Peeta and me kissing on every single Capitol feed. I have officially had enough of the Capitol's hospitality, and it is past time we head home.
"That simply will not do!" Effie protests in shock as I make the announcement at breakfast. Peeta has managed to drag himself out of bed, but his head is flat against the table. I am having a hard time ignoring Haymitch's judgmental stare, so I look down at my own plate. It's not my fault Peeta got drunk last night. I had not been the one who suggested a late night snack since we skipped all the food at the ball. And I certainly had not been the one to carry the massive bottle of wine back into the bedroom with the rest of the food. Though I probably could have put up a bigger protest and advised against us drinking the whole thing.
"We have two more days of events scheduled, with hardly a moment to be spared in between. You cannot simply leave." She sounds as appalled as Haymitch looks, though for a very different reason.
I cannot stand Haymitch's stares any longer. "Enough!" I shout, slamming my fork against the table and causing Peeta to groan at the sound. Meeting Haymitch's eyes, I dare him to say something. To do anything besides his cowardly glares. He, of all people, has no room to judge.
Effie, thinking I'm talking to her, gasps and shrinks back into her chair. I let out my own groan, instantly apologizing. I wasn't as drunk as Peeta, but I definitely helped him finish off the bottle last night, and my nerves are completely shot from this entire ordeal. "I'm sorry, Effie. Really, I am. But Peeta isn't feeling well," Haymitch snickers at this but I power on, "and we've had enough of the festivities." I try to work up an excuse as to why. "We've gotten so used to the quiet, simple life back home," because that's all District Twelve will ever symbolize for most people, "and the back to back events have drained us completely." It's feeble at best, but I can tell I rattled her with my shout.
She still isn't happy about the decision, but she simmers silently in her chair as we continue to eat. Peeta doesn't even bother to lift his head to shovel food into his mouth, though I would bet that the food might help relieve his aching head. Haymitch certainly likes to pound down as much as possible the morning after one of his escapades.
Tension fills the remainder of our visit. As we finish our meal, Peeta's plate still untouched, Effie hesitates before mentioning the sea of activities we are supposed to participate in today. Grinding my teeth together and locking my jaw, I force myself to count as the good old doctor taught me. I make a few more excuses as I push my chair back from the table.
Really, just one look at Peeta ought to prove my point. He hasn't said a word all morning except for the occasional groan. I wonder if he even remembers what happened last night, or if everything became a blur the more he drank. I almost hope it has, especially since he has been too hungover to witness the spectacle playing over and over in the newsfeeds. Somehow, I think for a moment, we might just be able to throw the entire incident behind us and pretend it never happened. In Peeta's head, it might just be the case. I'm torn on if I want that or not. To go on pretending that there is nothing there between us, to ignore it when it rears its head. Might be easier that talking about it, since we can't seem to do that either.
Leaning over him, I gently shake his shoulders in an attempt to rouse him from his seat. I get a half moan in return. "Come on Peeta," I try with a little more authority and a little harder of a shake. I know he feels miserable. I had that one time, when I drank myself stupid and passed out in one of the abandoned houses in the Village. His head feels like a train is running full speed across it, and the motion of the actual train we are going to board soon is only going to make it worse. But he needs to get out of here, now. He won't last another day, not when the alcohol wears off and he becomes aware of his surroundings again. I think it'll only hit him harder the second time around.
"Time to pack," I tell his as I maneuver my arms up under his armpits and try to pull him from his chair. He is a dead weight in my arms, refusing to help me for even a second. I beg Haymitch for help with my eyes, but he is entirely satisfied in leaning back in his chair, sipping his coffee and smirking while I struggle.
I'm grunting more than Peeta is groaning now, and it feels like a futile effort. Without a hint of willpower from him, I won't be able to move him an inch from this chair, much less carry him down the hallway to collect our things. I finally concede, letting his forehead drop back onto the table softly. All the muscles in his body relax as he sags against the table.
Haymitch whistles at the spectacle. "You're trying to kill that boy," he comments.
"I'm not the one who brought him here." I'm livid at Haymitch for his insistence that we come, and I make no attempt to mask it. I'm so fed up with his self-centeredness and his utter lack of empathy. I understand it towards me, and that's fine. But Peeta has been nothing but civil to Haymitch the entire time we've been thrown together, and this is how Haymitch repays him. Fine. We'll see who helps Haymitch through his next binge and purge. It sure as hell won't be me.
I pack all of our belongings myself, making no effort to separate them. Instead, I throw them all into one bag. When it is full, I move to the second and shove things in mindlessly until everything is collected. I will worry about sorting through them later. Right now, I cannot get out of this place fast enough. Peeta can wear his sleep garments on the train for all I care. We're already plastered all over the newsfeeds for something much more personal and embarrassing, and it's not like he's going to remember anyway.
Slinging one bag over each shoulder, I don't bother to double check if I have everything. There is nothing I brought here that I couldn't easily replace without a hint of emotional attachment. Lugging both bags, I return to the table and wonder how the hell I'm going to get Peeta to the station as well. Upon entering the room again, I see that Haymitch has finally come to his senses and taken pity on Peeta. Peeta's head is drooping, his blond hair covering his face, but Haymitch has Peeta supported on one side and has gotten him up into a standing position.
Effie, too angry at me to see us to the station, says her goodbyes at the elevator door. Haymitch hands Peeta over to me for a moment, and I have to drop both bags and lean heavily against the wall of the elevator to support him. As Haymitch leans in close and whispers something into Effie's ear, I almost drop him in shock. I cannot hear what Haymitch says, but from the way Effie's cheeks are coloring under the heavy layer of white makeup, it must have been something.
When Effie leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth, my legs almost give out. When did this develop? We've barely seen Effie over the past year. But as I think back to Haymitch's fierce objections to us skipping the festivities, and his impromptu trip to the Capitol during the fall, it sort of makes sense. Especially when coupled with the fact that I can't remember the last time I saw Haymitch drinking. He hasn't touched a glass of alcohol since we arrived, and he hasn't been drinking at home either.
Well, color me surprised. I guess the bastard has something left in his heart after all. I just never thought it could be directed toward someone from the Capitol. Not after everything they have done to us. Though, I have to admit, Effie has been kinder to us than most, even as she prepped us for the slaughter.
Still, it's weird to even consider the fact that Peeta and I were probably not the only ones sneaking in and out of each other's rooms since our arrival. Just the mere thought of it turns my stomach, and I am thankful when Haymitch joins us in the elevator to take Peeta back. I have a hard enough time trying to picture my own love life. I don't need to be imagining the details of others'. As the doors mercifully slide shut, I think that this trip cannot be over soon enough.