Author's note: Some pretty awful stuff going on in this chapter so: TRIGGER WARNING, just to be safe.

Chapter 43

Between a rock and a hard place (part one)

The party was over.

Haymitch carried the last of the sticky cake-smeared plates over the threshold. Kicked his shoes off with a heavy heart.

Outside, the wind rustled through the branches and balloons. Made them sway. Dance.

It was almost time to get the children ready for bed.

He could see them before his mind's eye. Back in the living room. With their auntie June and auntie Annabel. The two ladies doing their best to keep up appearances. Pretend like everything was fine. Normal.

He entered the kitchen. Effie didn't even look his way. Her hands were wrist-deep in water and suds and the pony tail bobbed with each violent stroke of the dish brush.

She'd hardly said two words to him all night. Not since the hipflask incident. Small wonder. If he was smart, he best keep his mouth shut too. Go upstairs. Get the twins' jammies out. Live to see another day.

Instead, he set the dirty dishes on an empty spot near the sink. There was already a neat stack of dripping plates and mugs and cutlery waiting and he pulled the wash towel off its peg.

Drying one of the sippy cups in slow, precise motions he glanced her way. Each time hoping she'd look back. Or at least throw him a vicious comment. God knew he deserved it!

She didn't. For several minutes they just stood there. Shoulder to shoulder. Just inches apart. Inches that might as well be miles.

"Eff", he finally said, voice soft.

She ignored the olive branch, lips pressed to non-existence.

The cloth turned damp in Haymitch's hands. White fabric sewn with a vegetable pattern. Carrots and lettuce and pea pods. Sae would call it a tea towel. He drew a silent breath. Gathered his courage. Started over.

"Effs, don't you think you're just … overreacting … a little bit? I mean, it's not like he drank from it."

Not a sound in the room. Nothing but the splatter of water. The clinks and clanks of submerged kitchenware.

"He didn't get wasted. He didn't even taste it", Haymitch went on. "Even if he knew how to work his two thumbs I always cork that hipflask up, good and tight. He was never in any danger."

He wet his lips. Set the dry plate down. Reached for another.

"I shouldn't have brought it to the party. You were right about that. It was wrong, I know. But I didn't put it in my pocket to … Effs, it was just old habit! Not a scheme, I swear! I didn't drink. Not one drop! And just listen to them out there."

He gestured toward the twins' giggles in the other room. "Kids are fine, princess. They're OK. They aren't even old enough to understand, or remember, what happened here today. Yeah, it was scary but … if you really think about it, it was no harm, no foul."

Effie didn't reply. Nothing. Nothing but the growing red spots on her cheeks. Crestfallen, Haymitch put the plate down. The tea towel.

"Sweetheart", he said. "Please. Listen to me. I will never … never let my drinking hurt our children. OK." He touched her shoulder. "I'd die before that happens."

Her reaction was instantaneous.

His touch, those words. Might as well be a branding iron. A steel poker. The kind he used back home to shovel coal over in the fire place.

Red, hot, flame-heated metal shoved into her flesh. That's how hard she flinched. The plate slumped to the bottom of the sink and he staggered back a step when she pushed him out of the way.

"Eff?" She was already at the door. "Effs, wait a minute! Hang on!"

She didn't listen. Didn't stop. He followed her into the hallway, just in time to see her put the final shoe on.

"Effs, what're …?" She flew out the door. Didn't even stop to close it. "Where're you going?"

Rain – like cold, hard needles – penetrated Haymitch's skin when he hurried after her, down the front steps and into the garden.

Effie was already far ahead. Past the remnants of their little birthday scene. Past the edges of the garden, leaving the house further and further behind.

He couldn't keep up with her. Not after years of abusing his body with alcohol.

"Eff!" He clutched the stitch in his side. Panted as he followed her into the two ladies' orchard. The meadow beyond. "Effie!"

A bright yellow flash. Followed by a clap of thunder. Low at first, almost indecisive, then exploding overhead. As if the bedrock itself had come alive, moving and grinding together.

"Not so fast, Eff! Please!"

And that's when he heard her sobbing. Wild, jagged cries that she made no effort to try and hide. She stumbled on her feet, nearly fell and the pink silk hair ribbon which had untangled more and more during the chase, floated onto the ground.

Haymitch slowed just long enough to get it. Grab it, along with a fistful of grass.

"Please, come back!"

"Leave me alone!" Her shriek echoed, travelled across the orchards. The meadows. The steel gray body of water. "Go away! Get away!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart! I'm so sorry!"

"Leave me be!"

Her voice cracked and she staggered. Staggered and slowed. Slowed to a stop.

Haymitch had but a second to relish in the relief; in the fact that she wasn't running anymore.

When,

"Ugh!" She clutched both hands to her forehead. Moaned. Unsteady on her feet, like a tree in a storm.

"Effie? Effie!" he shouted when she sank to her knees.

He was by her side in a heartbeat. Knelt to the ground, cradled her in his arms.

"What's the matter, Eff?" The wet grass soaked through to his knees. "You hurt? What's wrong?"

"I … I don't know." Her frightened blue eyes came visible for a fraction of a moment. "It's like … ahh! Aahh!"

Eyes squeezed shut, she clutched her head tighter. Body rigid and stiff in his arms, her mouth fell open and a cry of pure agony spilt over her lips. A cry growing louder. Louder, until he couldn't breathe. Horrid screams he'd never heard from her before. Not even when she gave birth.

The stuff of nightmares. Like they'd both been thrown inside an arena where he'd hunted her down, overpowered her and wielding a knife.

Cutting bits and pieces out of her.