Author's note: As always, thank you for your lovely respose to the chapters thus far! You're absolutely amazing! I'm thrilled you guys enjoy reading and I really appreciate the support! Slightly shorter chapter today but I hope you'll like it just the same.
Chapter 26
On the ropes
Like clockwork, Haymitch stirred only a few minutes in. With a grunt and a sigh he ran his leather-dry tongue against the inside of his mouth.
Barely awake he groped around for the hip-flask, forced open a sleepy eye to check the room off as empty and brought it to his lips.
Drops from heaven.
He sucked on it like a fretful, hungry baby and grunted in relief at the burning sensation.
Just two more sips.
Heaven, or hell more like it. It took everything in his power to lower the flask again before he lost his last ounce of control. He slipped it back inside his pocket til next time and rubbed a thumb against his aching temple.
How long was I out for?
The only telling of time was the sun, peeking through a different window. The scarce light seared his brain like razor blades despite the curtains and he pressed his hand over his face, groaning.
What he wouldn't do for a real proper night out. A chance to just drink himself senseless and fuck the consequences! Pretend for one second of his godforsaken life that he was a man with no obligations. No responsibilities.
He rolled more than rose from the couch. His knees popped like logs burning in the fireplace. Today would be another scorcher, for sure. Even in just the undershirt he was all sticky and disgusting. Steadied against the coffee table he swallowed a flood of salvia when the room tilted and his stomach with it.
No. Get a grip.
He couldn't afford losing even one of those precious few mouthfuls. Not until he had replenished his supplies. And he had to, soon, at least once before the birth.
But carrying twins took its toll on Effie, especially this late in the pregnancy. She napped all over the house. Fingers and toes crossed he'd manage to sneak downtown, buy a bagful and hide the evidence before she woke.
And even if not, what choices did he have? A flare-up was better than the alternative.
Breathing through his nose the queasiness subsided. For now, anyway. His knees quivered but felt like they'd actually hold him up this time. The ringing in his ears gave way for mockingjay song and that's when he picked up on something else.
Voices.
Oh, God. Not visitors this early.
Anyone knocking here spelt trouble. Probably Mrs. Bitch again. Complaining as usual.
Still not trusting his spaghetti legs Haymitch felt his way through the house. Effie shouldn't have to deal with the neighbor's bullshit alone.
But just as he was about to turn the corner with a perfect snarl at the ready, Haymitch slowed to a stop. For he recognized that voice. And it didn't belong to a bitch.
"The Capitol doesn't feel like home to us. It never did."
Haymitch drew back at the sound. He was no eaves-dropper. Not beyond the occasional bedtime story, at least. Yet there was something in Annabel's tone, in those chosen words that kept him rooted to the spot, incapable of movement. Hidden just out of sight he strained his ears so as not to miss one syllable.
"Life is mad out here." With the phone built into the wall, much like the mouth pieces in the Training Centre, he heard Annabel almost as well as he would Effie. "The house is a wreck. Half of it sealed off. Neither June nor myself goes to bed before midnight. We cook for ten. You should see the stacks of dirty dishes piling up every night! And yet..."
Her voice faltered.
"It's different here. Out in the orchards. By the water's edge. Easier. Every meal doesn't feel like I'm waging a war. I'm more me fixing a clog in the kitchen than I ever was during all those years in the Capitol. June feels the same way. We've talking about it. Many times. There's… there's nothing keeping us in the city. Not really. Not anymore. The house would probably be on the market already hadn't you showed up. It's not our home. Haven't been for years. But... perhaps it can be yours."
The heat rising further and further up Haymitch's face with each word uttered pounded his ears so he almost didn't hear the rest of the exchange. He clutched the edge of the wall, palm slick against the paint.
Effie's and Annabel's voices blurred together like static. White noise. Black spots swam across his field of vision and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.
"You don't have to decide anything on the spot," Annabel said. "If you want to buy or rent it we will hold it for you until then. We'd love it if you stayed. You and the children. That way you don't have to start over fresh in another district. If it's like you said and Twelve isn't an option …"
Haymitch let go of the wall, arms slumped at his sides. Breathing heavily, cheeks so hot they stung, he just turned on his heel and lumbered off down the corridor.
He needn't hear no more.
xXx
Effie Trinket would be the first to admit her thirst for coffee. Out of all people in the District 12 team she was definitely the caffeine addict. She used to litter the Training Centre with empty cups. Of course, the night owls Cinna and Portia helped too.
"Good Lord, what the hell is this?" Haymitch choked and spat his mouthful back in to the cup the first and last time he ever drank Effie's concoction. "I'll have heartburn for the rest of the Games now. What a witch's brew! No wonder you need pills to sleep."
"Just add some milk then, if it's too overwhelming," said Effie and poured herself a cup of the black tar she called coffee. "Oh, that's good." Eyes closed, she ran her tongue over her top lip. "That's amazing!"
"Whoa, sweetheart," Haymitch said and formed a T with his hands. "You're gonna gimme a hard-on."
"Well, that's your problem," Effie said into the cup. "Not mine."
Back when they slept together Haymitch needed only hold the mug right under her nose to pull her from her slumber. Freshly ground coffee and a gorgeous, naked man - what better way to start the day?
Caffeine was by far the hardest thing she had to give up when the home pregnancy test came out positive.
Even now, when the smell wafted out from the kitchen her heart beat a little faster.
Or maybe it wasn't just the coffee.
"Think about it," Annabel spoke in her memory. "Talk to Haymitch. Maybe this is the best first solution."
"Hey," she said with a soft knock in the door frame. Haymitch's eyes flitted to her as he set the butter and blackberry jam on the table.
He turned to the stove. His broad frame covered the action as he poured himself a cup from the pot but she didn't have to look to know it was already filled half-way up.
"There's fresh water melon," he muttered and nodded toward the fruit tureen filled with ice. "Remember, the doctor told you to drink more in this sweltering heat."
"I remember. What a gorgeous breakfast table."
"Yeah, well. Don't have much choice, do I?" His voice sounded hoarse and raspy. That's what screaming yourself out of nightmares did to your vocal cords. "Who wants their eggs raw?"
"They weren't raw last time," Effie objected.
"No. Boiled green."
True.
She ruined most dishes she tried her hands at, even when she followed a recipe. With Haymitch at the helm there was at least a 50 % chance the food turned out edible.
"Well, I'm starving," she said to say something. "All three of us are."
Haymitch poured some milk into his pretend coffee and lifted it from the counter. Even with two hands, the cup rattled the saucer.
"I got it!" he snarled when she tried to help. He set it by his empty plate and slumped into a seat. Righted the cup up so as not to spill any precious drops. "Well?" he said, looking back at her. "We're gonna eat or what?"
Effie pulled out a chair. With this ever-growing planet of a belly she swore she was getting clumsier and more immobile by the hour. And settling herself into a seat was the easy part. That she managed on her own.
Getting up, whether from the bed or the couch or the tub that was a whole different matter. If she was to regain her feet before the end of the century Haymitch must assist.
Poor Haymitch. He turned red as a beetroot each and every time she stepped onto the bath rug, butt naked and dripping with suds.
"Didn't take you for the squeamish type," she smiled, being wrapped in his bath towel. "Since you put these babies in me in the first place."
"It's for your sake," muttered Haymitch, eyes on the floor. "'scuse me for being considerate."
"Oh, I lost my last scrap of dignity months ago," said Effie with a wave of her hand as he helped her on with the bath robe. "And I fear you better get re-used to the naked female form, sweet Haymitch. Childbirth isn't exactly a covered-up affair."
She poured herself a glass of orange juice. Haymitch, on the other hand, didn't touch any of the delicious food. Not even the coffee. He just sat there, drooped in his seat. Eyes vacant. Arms crossed against the table to hide the tremors.
New wrinkles marred his forehead, adding ten years to his age. His nose was all red and runny, like after a walk in the cold. His eyes too. They shone in the light from the windows, ringed in bruise-like shadows. Had it been anyone else other than him, she might have mistaken them for tears. But this was Haymitch Abernathy.
"What?" he asked when he felt her staring.
Effie bit her lip and moved her attention to the bread basket.
"Mind if I take the last one?"
"Help y'self. Why you askin' me for?"
Her hand closed around the lone rye bun sitting on a bed of cardamom biscuits. It was so quiet around the table you could hear the puff of wind when it rustled the apple tree.
Finally Haymitch breathed a sigh and grasped for the ear on his cup. Hand trembling like a puppy in the rain, it rattled the saucer and a toffee colored drop bloomed up over the table cloth.
He tried again, using both hands and this time he brought it all the way up to his lips but the china clattered against his teeth and he only managed to scald his tongue.
"Oh, fuck my day…"
He set it down and scooped up some ice from the fruit tureen instead. He rested it against his temple and closed his eyes, like he'd just been in a fight.
"Do you want something for your head?"
Haymitch snorted.
"Like what? A blunt object?"
"We can go down to the pharmacy. It opens soon."
"Why bother? Nuthin' works." He grabbed one of the cardamom biscuits and dunked it in his cup. "Not where you're lookin'."
"Maybe some fresh air then? Couldn't hurt. I need to visit the Forum anyway. Perhaps you'd like to join?"
"Fine with me." He moved the handful of ice to the center of his forehead. A trickle of water ran down his wrist. "Don't see what we need though. Got so much stuff already we can open our own store."
"Well, we better stock up as much as we can now while we have the chance. Diapers and whatnot. Once they're born time will be tight."
"You're the boss."
They finished the rest of the meal in silence. Haymitch sucked up his coffee one biscuit at a time and missed all the fleeting looks coming from across the table.
Effie nibbled her sandwich. Usually she savored every bite but the taste reminded her so of District 12 it took three efforts before the food went down.
Dark rye bread baked with sunflower seeds told of breakfasts in bed. Lunches at the bakery. Hidden squeezes of Haymitch's hand around hers in busy times – warm and steady. A stolen kiss or two when no one else was looking.
There was simply no point talking with him right now. She'd seen him like this a hundred and one times during the Games. Before ten o'clock Haymitch Abernathy's door sign hadn't switched to "open" yet. Didn't matter how many times you knocked. Years of hard-earned experience taught her that.
Just leave him alone. Better for all involved.
She gasped and her hand flung to her side. The twins had been calm for most of this morning. Just stirs and the occasional rolling over. But this kick, right in the ribs, was so brutal and unexpected she'd be damned if they didn't plan it together. Like they disapproved of her previous notion.
Ow. She rubbed the spot. You're growing too strong for me, little ones.
Her gaze shifted to their father but luckily, her discomfort slipped under Haymitch's radar this once. He just gnawed on his biscuit, mind miles away. Someplace where she couldn't reach him.
What a sad irony. She needed him sober, level-headed, for this kind of talk but at the same time it was a futile mission, discussing their children's future before he had a few good drinks in him first.
Because without them, all he really heard was the desperate call for help from his own abused body. Lost in some kind of in-between state. A fish gasping for breath in a puddle.
Patience. She had to be patient. This was too important. The right moment would arise. It just wasn't now. Far from it.
Maybe tomorrow, she told herself when her cheek touched the pillow. Tomorrow will be better.
At yet, each day Haymitch looked worse. Worn like a wrung-out rag. Like something tossed in the trash bin. He kept to his room more than he used to and sometimes when she walked by his door at night she heard him roll and roll over in there. Moaning, like he had a fever.
He still joined in their daily activities but he talked only when spoken to and in such clipped sentences you'd think he paid for each word. If she suggested something he agreed to it, without fail and then spent all their "bickering time" saved up, hunkered in a bay window with the hip-flask.
She preferred their fights. Absolutely. Didn't matter what it was about. She could work with that. At least when they fought they met each other half-way, once the storm blew over.
What was she supposed to do with all this silence? When Haymitch drew back into himself like a turtle in its shell. Became a wall with no door handle.
He always was a man of secrets. Of endless roadblocks and checkpoints. Almost as soon as you passed through one of them you had to stop at the next.
Even when they were at their rawest, most vulnerable; skin on skin, heart to heart with nothing shielding them from one another, the glimpses into his soul – the places where the ghosts resided – were so rare. Like the northern lights or a solar eclipse. She knew next to nothing about his life, about his past. This man who's children she was about to bare into the world.
It wasn't his fault, this shadow over his life and she tried to respect his boundaries. But when she felt them kicking within her, these two little ones about to join their fractured, patched up family, tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn't help it.
Time. Just give him time. He's still coming to terms with being a father. This decision can wait. Annabel said so. If he needs space just give it to him. Let him come to me. He will when he's ready.
Besides, there was something else tugging at her attention.
It happened a little over a week ago. The first time.
Haymitch showered and Effie stood by the kitchen counter, making pomegranate juice to the sound of water gushing through pipes.
She hummed a simply little note to the twins. Bits and pieces of a half-forgotten lullaby. Her hands were sticky from the juicy pulps and she sucked the sweetness from her fingertips. She was really burning through not only the bread supply but the fruit crates as well.
With the pomegranates scored in to chunks and all those delicious, ruby seeds taken care off she was just about to plug in the blender when she drew a sharp breath and doubled over, clutching her tummy.
Eyes squeezed shut she pressed her hand against the counter, the other one in to herself. Her abdomen was tight as a drum. Pain, like period cramps but turned up to eleven, clutched her insides.
A whimper pressed out between her lips and she fought the urge to hold her breath like she normally would when hurting. Instead she forced air in to her lungs. In and out, in and out, counting the seconds like between lightning and thunder.
It lasted no more than a minute. Less even. Then it went away again with nothing but her moist forehead as proof it happened at all.
It rattled her. Quite a bit. It happened so out of the blue. No warning. Carrying Amy and Ian, while uncomfortable, had been such smooth sailing. Compared to her last pregnancy this one was a breeze.
But it seemed like she was finally having those Braxton Hicks contractions after all.
She never told Haymitch. He had enough of his own problems and she didn't want to add to the pile.
It happened again a couple more times. That tightening of her lower abdomen. Always in the wake of Amy and Ian being particularly active but far in between and not nearly as painful as the first one.
All normal. Nothing but what to expect.
Not that Haymitch would listen to reason. He'd go in to full panic mode and drag her to the hospital no matter what she said.
She already did the rushing in when she carried Alex. This was just more of the same. False labor. She even called her doctor while Haymitch still showered, just to be on the safe side.
It did of course wreck her last shrivel of hope for a 40 weeks pregnancy.
It could happen any day now.