Type of Misery

I don't dare go back to bed. Not after what happened that night. If I do fall asleep, I don't want to be woken up by my own screams shortly afterwards. The bathrobe disappears into the corner behind the bed, and I stagger into the bathroom to check myself in the mirror. With a sigh, I stare for a moment into the blue eyes studying me in the mirror. The motivated, enthusiastic woman is gone. What remains is an empty shell of herself.

I wonder what Haymitch sees when he looks at me. Who does he think this creature is? I always thought you were just another fucking Capitol puppet.

The conversation seems ages ago. And yet only a few days have passed. How could everything develop so quickly? I confided in him, leaned on him and let him comfort me. I was hoping that something would have changed between us for the better. I danced with him, he danced with me like everything was ... fine. As if it doesn't matter that the world is falling apart around us. That we have each other and that it is enough. It seemed to me that he wanted to open up to me when he saw my pain. Helping me in some weird way that only he can really understand.

And suddenly he's his old self again. Humiliating and not afraid to do anything.

For a moment I seem to see his angry eyes in the mirror behind me. I flinch and turn, knocking my perfume to the ground with my arm. I expect to find his figure behind me, drawn up to his full height and jaw clenched. But there is nobody behind me. I stop my movement and stare into the air to make sure he doesn't suddenly appear out of nowhere in front of me.

When I've made sure my eyes were just playing a silly trick on me, I turn around and start plaiting my hair into a neat braid so I can easily tuck it under a wig later. My fingers are shaking. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've banished every emotion from my body and directed every thought to my hair, but my fingers don't cooperate. Maybe I shouldn't have drunk that alcohol after all.

I intend to keep my distance from Haymitch from now on. It's a bitter decision, but it would certainly be for the best for us, after all it's my last year. As of next year, another will take my place; a fact that Haymitch obviously has no problem with. Maybe she won't bother him as much as I seem to. I already spoke to my manager about stepping down shortly after the anniversary was announced. It is better to leave before reaching that awkward old age and being kindly asked to make room for the younger generation. But the message couldn't be clearer.

It takes a while before I decide on a dress. In the end, my choice falls on one of Cinna's works. The fabric shimmers with every movement, so you have to think of fire. For this I take the golden wig, my identification. The sponsors will know immediately who they are dealing with, and I will be recognized from afar. When I'm done, a golden face beams at me. I look like I'm from another planet. A goddess.

Satisfied, I make my way to the living room. The sun is slowly rising over the horizon, but most of the city's buildings are still in darkness. It's early, no later than 6pm, but given last night's events, the sponsors are sure to be arriving fairly early. The bets were certainly already high. Our chances are good, but no better than last year.

Haymitch is not sitting on the sofa like I left him. There is no trace of him, and it looks like he hasn't been here in a while. My gaze wanders absently over the couch when I suddenly spot the Avox crouching in front of the table, seeming to be mopping up something. I take a cautious step forward and see his glass on the floor. Shattered into thousands upon thousands of tiny pieces. The alcohol trickles across the floor, creating a dark brown puddle.

I don't know why it upsets me so much that he seems to trample on every little gesture I make. He's angry, incredibly angry and probably hurt as well, but blaming me alone is definitely crossing a line. Lips tight, I make my way to his room and knock loudly. Loud enough that he should have heard me. But there is no sound from the other side of the door, nothing but silence. And yet I know he's there. I just know it. I sigh and slide my hand to the doorknob.

The door opens without a hint of a sound. I silently take a step forward. My eyes wander around his messy room and for a moment I feel like years are flashing past me. But the man in front of me in the armchair is a lot older than he was then and so am I.

Haymitch's eyes are bloodshot like he's been up all night. He probably was too. His grim look shows anger and that he probably had one or two too many drinks. When he looks up, a chill runs down my spine. There's no mistaking the contempt in his eyes when he sees me. "Go away," he growls. His voice is dark and suddenly I get scared.

But I wouldn't be Effie Trinket if I gave in now. "Haymitch you have to get up," I say sternly instead and approach him to get him to get up.

The bottle is completely unexpected. I don't see it coming, nor did I see him holding one. Only the hissing of the air triggers an ancient reflex in me, and my body wants to move to the side to protect itself. But Haymitch is a former victor and much faster than me. Before I can move, I feel a searing pain in my neck.

I scream and the force of the impact knocks me to the ground. It feels like my whole throat is on fire. It's only when I press my hand to the wound in a measly attempt to ease the pain that I feel the shards of glass digging deep into my skin. A gasp escapes my lips and I struggle to swallow the tears. The bottle burst open on my neck and grazed my shoulder. My whole left side hurts like hell. I can't say whether I think it's a good thing that Haymitch at least emptied the contents of the bottle beforehand or not.

I look up and try to be quiet. No sound of pain shall escape my lips. I don't want him to see that he hurt me.

Haymitch has risen from his chair and looks at me the way a tribute looks at its injured victim before delivering the killing blow. Eyes still sparkling angrily. He's definitely drunk, but this time I'll give him credit for it. This is his responsibility.

I take a deep breath and force the words out of my throat, but before I can say anything, he's standing over me. "Go away," he simply repeats. He sounds even more menacing than just now. I've never been so scared of him as I am today. Never. And it's not the first time he's thrown a bottle at me. However, he has never hurt me as seriously as he did today.

For a split second I consider throwing myself at him, I'm that angry. But who knows how drunk he is. Maybe he would kill me doing it.

My strength begins to ebb and my sight blurs before my eyes for a moment. I stagger backwards to the door without taking my eyes off him for a second. I'm too afraid that he could swing again. Every step is agony. Where the rest of the alcohol meets my blood, my muscles are on fire. When I get to the door, I get up and stand up straight so we're almost eye level. He takes a step toward me, but this time I don't back down. I am a strong woman. More arrogantly than anyone else could, I straighten my shoulders, don my mask, and stalk away.

But when the door to my bedroom closes, I burst into tears. I don't forgive him for this. For years he's been drinking out of desperation, because he's given up hope. Today he was drunk because he wanted to. He's well past the point of drowning his pain in alcohol. He wants war, please he can have it. Let him label me the Capitol. I don't need him, he's just in my way. Then why does it feel like something inside me is breaking in two?

oOo

The group has grown. Johanna came across the group with Beetee and Wiress and they all settled down on the beach together. Katniss has since discovered that the arena is a single clock and now, they are working out which part of the arena poses which danger.

I'm a bit bored in front of the screens in the sponsors' lounge and get a glimpse of potential sponsors.

I had to change my clothes after the Haymitch thing. Firstly, the dress was torn where the bottle had touched the velvet fabric and secondly, I can hardly come in a dress where everyone can see my neck. I'm wearing a dark red dress with a collar now. A disgrace compared to Cinna's work. I treated the wound myself, not wanting to call an Avox lest Haymitch's action be reported to any officials. Not that the government or anyone else would do anything about violent victors, though there would be bad press.

Haymitch has yet to show up, which doesn't surprise me given his mental state. I'm starting to feel like I'm in the wrong movie. A true deja vu. I stand alone in the sponsors' lounge while Haymitch drinks his head off somewhere and doesn't even bother to show up. But it's different, says a barely audible voice in my head. I force it to be silent. I don't want to hear it. Maybe it would be better if it was like before ...

I'm talking to some sponsors, trying to convince them to go with Katniss and Peeta. But without Haymitch by my side, they hardly notice me. They want the total package. I'm trying to fill in for his part as much as possible, but I realize how wrong it sounds when Effie Trinket talks about the physical abilities of tributes. Many conservatives don't like that I know so much of our tactics. To them, I'm just the escort who has to look good and shut up.

Our allies' mentors are having more success, and soon we're in the District 4 room. None of the others seem surprised at Haymitch's absence. I'm the only escort in the room and they do well to ignore me as much as possible because I have nothing to say anyway. I stand silently and with my arms crossed in a corner of the room and look at the hologram of the arena while 4's mentor explains something.

Suddenly a discussion breaks out. They fear that Katniss will break the alliance. She doesn't seem happy and has had a fight with Finnick before. Now they look at me for the very first time. What's on her mind? I know her better than any of them. I open my mouth to speak when Haymitch cuts me off.

"She won't break the alliance as long as she knows the boy is safe. But as soon as it gets too much for her and there's too much risk of something happening to him, she's out." Haymitch is standing in the doorway, wearing a suit, hair combed. Only the tie is crooked. He looks perfectly sober. His eyes have the typical fixed look when he's totally devoted to something. He steps past me into the room.

Haymitch has turned his back on me and without even glancing at me, he says, "Thanks, Trinket, you can go."

Haymitch's words hit me like a slap. I stand bolt upright for a moment, my mask hiding my emotions. Then anger flares up in me. How dare he talk to me like that, not even give me a look after what happened this morning? He should be come crawling up with an apology.

When Haymitch realizes that I'm still standing in the same spot, he finally turns around. His gaze meets mine and I don't see a shred of sympathy in his eyes. Haymitch stares at me like he's looking at a stranger. His lips are pressed together in a serious grimace. "Will you hurry up?"

Then it dawns on me that he won't apologize. He stands here with his friends, allies. People who hate the Capitol as much as he does. He certainly won't apologize in front of them. He treats me like everyone in the districts treats us Capitols. Like lepers.

Something cracks in the back of my neck as my head snaps up. My eyes fix Haymitch with an iron expression and my face is frozen into a cold mask. I make it more than clear to him that I will hold this action against him. He knows it too, I can read it in his eyes.

In one elegant movement, without saying another word, I turn my back on him and leave the room. For a moment I'm thinking about leaving the lounge altogether, so he can go to the trouble of finding sponsors himself later. But I think of Katniss and of Peeta. I can't be selfish and jeopardize their lives because of my feelings.

So I return to the sponsors. They are in a good mood. Katniss and Peeta's squad headed to the Cornucopia to get weapons. Unlike us, they don't know that the Careers are hot on their heels. They persevere at the edge of the jungle and watch them secretly from afar.

But I saw something else in Haymitch's eyes. Certainty. He knows, he can remember what he did this morning. But he made no attempt to indicate, at least with his look or a gesture, that he didn't mean it that way.

I finally manage to persuade two young ladies to donate money to our alliance. I give them my dazzling smile, shake their hands in thanks, and turn to take a look at the current status in the arena. One of the career tributes swims towards Wiress, but she notices it too late, she was too engrossed in her strange song. When he slits her throat, not a sound escapes her lips. Only her eyes are wide open.

I spot Haymitch in the crowd in front of the screens just as the island and cornucopia begin to spin. His gaze rests on me. He no longer looks at me indifferently, he looks rather exhausted. When my eyes meet his, he seems to wake up from a trance. He nods his head towards the private rooms.

The small, quiet voice in my head starts to laugh. And quite unlike Effie Trinket would have, I don't narrow my eyes in anger and accept his offer to lecture him. Because it's not that easy. Only now do I realize how deep the pain sits in me. I hesitate and he must have seen something in my eyes because he takes a step toward me even though he's standing across the hall. I press my lips together and finally look away. It is not that easy. I don't want to talk to him, I don't want to talk about it, I don't even want to look at him.

-

Effie and Haymitch have their problems. Huge problems. Will they be able to make up?