High on Despair

It was late in the evening. Almost after midnight. A day of torment, charged emotions and fake smiles was coming to an end. A damn crappy day if you asked Haymitch. The worst day of the season. So far. But of course nobody asked him. Snow was probably laughing his head off in his palace because Ramon's death had brought Haymitch back to the rock-hard ground of reality.

Effie had made everything seem so easy. She had lulled him into her magic, made him believe that this year would be different. This year was different. Both tributes were in the Top 10. Which was good. Extraordinary. If you only cared about the numbers. For Haymitch, what mattered was whether the tributes went home in a coffin at the end of the day or not. It didn't matter if they died at the beginning or the end of the Games; it was all the same.

Coffin. It had always been the coffin. Year after year after year. This was no exception.

So Haymitch stared at the open wooden coffin. Stared and stared, hoping that lightning would strike him in that underground chamber of the Training Center where the bodies of the dead tributes were laid out. Ramon was obviously dead. Just like all the other children whose identities he had been asked to confirm.

As if the death of the tributes wasn't bad enough, it was mandatory for either the escort or mentor to release the body for transport to the home District. A signature was required. To confirm that Ramon was actually Ramon; that he was actually dead. As if he had suddenly risen from the dead ... If Haymitch had been in better shape, he would have rolled his eyes. He had no idea what the idiotic Capitols were thinking. Probably nothing. This examination of the corpses was probably just to show him up once again – to rub his powerlessness in his face.

Only today – for the first time – he wasn't standing alone in front of the coffin. Haymitch could feel Effie's warmth beside him. While everything around him was consumed by the cold of the cool room, Effie was like a rock in the surf. The fire amidst all that ice. She stood out.

This was one of those moments when Haymitch wondered whether Effie was truly a Capitol or if she had somehow got lost here and had since perfected her role. Admittedly, on the outside, she was the perfect Capitol puppet. But away from others, when they were alone or unobserved, she was anything but that. Haymitch marveled at how she could have lived her whole life so sheltered, oblivious to the grim reality of her home.

I am like the others in this city, Effie had said. But I am different from Petunia, or if you want to put it that way, I am different from the typical Capitol you imagine. He was afraid of what might be behind it. Because Haymitch had been surrounded by the Capitol elite his whole life. In fact, he had no idea what a normal Capitol was like. Until he had met Effie. And he couldn't prove whether she was really an ordinary showpiece. The thought that the vast majority of people were like Effie worried him. Not because of her good qualities. But because Effie had been clueless and naive before she had gotten involved in the Games. Did it take the bitter reality right under their noses to wake people up? Did the elite hide their atrocities so well that no one in this city found out about them? Because by all appearances, that was the case.

Another question that Haymitch couldn't answer was how the hell Effie planned to keep this job until the end of her career. Her sobs pierced the silence of the cryogenic chamber. He could hear her teeth chattering. It was an enormous effort not to just put an arm around her shoulder. But where would the learning effect be? Today she had understood a new part of the puzzle. Guilt. Her guilt. Even if it would take more deaths for that fact to fully sink in. But it was a start.

Still, Haymitch wasn't so cruel as to drag out the moment unnecessarily. He himself didn't want to stare down at this motionless boy for a second longer than necessary. At least they had the decency to put clean clothes on his body before presenting him here. Haymitch would have bet all his alcohol that Effie would have fainted from all the blood. She had already gone suspiciously pale around the nose the moment he had died. The first time. The first dead tribute. If Haymitch wanted anything, it was a peaceful, non-violent death for Elowen. Anything else would probably kill Effie too. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that the girl would win.

Haymitch slowly leaned forward and reached for the sheet of paper that was lying over Ramon's head. They had closed his eyes. Thank God. His hand shook as he signed. Then he forced himself to look Ramon in the face one last time. He deserved the respect. No matter how he had behaved towards them. Which he would have had every right to do anyway. In a fair world.

"Let's go, sweetheart." His voice was rough from the anger that had ripped through his body just a few hours ago. His throat was scratchy from the roar he had let loose at the Peacekeeper. He reached out his arm to Effie, to get her moving. She seemed frozen in place.

The sight of her distraught made Haymitch uneasy. She was always the composed one of them two. She was always the one who knew how to act. She was always in control. Haymitch had no idea how she had managed to survive the interviews with Caesar and the tabloids. Interviews that had definitely been good for District 12, despite Ramon's death. From the moment the cameras had rolled, she had locked every muscle into place and played the game. And damn it. If anyone could play the game, it was Effie Trinket. If he had only watched the interview without seeing her away from the cameras, he wouldn't have been able to see the storm of emotions in her eyes. But as soon as the lights went out, she had fallen back into the hole that had seemed to eat her up ever since. The tears hadn't flowed again until they had been alone.

Haymitch had no idea what comfort was. Effie, on the other hand, knew all the more how she wanted to be comforted. He didn't know if it helped. He held her in his arms, let her cry as they rode up in the elevator. Just like he had held her in the car when they had returned to the Training Center. Haymitch feared that she would never stop crying. Every tear made him sick. Every display of grief made him sick. Made him think of the past. He hated it.

The alcohol pulsed through his body, and as they staggered down the hallway to their quarters, Haymitch didn't know who was supporting whom. He couldn't remember drinking. When he reached her bedroom door, he leaned his head back without letting go of her. Effie was still shaking. Her mascara had completely run. The sight of her gave him goosebumps. The thought of leaving her here alone, even if she was safe, didn't sit well with him.

"Can you manage on your own from here?" he forced himself to ask.

"I ..." Effie paused, her tone whiny. Her sky-blue eyes met his and Haymitch suddenly had trouble breathing. A shiver ran through her body, and he instinctively pulled her closer to him. Effie dug her nails deeper into his suit in response. "I can't go to sleep like nothing happened."

Haymitch raised his eyebrow. "Then what do you plan to do?"

For a moment she stared past him, thoughtful. Then the look in her eyes cleared, as if she had made a decision. "I'm going to party."

"Party?" Haymitch didn't sound convinced. A Capitol answer. But Effie had pulled away from him before he could continue. With quick steps, she stormed into her room and when she didn't close the door, he assumed he was allowed to follow her.

Effie's room looked like a mirrored version of his own. The only thing missing was the chaos that reigned in his. Uncertainly, he sat down on the edge of the chair next to the bed. Haymitch's eyes followed her in silence as she opened her closet – a walk-in closet, mind you. A feature that his room had fortunately been spared. He tilted his head to the side and could see some of the dresses that Effie had worn in the past few days. But there were so many more hanging there. A benefit that probably came with the job as an escort. A benefit that Haymitch could safely do without.

Effie rummaged through her wardrobe, tugging randomly at fabrics, and finally pulled out a knee-length tulle dress dyed in various pastel colors. She spun around once as if to take stock of the entire closet. Then her fingers shot forward, deft and precise, and a wig appeared in her grasp. Dark as the shadows clawing at the edges of his vision. Jet black like the night sky in District 12 when clouds obscured the stars. So dark that not even the light from the room reflected in the synthetic hair.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Haymitch burst out. He couldn't hold back. The black in her hand didn't suit her any better than a smile suited his face. The way she stared at the wig turned his stomach.

Effie raised her head, slowly, as if she wanted to delay the moment. As if she didn't want to be alone under any circumstances. Her normally bright eyes were clouded. As if the wig's darkness in her hand had already taken hold of her. He knew that look on her face. Knew it because he had seen it on countless faces. Including his own. "I'm sure."

The Capitol was cruel, but Haymitch knew very few people in the Hunger Games who hadn't woken up at some point. Not the elite, no. But most of the escorts and Peacekeepers, even the one or other Gamemaker. They all broke sooner or later. Most of them held out. A few didn't. The ticket into the Games was a one-way street. Once in, you couldn't just get out. A few disappeared without a trace, overnight, never to be mentioned by anyone again. Questions weren't tolerated. As if these few had never existed.

That's why Haymitch was afraid of what Effie would do out there. Still, he nodded. "I'd better go then." His voice sounded completely wrong. Too emotional. Too shaken. No, no, no. He cleared his throat. "If anything happens ... you know where to find me." He didn't manage to keep his walls up. Right now, in the face of Ramon's death, he wanted to rage and scream. But not in front of Effie. Never in front of the Capitol. And yet ...

A shaky smile formed on Effie's lips, and Haymitch had to clench his hands into fists, had to turn his head away to resist the urge to walk over and touch her. Instead, he rose from the chair and marched toward the bedroom door. As he closed the door behind him, leaving Effie alone in her misery, he couldn't help feeling that he had left something unspoken between them too.

oOo

Haymitch had no clue how much time had passed since he had poured himself his last drink. He blinked against the darkness of sleep, disturbed by a distant sound that his mind couldn't place. Danger, his subconscious warned, even though he had long outrun the arena in his dreams. He opened his eyes — one blink — but there was still nothing but darkness. Confusion spread through his limbs. This wasn't his room. His room had light. Always. Even in the dead of night. Either from a lamp or the curtains drawn back to let in the city's glow.

Haymitch moved his muscles in a small motion. If he was in danger, he didn't want to trigger a reaction from any potential threat. But there was no one else, only him. And he wasn't lying down, as he had first thought, but sitting in an armchair. At least, he assumed it was a chair, because something soft and yielding brushed against his fingers. The fog of sleep slowly lifted from his mind, only to be replaced by a dull pounding in his temples. Alcohol, then. And a lot of it.

A second later, the noise came again. A thudding sound, much closer than before. Clearly closer. Haymitch's right hand instinctively slid to his pocket, reaching for the hunting knife he always carried, but froze when a soft giggle echoed through the space. Feminine and amused. His body relaxed slightly. So, no danger. Just Effie.

The thought of Effie banished the last remnants of exhaustion from him. He strained his eyes in the darkness, listening intently to the sounds in the hallway that were steadily approaching. Then, suddenly, he remembered where he was, why he was here, and what he had done to end up in this state.

Ramon was dead. Like all the other tributes that had come before him. The memory made his stomach sink; made his stomach suddenly so heavy that he felt like he could easily be pulled through the floor. It choked him; made his fingers tremble; made the demons scratch closer to the surface of his consciousness. After fourteen years, Haymitch knew how to hold them back, and he usually succeeded. But this year was different. Effie had changed everything. Improved and made it worse. But the pain was much stronger, much more destructive than any positive emotion could ever be.

So he had gotten drunk as soon as Effie had left the penthouse. Glass after glass, shot after shot, he had downed with Chaff while the Avox had glanced at them at the private bar of 12. Where there was usually stealth, today there had been pity. The death of a tribute affected them all, whether Avox, mentor or escort.

Effie was now so close to the living room that you could hear the pattering of her high heels. The heels clattered and squeaked as they glided across the floor. Her laughter grew louder with each breath. She wasn't alone. Someone else was laughing with her. Definitely male. Haymitch pressed himself deeper into the armchair and waited.

Staggering footsteps, laughter, flickering lights, and suddenly Effie was standing in the doorway of the living room. Seneca Crane had put an arm around her shoulders, supporting her as if she needed help. From the look of her, she did need it. Effie's watery eyes blinked as the lights in the living room automatically activated. The Gamemaker next to her smiled, reserved and amused at the same time. Until they spotted him.

Haymitch didn't know whose expression he found more interesting: Crane's, which suddenly went from private amusement to a cooler, more distant version, as if he felt caught. Or Effie's, whose eyes widened with satisfaction, as if she was overjoyed to see him.

"Haymitch!" Effie called energetically and waved in greeting, drunk as she was.

"Hi, sweetheart," he replied with half a smile, equally wasted. Fantastic.

"In her condition, I wanted to make sure there were no complications on the way to the penthouse," Seneca Crane explained, his tone a little too formal, noticing Haymitch's own amusement.

"Credit where credit's due," Haymitch replied, nodding toward the Gamemaker as if raising a glass in his honor. Crane's expression twisted slightly, his distaste clear now that Effie wasn't paying him any attention and wouldn't notice his reaction. In the sponsors' lounge, he had maintained every courtesy toward Haymitch. Perhaps he believed the victor was too drunk to notice the shift.

"Will you be able to manage on your own from here, dearest?" As soon as Haymitch was no longer the center of his attention, all negative emotions vanished from Seneca Crane's face. Haymitch fought to suppress the rage building inside him, the weight of it pressing like a punch to the gut. Ramon was dead, and this man was largely responsible.

Effie's head turned toward Crane, gently, the hint of a smile on her lips, and a red haze clouded Haymitch's vision. "Perfectly well, thank you." Haymitch stared at his fists, watching his knuckles turn white.

Out of the corner of his eye, Haymitch saw the Gamemaker nod. He and Effie hugged goodbye, and he couldn't contain the satisfaction that Effie, despite her level of alcohol, suddenly became a more formal version of herself. But then Crane turned to him, his dark pupils suspicious. "I trust you will behave yourself, Mister Abernathy." The accusation was unmistakable. An assumption about the Districts that could only be made by a Capitol.

"I'd never touch her," Haymitch replied with every clarity, and for a moment Crane twisted his lips at the frank words. The Capitols preferred to hide even the worst behind a colorful facade.

But finally, something else crept onto Seneca Crane's features. Something that should have made Haymitch pause. As so often this season, Haymitch would have noticed if he hadn't been pumped full of alcohol. The Gamemaker threw him a long look. His mouth formed into a smirk. Knowing. Not a single word passed his lips. He didn't need to. That smile spoke more than a thousand words. Yes, you would.

Haymitch noticed none of it. And so, Seneca Crane wished them both a good night, turned on his heel with effortless grace, and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. Haymitch's rage-clouded memories could see nothing beyond Ramon and the other 26 tributes he had already watched die — he neither saw the look Crane gave him nor his exit.

All of these thoughts faded into the background as Effie came bounding towards him. The world around Haymitch was spinning – he was sure that her world was spinning just as much. Yet she seemed to have no trouble surviving this wildness in her high heels. It was a miracle. At least in his opinion.

Haymitch got to his feet just in time to catch Effie before she fell on him. Her pupils were huge, her eyes glassy, her expression sad. The joy had left her, as if Seneca Crane had taken it with him. "I'm sorry, Haymitch," she said, but she strung the sentence together oddly. And although Effie didn't give a reason for her apology, he immediately knew it. Crane. Their agreement. Effie wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his chest. "I felt so bad. Sooo bad. And then I saw him ... at the party. I couldn't stop thinkin' about all the wealth. Couldn't tear myself away."

"What couldn't you tear yourself away from, princess?" Haymitch asked quietly, hoping his voice reflected her sympathy.

Effie hesitated. It was enough to let him know the meaning of her words. Effie never hesitated. Capitols never hesitated. They had nothing to hide; nothing to fear. "From the thought of a way out of here," she finally whispered.

Haymitch slowly lowered his chin and swallowed. Swallowed the words that would have otherwise burst out of his mouth. Pity welled up inside him, and yet his words would have been nothing but pessimism. He looked down at Effie and raised a shaking hand to stroke her hair. Soothingly, he hoped. He wasn't good at giving comfort.

The jet black wig made the whole situation seem surreal. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be the drunk. She wasn't supposed to be crying over a dead child. She was supposed to be thinking about Elowen, not the end. She was the shining light of hope while he was the motionless darkness of loss.

Effie snapped out of her melancholy before Haymitch could respond. She pulled away from him as if they hadn't just exchanged profound phrases and staggered past him, heading for the sleeping area. The few steps she took on her own were enough to understand Crane's company. She would fall flat on her face before she was out of the living room. So Haymitch followed her, his hands outstretched to catch her.

The walk to her room was silent. Effie was aware of Haymitch's presence, using his body as a support to avoid the ground. But she said nothing else, didn't mention the Gamemaker or the party or anything else. It seemed as if she was deep in her own thoughts.

It was like deja vu to Haymitch as they stopped in front of Effie's bedroom door for the second time in 24 hours. Again arm in arm. But this time she wasn't crying. So he cleared his throat and repeated the same words. "Can you manage on your own from here?"

Effie offered no answer. All she did was turn in his grip until their faces were turned towards each other. Sorrow darkened her eyes. Haymitch raised his eyebrows in confusion. And suddenly, she kissed him — more fiercely and brutally than any of their previous kisses had been.

For a split second, Haymitch couldn't even place her lips, because he hadn't the slightest idea what was happening. But this was Effie's scent. This was the shape of her mouth against his. And even though he couldn't explain what had come over her, he gave in; surrendered to her.

The hallway turned into a blur of colors. Haymitch leaned toward Effie, but she was already there, pressing against him. Her lips fought with his, hard and unyielding. Her teeth tore at his skin as if she wanted to tear him to pieces. He could barely tilt his head back enough to catch his breath. Effie's demanding eyes were fixed on him, and Haymitch was paralyzed by the wildness in her gaze. By the sadness, the pain.

It took that night for Haymitch to finally understand. This was the Capitol. This was how the Capitol dealt with such emotions. Parties, drugs, passion. Distraction. There was no other way to confront them. What's the alternative, Haymitch? Under the constant scrutiny of the state, there was none. For Effie, probably even less than for him. He could board the train at the end of the season and leave this place behind. And even to District 12, he took his alcohol with him. She, however, had to continue spinning in this hellish wheel. She had to keep putting up a good face on the matter.

The sober part of Haymitch knew that Effie was lost; that she was looking for an outlet; that she was broken. He knew that it was only a matter of time before that crack ripped her apart.

The sober part of Haymitch didn't want to kiss her back. Effie was drunk, completely wasted. But she yanked his head back, her long nails digging into his chin. "I don't care," she said in a final tone, as if she could read his mind. "I don't give a shit."

It was enough to make the drunken Haymitch cave. In a split second, his hands found her cheekbones and then he pushed Effie against the wall next to the door. A gasp escaped her throat, but her mouth had found his before he could blink. A new battle broke out, because she didn't want to give up the upper hand of the kiss. She wanted control.

Effie's teeth dug into his lower lip and Haymitch gasped, unprepared as he was. Now that he was letting his instincts take over, it didn't take him long to adjust. His hands began to wander. His fingers dug into her skin, where her revealing dress allowed, and this time she was the one who let out a moan. He smiled to himself and stroked her soft skin harder, pulling and pushing at her body. Until Effie jerked her head back, her pupils even wider than they had been a moment ago. Her eyes darted past him, and for a moment there was something serious in her gaze, as if she wanted to maintain a certain decency even in this state. At least towards third parties.

"We can't continue ... here in the hallway," she finally explained, her voice wavering and hoarse with alcohol and passion.

"Sure, that'd be increeedibly inappropriate." Haymitch gave her a crooked grin and in the next moment had her up in his arms. Effie's startled squeak quickly turned into a bright, carefree giggle and after he stepped over the threshold and slammed the door shut with his foot, her face was suddenly very close to his. Haymitch pressed a kiss on her mouth without thinking too much about it. Just because he could. Effie saw it as an invitation to continue where they had left off.

Time blurred before Haymitch's eyes into a flickering flash of images and emotions. Just moments ago, they had been standing in Effie's room, swaying and kissing, her hands tangled in his hair as he carried her in the air. In the blink of an eye, they suddenly found themselves on Effie's bed, her midnight-black wig spread around her head like a curtain while he supported himself over her with one arm.

The alcohol pounded like a hammer in his temples, but Haymitch had managed to push the feeling far into the background. It didn't change the fact that the world around him was spinning like a carousel, like a wild ride whose outcome was still uncertain. But Effie was here, Effie was the center of his world. The room and even the bed were spinning, but not Effie.

Effie's hands explored his body, running over skin, hair and scars, but Haymitch was too far gone to be interested in the exposure. Her every touch sent an electric pulse through his muscles. Every fiber of his body wanted to lean into her touch, to overcome the barrier of his skin and melt into her. And when Effie ripped his shirt in two with a whirring laugh, half of his buttons rolling off the bed, he hesitated for only a second. A second in which he searched for her eyes. Are you sure?

She didn't have to ask him that question. In his condition, he would say yes to anything he could get. He too had desires that he couldn't ignore at a certain point. Even though a quiet voice, barely audible beneath the pounding in his head, murmured that he would have said yes without all the alcohol, if it had been her.

Haymitch ignored the voice. As he always did. Instead, he waited for Effie's reaction. Her hazy eyes cleared, just a little, and a softer expression entered her pupils. Something Haymitch would have ignored too, if he were sober. Her nails slid down his chest, inch by inch, and his breath caught. A self-satisfied, urgent smile spread across Effie's pink lips, and as Haymitch leaned toward them, connecting their bodies, he knew there was no turning back here and now.

In retrospect, the act itself was a storm in his mind. Hours later, sprawled on the bed like a dead weight, Haymitch knew it had happened, but the memories seemed to lie behind a wall of frosted glass. He could see through it, could see shapes and colors, but no details. It was oddly frustrating, and for the first time in a while he regretted the huge amounts of alcohol he had consumed earlier on. Even if it never would have happened without the alcohol. As Haymitch squinted against the deep, impenetrable darkness of Effie's room, he didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing that his memory was lapsed. Maybe the memories would return later, like they had the morning after his boozing in the sponsors' lounge.

Haymitch turned to his side, unable to regain his bearings, even though Effie's bed was identical to his own. Everything seemed far from its place. Behind him he heard Effie murmuring, too quiet to make out the words, so he didn't know if she was actually awake. His eyes opened and the darkness sent unease through his veins. He wasn't used to not being able to see his own fingers in front of his eyes. There was always light where he was.

Haymitch moved again, reaching out to grab the edge of the mattress. Those beds in the Capitol were always so damn big. He dug his fingers into the edge between the bed frame and the mattress and pulled himself towards the edge. At the same time, a pain so intense pierced his head that he had to furrow his brows to keep his mouth shut. Shit, how much had he drunk? It felt like someone was hammering a nail into his head.

Somewhere behind him, prompted by his movement, Effie began to whisper again. Her voice was still too quiet, too lulled by the clutches of sleep. So Haymitch ignored her. Instead, he pressed two fingers to his temples, although that did little to stop the throbbing. Only now did he notice the blanket resting over his body. With a strained pull, he pushed it away. Only to discover that he was stark-naked underneath.

"Goddammit," he finally muttered. Haymitch slumped down, powerless, and let the cool air from the open window wash over his skin. Goddammit on so many levels.

"Do you regret it?" he heard Effie ask, loud enough this time. Clear enough to know that she was pretty close to sobriety again. How much time had passed?

The only thing Haymitch regretted right now was opening his mouth. Usually, sex wasn't a difficult affair. Usually, however, the woman you shared a bed with wasn't your co-worker, either. Although that wasn't really a problem because of the arrangement they had made.

Haymitch knew he had to choose his answer carefully. Anything else would send Effie – sensitive, sober Effie – running. So he forced himself back onto his back, even though all he wanted was to run to the light switch. The blackness didn't scare him – not anymore – but it reminded him of his nightmares, nonetheless.

"I don't," Haymitch said, his voice rougher than he expected. He cleared his throat. "Do you?"

He felt Effie shaking her head somewhere to his right, and finally crawling closer to him. Until he could feel the warmth of her body. He had to admit that it helped to see the darkness as darkness. His flashbacks weren't places of warmth, even if he usually struggled out of them, drenched in sweat. But it wasn't enough to keep him in bed. When Effie didn't say anything, he swung his legs to the side and stood up.

The feeling of his toes on the cold floor was like medicine for Haymitch's soul. It loosened the knot in his throat. He staggered to his feet and groped through the blackness, searching for his clothes. And even though his mind knew he was safe, that Effie was in bed behind him, his pulse was racing. He staggered through the darkness, one hand outstretched protectively. This was the true existence of a victor.

Only when Haymitch got hold of his knife, which he had thrown away earlier just to be on the safe side, did his body calm down. He was already half dressed when he decided to leave the light off and just quickly slip out of the room. Judging by Effie's breathing, she was already asleep again. And the light would only have meant that he would have had to face what they had been doing here for the last few hours. Although Haymitch didn't regret a second of it, he didn't want to see it. It was nothing of importance. Just sex.

Haymitch's fingers were already touching the door when the bed covers were pushed aside with a crackling noise behind him. "Don't go," he heard Effie say. Different from before. In a tone that sent shivers down his spine, causing him to grip the knife tighter. "Please don't leave me alone."

Only then did Haymitch remember Ramon. And froze in his tracks. And was ashamed that the fact had even escaped his mind. Effie's voice was pleading. Begging.

She had been out half the night, getting drunk to forget. Now Haymitch suddenly remembered the wild, demanding look she had given him after Crane had disappeared. Effie had tried to push the images of Ramon away for as long as she could. Now that she was confronted with them again, she would have to endure it. Over the course of this season, he had wondered so many times when she would break. Haymitch didn't want her to break. Especially not in his absence. Even though she was Capitol, he didn't wish any of these feelings on her. A pain worse than any stab, any bruise, any broken bone.

So Haymitch turned on the balls of his feet, his fingers reaching for the light switch. "I'll." His last words for the darkness. Then light flooded the room, so bright that at first he couldn't see anything. "But on my terms."

-

It's the first time I've written a scene like this, but I don't think it's bad. If you want to know what I imagine Effie's dress to look like when she goes out partying, take a look at my Pinterest. Other than that, I don't have much else to say. I hope you enjoyed it!

Skyllen