Song inspiration for this chapter: Like An Animal – RÜFÜS DU SOL

Like An Animal

The sun is already rising behind the city buildings. The morning is colder than expected. I didn't bring a jacket and now I'm freezing. I stand on the penthouse roof and look down at the golden city. The sun bathes them in a bright light. The sight takes my breath away. Ever since I discovered how beautiful it is up here, I've been coming here more often. It is mesmerizing, secluded and quiet, allowing you to indulge in your thoughts without being disturbed. And last night gave me enough to think about.

The relationship between Haymitch and me has improved massively since last year. We don't fight that often anymore. We get along better. You could say we finally found a way to be friends. The thought gives me a pang. I don't even know why. It confuses me. He confuses me.

I want to vent my feelings. I wish I could just yell them out. Here and now. So that they finally disappear and don't come back. So that I can go back to my everyday life. So that I can finally be the woman I was before. Of course I know that the world doesn't work like that. Some things you experience shape you too deeply to undo the outcome. Like cutting your finger with a rusty knife. The wound is closing on the outside as if nothing happened, while an infection is spreading on the inside. Some things cannot be undone.

My shoes are dangling in my left hand. I took them off when I entered the roof. Up here I don't need to hide my true size. I'm taller than any other person in this city. You don't need high heels for that. My mother would certainly have something to say about this way of thinking. The fact that I'm meeting her at lunchtime only makes my mood worse. But eluding Lyssandra Trinket would only make things worse in the long run.

Frustrated, I push myself off the railing and take a step back. I feel a desire in my veins. A desire to destroy something. I don't understand why I'm angry. Maybe at Haymitch for seeing the real Effie. But probably at myself, because I don't know who the real Effie is. I've been acting for so long that I've lost myself somewhere along the way. I have to play my part. Everyone here in the Capitol has a role to play. Without them we wouldn't survive long here.

A mix of anger, nervousness and fear creeps through my veins and makes it impossible for me to think clearly. Dangerous. I don't know what's wrong with me. My feelings are so fervent that I have little control over them. It's like my brain can't remember how I even hold the emotions up until last year. As if I had forgotten it. As if my mask had cracked.

My feet carry me back to the railing. I stagger rather than walk. My muscles feel heavy like I've drunk copious amounts of alcohol. I don't know where this weakness comes from. Nowadays I don't know anything anymore.

"Effie."

I flinch, but don't turn around. I don't have the instincts to hear when he's sneaking up. Now that he's standing behind me, I want to laugh. About myself. About my stupidity. I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm no longer safe from him anywhere in the penthouse. Maybe my fate really isn't kind to me.

The first thing I see when I turn around are Haymitch's gray eyes reflecting the sun. The light makes the omnipresent dissatisfaction disappear from his face. He looks so calm all of a sudden. If it wasn't for that expression in his pupils. Lately a reticent worry has crept in when they're pointed at me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice sounding distant.

"The question should be what you are doing here," he replies with a touch of amusement. I can feel him eyeing me. "I am almost always up here at this time."

I shrug. The truth is I couldn't stay in my room any longer. And because I bumped into him in the dining room last time, I opted for a more secluded area this time.

When I owe Haymitch an answer, his eyes go to the shoes dangling in my fingers. A smile creeps onto his face. "No need to feel big anymore?"

I avoid his eyes. My stomach is tightening and I'm having trouble controlling my moves. I have no strength for these superficial conversations. Just because we've crossed paths doesn't mean he has to feel obligated to talk to me. It drains me.

Haymitch walks over to me, casual on the outside, but I see his jaw clench. I expect him to stop a few meters in front of me, but he doesn't. Instead, he enters my private space and grasps the railings on either side of my waist. I'm trapped between his body and the railing pressing against my back. Haymitch lowers his head and as close as he is, our eyes are now only inches apart. A gasp escapes my throat, but even if I could, I wouldn't flinch.

"You're suffering," Haymitch says softly, and the wind carries his words away. "I see that you're suffering, even if you don't want to tell me about it. And that's okay. But I see it and the kids see it, too."

The defiant attitude I try to adopt doesn't last three seconds. "Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know what to tell you," I murmur, still avoiding his eyes. The steady silver that makes my heart beat faster. "I am overwhelmed. I used to be able to push the fear away, just ignore it."

"Sounds familiar," Haymitch admits, and now I look up. His stubble is unkempt and uneven, as is his hair. They cover his attractive face. As if he hadn't bothered to take care of anything after getting up. But the well-known smell of alcohol that usually surrounds him is missing. "Liquor has its perks," he continues, as if reading my face.

"I'm not there yet." The alcohol helps Haymitch keep his own demons at bay. If he reduces the amount now, he must feel like me. Surrendered to his fears. It would explain his own bags under his eyes.

"Hopefully it stays that way." Haymitch manages a grin, for my sake I realize in amazement. His fingers, which have just closed around the railing, wander to my back. I allow it, letting my body relax in his arms. As if what he's doing is nothing unusual. "One drunkard is enough."

"Are you drunk?" I ask quietly. I already know the answer. His fingers tremble against my body. He's sober and trying to fight the urge to drink. I raise my arms, which have been hanging uselessly down to me, and press them to Haymitch's chest. His eyes widen slightly for a moment, but he's good at hiding it. When I start drawing invisible patterns on his shirt, he relaxes; even leans towards me.

Our eyes meet again and Haymitch isn't quick enough to force indifference onto his moves. We both have our facades. I hide behind enthusiasm and he hides behind arrogance.

"The lack of alcohol makes it worse," says Haymitch finally, only indirectly answering my question. He sounds hoarse and breathless and distant at the same time. His hands travel up my body. The trembling fingers of his left hand slide to my cheek. My own fingers pause on his chest. "I feel so . . . awake. As if I've slept for years. I look at you and I feel like the past few years have been nothing but a dream."

Something freezes inside my chest. I push him away and Haymitch backs away from me without hesitation. As if he had half expected such a reaction. "No dream, just reality," I reply coldly.

Haymitch sighs behind me, but I don't wait to see if he has more to say. I'm retreating. His heavy steps reveal that he is following me. It's almost time for breakfast anyway.

As I descend the stairs to our floor, I wonder how I've let him lull me into a false sense of security for the second time in 24 hours. I'm making myself vulnerable by opening up to him. He's still the same sneering Haymitch, who enjoys seeing me suffer, who throws insults at me, who leaves me alone with the tributes, knowing they will die. Who leaves me alone with their deaths. How I'd like to throw all this at his face.

My head is so full of thoughts that I only realize what I've helped myself to from the buffet when I've sat down at the table in the dining room. A round bun, not from the Capitol, which I must have fished out of the districts' basket, strawberry jam and some fruit salad.

I lift my head and realize that Haymitch hasn't followed me to breakfast. Better this way. While the red-haired Avox brings me orange juice and a coffee, I skeptically stare at the bun. I murmur an absent Thanks as the Avox wants to disappear behind the kitchen door. It takes a moment for me to notice his body out of the corner of my eyes, suddenly frozen in place.

I raise my head questioningly as it suddenly dawns on me. My eyes widen for a moment before I regain control of my facial muscles. The redhead gives me a thin smile and disappears. I thanked him. I've never done that before. My mother would immediately scold me for it if she had witnessed. You are forbidden to talk to them. They are here to do their duty, just as you are here to do yours.

Something about me is changing, I've definitely noticed that in the last few days. I'm not sure why though. What should surprise me the most though is that I like it. But I'm not surprised. As if my brain was already aware of what was happening to me. When I get a headache, I let the topic sink in. Sighing, I turn back to my odd bun and cut it open. The flour is different, darker and grainier than that of the Capitol.

"It's coming from Twelve," I hear a warm, pleasant voice say behind me, and I turn. Peeta is standing at the buffet, looking at me with amusement. "Better than the bread here, in my opinion," he adds, sitting down across from me.

I nod gratefully at his knowledge and smear jam on one side, though I'm still not sure if it'll really taste better. My gaze wanders to his plate and I recognize the same bun on it. At the same time, my stomach sinks as I ponder his words. Of course it tastes better for him, it comes from home after all. Probably baked by his parents or siblings.

"The bread won't bite, Effie," Peeta remarks after taking the first bite while I still haven't started eating.

His comment is so absurd that I start laughing before I can stop myself. Then I bring the bread to my mouth and taste it. Peeta is right. It tastes really good. But whether it tastes better is debatable. They use more salt than the Capitol bakers, adding their own flavor to the bread that contrasts nicely with the jam.

"You're right," I say, nodding to him. "The taste is good. Different, but interesting."

His smile stretches from ear to ear. "Many thanks."

It seems to do him good to talk about his family. When I ask him about his job at the bakery, he starts talking his head off. And any blind man would have seen how he starts to wrap up in the memories. Katniss is the exact opposite of him. When she enters the room and hears Peeta talk about home, she turns on her heel and flees. Everyone deals with memories differently.

I sometimes wonder if Katniss hates me for reaping her sister's name back then, thereby entraining her in a chain of events that she'd otherwise never have had anything to do with. For a moment I wrestle with the idea of just asking Peeta about it, but as kind as he is, I'm sure he'd only say what I want to hear. He's really good at that.

Peeta is a wonderful companion. He tells his story, jumps to another topic and whenever he realizes that I don't want to share certain things about my past, he always manages to draw me in without addressing it.

We talk a lot about 12. What has changed since I was there the last time, since they have a new Head Peacekeeper. But we never mention the reason behind all the events, how Katniss's action in the arena put them all in this position. That would be far too dangerous. Not that I'm blaming for Katniss, it isn't her fault that the people in the districts don't see it as an act of love, but as an act of disobedience. And the Capitol would never allow that.

Then Haymitch appears in the doorway. He nods to Peeta, but his eyes are on me. I avoid him as much as possible. My head hurts too much to argue with him now. He doesn't seem too bothered by the risk of an outburst on my part because, to my regret, he sits down next to Peeta. Across me. Sometimes it's really easy to hate him. Unfortunately, I can't ignore him that well.

"Hasn't Katniss shown up yet?" The question was aimed at both of us, but his gray eyes fix on me only.

I tilt my head in his direction and am immediately met with Haymitch's gaze. His eyes offer me a silent apology. Although I have no clue what he is apologizing for. He looks serious and believable enough, so different from usual, that my anger at him evaporates as quickly as it came. My feelings betray me once again. How easy it would be to be able to hate him ...

I nod to him so he understands I'm not mad at him anymore. But deep down, I still feel exposed to him. I don't like the feeling.

"Since when do you eat bread from Twelve, sweetheart?" Haymitch's eyebrows have risen and he's eyeing me with interest. Shivering, my hands travel up my upper arms. He's acting like he's not talking to Effie Trinket, but to someone else. All of a sudden, I feel cornered by his curiosity.

I've been acting so strange lately that I'm bringing my identity to the surface, which I've hidden under a perfect mask for all these years. To protect me. And now this man who is responsible for part of this dilemma is trying to dig it up. God knows why he's doing it. My eyes move back and forth frantically and get stuck at the exit. Like an animal running away from its hunter.

I don't understand myself. I'm Effie Trinket. A woman who doesn't mince matters to put Haymitch or any other man in his place, who is courageous and does not run away from her problems. Like an animal. Hunter or prey?

"Really, Haymitch, you're interested in my bread taste now?," I reply arrogantly, lowering my gaze. I remember last night enjoying his strong arms enclosing me like a cocoon. Looking at him now, I feel no such desire. Maybe it's because I'm still mad at him. Maybe it's because he saw you. Without makeup and without a wig or other stuff the Capitol pushed on you. But did it push me, or did I volunteer?

I'm not ready for this yet. Today it gnaws at me more than yesterday. I had other concerns yesterday. As I finish the rest of the bread, I realize that the table has gone completely silent. I look up in wonder and realize what I was missing. Haymitch didn't reply to my dismissal. I look at him across the table, but he's staring down at his plate, his face tense, like something's gnawing on him. He may simply be holding back an unkind comment.

In my mind I go over my plan for today. Today, on the last day of training together, I will meet my mother in the city on request. Until Katniss and Peeta are released, of course. Before Peeta leaves the room, I wish them both the best of luck and request that he tell Katniss as well. Have fun would hardly do the job. May odds be always in your favor.

Now Haymitch and I are alone. He seems to have just been waiting for Peeta to leave. Because as soon as the boy disappears around the corner, Haymitch lifts his head, lets the last remains of his coffee disappear down his throat and his eyes meet mine. There is silence for a few minutes. He seems to be looking for the right words. Finally he clears his throat. "What happened last night ...", he begins and tries not to give me a pitying look, after all he doesn't want to be pityed himself. "Does that happen often?"

I really shouldn't tell Haymitch the truth. He's already caused enough havoc and would probably only make things worse. I don't know what my eyes are telling him. I don't know anything anymore. The facade is crumbling. I also clear my throat because I'm afraid my voice will break otherwise. "Lately," I admit, staring at my untouched orange juice.

Why did I thank the Avox?

I hate headaches. They only show up when it suits you the least. Like right now. I've been wanting to think about it all morning, but my head threw a spanner in the works. And now when I look up, look at Haymitch, I wonder why I'm sitting here. With him. Why do I bother to talk to him. He's a drunkard. The next time he's drunk he'll forget all about it anyway. Sometimes I like the drunk Haymitch better than the sober one. At least you can be sure about his actions. Sober Haymitch is a completely different person. Inscrutable.

"I know I said earlier that you don't have to tell me anything. But maybe talking will help you. I don't think you have many who would understand." Haymitch sounds friendlier than ever, probably thinking of giving me time.

I don't answer. I certainly won't tell Haymitch about it. It's none of his business. What is he thinking? What of his actions towards me justify such an intimate question? Yesterday was just a stupid coincidence, just as this morning. I'm Effie Trinket. I don't need his pity. Wherever I go, men fall to my feet and if I want to find someone to talk to about my problems, I could choose anyone. He shouldn't presume too much.

"No thanks." I quietly push the chair back and want to get up.

"I have them, too." Haymitch's voice is thin, barely more than an agonized whisper. It alone makes me stop moving. I lean on the table and watch him.

"Nightmares?" I ask, a little confused, and the last bit of arrogance I wanted to strut out of the room with disappears into thin air. I see him nod absently and suddenly realize how much strength it must have taken him to tell me the truth. Haymitch looks back at me and I can see how hard he's trying to push back all those horrible memories and stuff them in a deep drawer of his brain.

I carefully lower myself back into my chair. Then he nods slightly. It looks more like he's bobbing his head, but we've known each other long enough to understand each other's language.

"I see them," I finally admit. "Every night." Now that I'm consciously thinking about my dreams, my body starts shaking. Not as much as yesterday, just a little, but it's enough to make my throat tighten. I look at him, helplessly.

Of course, Haymitch knows immediately who I mean. It's not for nothing that we've been working together for ten years. "You draw them, don't you?"

I look back at him in surprise. "How-?" I sound like I have a cold.

"I saw them," he says carelessly. "When we sat down at the table on the day of the Opening Ceremony." He doesn't want to talk any further. I remember when he teased me about chewing pencils. Princess, you should chew your pencil more often, it's a sweet sight.

I can't get his words out of my head. What did he mean by that? "I recognized her straight away," he continues when I don't answer. My stomach sinks just thinking about it. I didn't even know I was drawing her until I took a closer look at the picture in my bedroom and recognized the girl that I drew and sent to death three years ago. I'm surprised Haymitch can remember her, he'd been out of things for most of the time after all.

"That was the day it got really bad," I grant after a moment of silence. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'd like to ask him about his dreams, but I'm sure he dreams about his arena. No wonder most victors go nuts.

"I don't understand-" Haymitch murmurs under his breath. "How- How do you manage to get up and do your job every day?" It sounds very calm, but it's seething under the facade.

"Work distracts me," I say. "When I'm focused on something else, I can't think about those things."

"If it's so hard for you, why are you doing this job?"

I shrug. Today I hardly know it myself. I used to want to be in the spotlight. Prove to my mother that I could be the perfect daughter as well. Make her proud. Be famous. It was for many reasons. But back then I pretty much underestimated the whole thing. In my first year, the death of our tributes woke me up quickly. Brought me back to reality, but it was already too late to back out. No one can just quit the Games. It doesn't work that way. You're either asked to step down, marry someone influential or die beforehand.

I hesitate for a moment before I find the courage to ask. "Is that why you're drinking?" I ask carefully, not wanting to upset him.

"Among other things," Haymitch admits, but in a tone that makes it clear he doesn't want to talk about it any further. I accept it.

Undecided, my gaze wanders back to the table. I don't know what else to say. We both feel pain. Each one different. He's a lost being, heartbroken. I have no idea how to help him because my heart is just as broken as his. Don't think you're better off than him.

Haymitch also remains silent. He looks at the sun as if trying to distract himself. As I always do. It relaxes me to watch him do it. Now that he doesn't care if anyone is watching him, he seems almost peaceful. Then he turns back to me. My reflexes aren't fast enough for me to avoid his eyes. Something in his gray flashes, but vanishes as quickly as it came.

"I've been waiting for you to break from the moment we first met," he says through clenched teeth as if it were agony to get the words out. As if the core of his words were connected to unpleasant memories. "And yet it took a full eleven years. You surprise me Effie, but you always have."

His words choke my throat. For a long while all I can do is meet his thoughtful, sad eyes. It feels like we're going back in time. Back to the point where that coldness and that aloofness didn't matter between us. Hot tears force themselves into my eyes and I try to blink them away. I force a smile to my lips, that smile Haymitch can't relate to, and then whisper in a bitter voice, "I broke a long time ago, Haymitch. You just weren't there to witness it." To help me.

Haymitch knows immediately what I'm alluding to. Not the years of drunkenness, but something a little longer ago. I expect the same rejection, the same wall of indifference that he showed me back then, but all I see is displeasure in his eyes. Regret.

"I'm sorry," he finally admits, and I catch my breath. "If we're both lucky, one day I'll be able to explain everything to you."

I just stare at him for a moment. Haymitch couldn't have thought about his words. They don't make any sense. One day. What is he talking about? I want to point it out to him, but then I see his eyes. He looks past me and something flashes across his eyes. Fear? I can't say for sure because it's gone as quickly as it came. Maybe I just imagined it.

Then he gives me a thin smile. "And? What are your plans before the children are released later, princess?" It will probably take a while before I get used to his sober state.

"I'm meeting my mother," I reply slowly, mentioning my mother for the first time ever. She represents everything that makes up the Capitol. And she has some issues with my perspective on things. But there are so many other reasons. "What about you?"

Haymitch shrugs and leans back in his chair. "I don't know, maybe I'll stay here. Maybe I'll have a look around town later." Look around? He knows his way around the Capitol very well, after all he's the one who roams the streets with Chaff every year and looks for the most secluded bars. Sometimes I really don't understand Haymitch, and I doubt he understands himself.

Then I suddenly get an idea. It's so absurd I should really forget about it, but I hate to leave Haymitch here alone. He'll end up drinking again and none of us can afford that. "You can drive into town with me," I suggest, looking at the clock. I jump up in reaction, startled. During our conversation I completely forgot the time! "You'd have to hurry though. I'm way too late already!"

Before he can even reply, I dive out of the room to ready myself. I'm already dressed, but I haven't brushed my teeth or packed my purse. Not that I take a lot with me, but first I have to find the right purse for my outfit. And that can take time.

I put on my make-up one more time and then start looking for the right bag. This is actually proving to be more difficult than expected. My schedule has slipped and I'm pretty sure I won't be able to make it to my mother's meeting on time. She'll murder me.

The fabric of my dress is a dark turquoise, with a large dark green ruffle on the right shoulder that extends to the chest. A matching light green wig that fades into a light white at the back of the head. It also has a black ruffle but not as big as the ones on my dress. Compared to usual, my make-up is a bit simpler today. Too much fake powder wouldn't go with all the green tones and would just distort my face. After endless requests and hundreds of annoyed sighs, I finally decide on a purse that is made entirely of black leather.

Then I almost run into the living room. My gorgeous black high heels, one of my favorite pairs, really aren't made for such a sprint. I overestimated the slickness of the ground and slide at least a meter with my hands outstretched before finally coming to a stop. At least I'm still standing.

I hear Haymitch laughing behind me. I turn to him indignantly. He's sitting on the sofa, fully dressed. He looks handsome in the black suit. The same one he was wearing yesterday, but that doesn't matter.

The thought of him sitting on my bed, his suit on and his shirt unbuttoned, suddenly makes me think. "How did you actually hear me last night?"

Surprised, Haymitch returns my questioning look. The question seems to throw him off balance. "I came from Chaff," he admits. " I didn't come back until then."

I eye him skeptically. He didn't look drunk. Didn't they want to drink? "You weren't drunk, I saw."

Suddenly he seems impatient. "We haven't been drinking non-stop," he replies, annoyed, as if that's what I said. But I didn't. I meant something else. "Can we go now?" Haymitch isn't telling me the whole truth.

"Yes, come on then," I answer mechanically and turn on my heels. I don't hide that I saw through him.

If he notices, he doesn't show it. Instead, just change the subject. "Nice of you to give me a ride, sweetheart. You certainly wouldn't have done that a few years ago." He grins recklessly.

I actually wanted to ignore him. With a sigh, I decide on the more bearable option. "Are you really going to take your chance, Haymitch Abernathy?" I ask sternly, giving him a condescending look. Of course, he knows I'm not being serious. He knows me well enough for that.

We enter the elevator side by side. A weird feeling. He laughs quietly to himself. "Believe me, I've been through so much shit in my life, I'll probably manage to deal with Effie Trinket." The silent teasing is reflected in his eyes.

"What do you want in the city? Do you have anything in particular on your mind?" I ask instead, ignoring his comment. Today I won't indulge in his teasing just to give him a laugh.

I can't help but smile when he bites. "To be honest, I'm tired of being served the same dinner over and over again," Haymitch replies, pounding the button to close the door. A jolt runs through our legs, and then the elevator silently begins to move.

I look at him indignantly. "But Haymitch! Where are your manners? The staff make an effort to cook dinner for us! You should appreciate that," I scold, looking at him patronizingly. At least I'm trying.

Scrutinizingly, Haymitch looks back at me. We stare into each other's eyes, seriously. At some point I can't take it anymore and start giggling. The sound makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This man will be my undoing ...

"A lady doesn't laugh with her mouth open," Haymitch replies still serious and gives me a nondescript look but leans in my direction while doing so. Immediately, I pull myself together and press my lips together.

"Just kidding, sweetheart," he then jokes, showing me his teeth and brushing a strand of my wig over my shoulder. His fingers linger on my collarbone, our eyes meet, and mine legs soften beneath me.

At that moment, we're pulling up on floor 7. The door opens and Haymitch pulls his hand back in a flash. I don't have time to reply when Johanna Mason enters the cabin. She flashes Haymitch a knowing grin and completely ignores me. The young lady is even more brusque than usual.

"Haymitch, where are you going?" she asks, not sounding particularly curious. Maybe it's her unusual voice, which sounds sharp with everything she says. I have a hard time liking her, but I'm doing my best. Maybe she used to be different. Before the Games sucked her into a never-ending swirl and spat her out as a stunted wreck. I'm really doing my best.

"Getting out of this madhouse," Haymitch replies, raising an eyebrow. "And you, sweetheart? Swinging some axes before Plutarch tears you apart tomorrow?"

I don't like the way he calls her sweetheart. That's a nickname reserved for Katniss and me. Although it may well be that he addresses every woman with it. Surely he does.

Johanna's laugh sounds even worse than her voice. She takes a step closer to Haymitch and narrows her eyes at him. She is half a head shorter than him. Comparatively large for a woman. Taller than Katniss or me.

"Believe me, I'll rip them to pieces. For me. For you." Then she takes a step back, looks Haymitch over again, and then adds, "For all of us."

A hum signals us that we have arrived on the ground floor. Johanna's gaze wanders to me and she fixes me with narrowed brown eyes. "You look ridiculous, as always, but you know that."

I raise an eyebrow and smile slightly. "I'd love to talk to you about your looks, but rumor has it that lately you've preferred to walk around completely naked."

Johanna gives me a fierce look, then turns on her heel before stepping gracefully out of the elevator. She turns her head in Haymitch's direction one last time. "And call me sweetheart again and you'll be the next one with an ax in your head," she calls over her shoulder.

Hi I'm sorry that it took like half a year but I actually thought that I had updated more frequently haha ... Idk how this could happen... I'm trying to update every three weeks from now on!

Skyllen