When Tables Turn

After someone rips my dress and wig off of me and my makeup is removed, they send me back to my old cell in a new uniform. Johanna looks at me with wide eyes as she sees that I'm physically unharmed, my hair is combed, and I am wearing fresh clothes. The door closes behind me with a squeak and I flop onto my bed. Then I tell her about the interview without her asking me a thing.

"They're losing," Johanna finally whispers and can't hide the brutal grin on her face. "Katniss is the Mockingjay and Peeta is the only one within reach who has any power over her."

"And why was I there then?" I ask hesitantly, afraid of the answer.

Johanna is lying on the bed with her legs stretched out against the wall. "You know why," she says. The joy in her voice is gone, though she can't wipe the grin from her face at the strength of the rebellion.

Haymitch is alive. "You knew about it, right?" I ask her then, unable to hide the mixture of confusion and anger in my tone. "You knew about District Thirteen."

Johanna gives me a warning look and then rolls over onto her stomach. "Of course I knew about it," she replies bluntly. "Who do you think cut the tracker out of your Mockingjay's arm?"

Although the truth has been hanging between us for quite a while, I jump up energetically and take a step toward her. The size of the cell means I'm now standing right in front of her bed, staring down at her. I can feel an inexplicable anger coursing through my veins. "I'm tired of everyone around me lying to me or hiding something from me," I snap at her with such anger that she raises an eyebrow. "Haymitch has lied to me since we first met. He used me and betrayed me and now I'm rotting in this damn cell because of him! And now you're telling me that you, like him, knew about this damn rebellion all along?"

Johanna sighs and sits up. "Calm down, Trinket, we're not alone here," she hisses back. It doesn't take much provocation to make Johanna angry. "I did what had to be done to bring this system down. While you were drinking champagne and eating cake on holidays, I was killing people in the arena. I had to watch Snow butcher my entire family. It was the same with Haymitch. He came home as victor, but his family was dead."

I stare at Johanna with wide eyes and don't know what to say for a moment. My stomach churns like she hit me. But it's my own disrespect that punishes me. Our angry glares fix on each other for several seconds, then my mask begins to crumble and I step backwards to flop onto my bed.

Johanna's words bring my thoughts back to my own family. The images I intended to repress are back and more present than before. The pain of their loss twists around my chest and crushes my heart. I try to open my eyes and try to see Johanna, whose angry expression has now given way to confusion. My mother appears in my mind's eye. I love you. My trembling hand goes to my throat.

"Trinket?" Johanna's voice is low, but so consistent that I manage to focus on it.

"They executed my parents," I hear myself say from afar.

Johanna's eyes widen for a split second and I see her tense. "When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Before the interview. They put me in a room, and I had to watch it from there. They televised it. They just shot them. They haven't done anything wrong. They had nothing to do with it." My voice is getting louder and shakier. It's the first time I say it out loud, but it brings me no salvation. It just makes it more real. Only worse.

"Fuck." It's all Johanna can bring up. She lowers her eyes. She doesn't know what to say or do. She's never been good at things like this.

"They had nothing to do with it," I repeat, tilting my head in her direction. "They knew nothing. Just like me. I had nothing to do with this until Haymitch dragged me into all of it."

"This has nothing to do with Haymitch," Johanna replies, and a small voice in my chest knows she's right. But I don't care. "Actually, Haymitch saved your life. If nothing had happened between you and him, you would be dead by now. The only reason you're still alive is because they need you. They need you to break him."

"Haymitch left me behind," I snap at her. Tears are streaming down my face, but the trembling in my limbs has been washed away by a new wave of anger. "He could have taken me with him. He could have saved me from all this shit. But he left me."

"Damn it, Trinket," Johanna whispers, shaking her head. She makes a fist in her hand and then relaxes it. Again, she lies down on her bed and turns her back to me.

I just stare at her for a long time. I sit on the edge of my bed, playing with the hem of my clothes and watching her breathing become shallow after a while. Her chest rises and falls in a steady beat. I long for this peace. I long for a peace without awakening. As soon as I finish the thought, my knees start shaking again. Have you gotten that weak?

In the next few days Johanna and I hardly talk to each other. I'm not mad at her and neither is she. There's just nothing to say. We have different points of view and none of us will change our minds. The Peacekeepers leave us in peace, too. They occasionally pass by our cell and unregularly bring us food, but otherwise the wing is completely silent.

At some point we start to wonder what is happening out there. I remember the image of the combat helicopter in the Capitol sky. Johanna's mood darkens when she finds out I forgot to tell her that little detail. Only at the time, I had bigger concerns than a few explosions on the outskirts of the city.

Shortly thereafter, I'm taken away again by the Peacekeepers. This time there is no concern in Johanna's eyes. She is sure that I will return. It's almost like deja vu as I'm brought back to the surface, dressed in the same black dress, and driven off in a black car. I can't say exactly how long ago the last interview was. I would estimate a week or two. But a lot has happened in the city since.

The streets are still deserted, but the Capitol's helicopters and hovercraft now make their rounds much more centrally than before. Still far enough from the center, but the rebels must have managed to take the outer rings.

This time the car doesn't take me to the TV studio. I know the streets and their paths by heart. Nevertheless, I only recognize the presidential palace when I see it in front of me. My heart begins to race wildly. But I needn't have worried. Arriving at the palace, no further negative surprises await me. The Peacekeepers escort me straight to a room decorated with luxurious paintings and thick curtains. The emblem of Panem hangs on one side of the room. Peeta and Caesar are already waiting for me there. In front of them are some monitors and cameras, as well as some employees of the television channel. Like me, both are wearing the same clothes from the last interview and are sitting on a wide, round sofa. I've just sat down and Peeta gives me a short nod, then Caesar smiles for the camera and starts his show straight away.

Judging by the happy looks of the host, Peeta won't be the focus of this interview. Today I won't be able to hide in the background. But I'm better. My demeanor is calm, focused and professional. I don't wear my usual Effie Trinket smile, but the rest of my performance can be compared to her handling of public appearances. I will give them no target.

Caesar begins to introduce the subject with funny and easy phrases. "Well, my dear Miss Trinket, I have to admit that I do miss Haymitch's carefree nature. Too bad there's no trace of him. I can't imagine what it must be like for you. As we all know, your relationship had some ups and downs." As he says his last words, he winks at me and grins. A set of perfect, white teeth are revealed.

"Some ups and downs," I repeat, allowing myself to step back in time for a second. "You can look at it that way." I'm not being rude. My voice sounds more than friendly, smooth as silk, but without the closeness I felt for Caesar before the rebellion.

"Looking at your story, then it is somewhat special compared to that of other mentors and escorts," says Caesar and a mysterious smile plays on his lips. "For those who don't remember, Miss Trinket began her career as District Twelve's escort with the sixty-fourth Hunger Games. Their first year together was extraordinary, we all said that at the time. Both tributes made the top ten. A record year considering the last time that happened was Haymitch's own victory. Unfortunately, this phenomenon didn't repeat itself in the years that followed."

"Until Katniss and Peeta," I correct Caesar without looking at him. It's been a long time since the 64th Hunger Games. Things have changed since this time. Most importantly, I've changed. The 64th Hunger Games was a record season for District 12. Still, I learned to hate the year. Because of Haymitch. Because of my relationship with the tributes. Because of my naivety.

"Until Katniss and Peeta." Caesar nods, obviously happy that I'm responding. The thought of the children makes me smile. They saved me. "I'm sure some folks out there would be interested to know what happened between you and Haymitch in the years following the sixty-fourth Hunger Games. You seemed so familiar during the first season, but after that it all seemed like a hundred and eighty degree about-turn. What happened?"

I take my time to answer. My gaze oscillates between Caesar's curious eyes and the camera, and finally settles on the camera. I feel like I'm looking Haymitch straight in the eye. Is he watching? The image of a pair of dark gray eyes pops into my head. "Nothing happened," I say, knowing of course that it isn't what Caesar wants to hear. "I tried really hard to win him over for the Hunger Games. But Haymitch was ... not a simple man. The only thing he cared about was his liquor. During my first year, my own predecessor was very supportive. She took care of Haymitch most of the time. It wasn't until the following year that I had to handle him alone."

Caesar snorts and shakes his head with a grin. "But Miss Trinket, that can't be it. We all know Haymitch had a mind of his own, but that year he really opened up. He took part in every public event, always by your side. And at all times, you seemed more than happy together."

Images appear on the screens. They show Haymitch and I, a lot younger than now, in different outfits. It feels like a punch in the chest. He's right. The smile that graces our lips is big and real and stunning. Convincing. We convinced them all of our cause. Looking into Haymitch's face reignites the pain I've been trying to control for years. His hand rests on my hip and the gesture looks completely natural. I look up at him and beam. We both seem incredibly happy.

"You can't deny that there are some rumors circulating about this time," Caesar continues in the playful way he always used in tribute interviews to lure them out with a false sense of trusting atmosphere. I look past him to Peeta, who is struggling to keep his warm smile up. He doesn't like them digging into my past. Because secrets to the Capitol only lead to pain and suffering and death at the end of the day.

At first, I want to remain silent and not reply to his statement at all, but I know that Caesar will not give in. We're on live television. The viewers need something to put them to sleep with peace of mind and forget the war for a night or two. This is a government distraction game, just as the Hunger Games have been a distraction from other problems.

"We were nothing more than professional colleagues at all times," I finally reply with as much relaxation in my voice as this uncomfortable situation allows me.

"Sure," Caesar replies in a sweet voice that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Then the screen lights up again. Now it shows a young Haymitch in a black suit holding the face of a younger version of myself and kissing her on the lips. No kiss on the cheek to possibly misinterpret.

For a blink of an eye, I stare at the picture in a daze. How is it that I hardly remember the kiss anymore, but I remember the pink dress and the blonde curls of my real hair all the better? It was our last evening together. The night everything changed. I stare at the picture and wonder where it was taken. I can't remember. An icy feeling races through my veins and I fear that the memories will all hit me now. That evening took my life in the wrong direction. The fact that our only surviving tribute was killed shortly thereafter and Cashmere was declared the victor only made it worse.

I know my mask slipped from me for more than a moment. I can see it in the way Peeta looks at me, but especially in Caesar's smile, which couldn't have been wider and more sardonic. They knew about the affair between us. From the beginning? Then they must also have known about what happened after that year. If they know about this, then they probably know about our kiss at the Training Center the night before Haymitch disappeared.

If nothing had happened between you and him, you would be dead by now. Would I rather be dead? If I hadn't meant anything to Haymitch ... if he hadn't meant anything to me ... What would I have done then? Would I have found a way that would have maneuvered me out of all of this?

"You would have made a lovely couple," Caesar purrs. He has tilted his head to the side and looks at me with a dreamy look.

I can feel my face getting hard. I've tried long enough to be the friendly Effie Trinket everyone knows. But that's not me. "Of course we would have," I reply almost sarcastically and cross my legs. My voice leaves no room for questions or discussion. A relationship between a woman from the Capitol and a man from District 12 would never have been tolerated. Haymitch could have been the most exemplary victor and it wouldn't have changed anything.

My rapid change of mood does not go unnoticed by Caesar, who now turns to Peeta and refrains from asking any further questions. Or maybe he just wanted to show me the photo. Caesar passes the ball to Peeta, who accepts it politely. The two engage in a casual conversation about the Capitol. As they did in the two interviews before the night of the Games. It gives me the minute I need to take a deep breath and put my mask back on.

It's only now that I take a closer look at Peeta that I realize that he's changed since we last met. His cheekbones stand out more, they have starved him. His body is swallowed up by the suit, which is now a bit too big for him. He has dark circles under his eyes. I try to swallow my fear. How can he have changed so much in just a few days?

"As we showed you before today's show, the rebels have rejected the ceasefire. Does that make you angry?" asks Caesar and gives the boy an encouraging nod.

Peeta sits up in his chair and digs his fingers into the fabric of his pants. "I can't understand it," he says, his voice shaking. "We must all lay down our arms immediately. Who is supposed to be there after the war if things go on like this? Attacks on Panem's vital supplies must stop immediately." As he speaks, recounting various attacks on dams, deforestation areas and crop fields, various parts of Panem's map light up behind him, as well as images of the destruction on the ground.

The more he talks, the more excited he utters the words he previously memorized. I know he memorized them. When he memorized the words of my speeches for the Victory Tour, his voice sounded just the same. Just like then, he's under a lot of pressure now. Except that he managed to come across as calm and convincing back then.

"That's exactly why we have to stop this–" Peeta's speech is interrupted by the crackling of the speakers. The monitors light up and suddenly we see Katniss standing on a gray pile of rubble.

My eyes widen and I look at Peeta, whose eyes fix on the screen in confusion. I turn my head and look behind the camera at Caesar's team. Unrest has spread there, and the director silently waves his hands at two men. Standing in front of the room's closed double doors, the Peacekeepers visibly tense and grip their weapons tighter.

Katniss disappears just as quickly as she came, and Caesar directs Peeta to continue with his contribution. The young man stares at Caesar for a moment, clearly confused at what is happening. Then he pulls himself together, nods, and continues in a trembling voice. "We have to stop this because it–"

Peeta is interrupted again. And again it's Katniss, who is now standing by a lake and singing a song with her lovely voice. With jerky movements, the two men behind the camera jump behind the computers on one of the tables. They start hitting the keys and repelling the attack, wherever it's coming from. They succeed only insufficiently. They manage to get us back on screen, but after a few seconds we see Katniss again. The rebels broadcast short videos of her walking through a debris field, speaking briefly, or standing in the middle of a battlefield firing arrows at enemy hovercraft.

After several minutes, the Capitol technicians appear to be able to fend off the attack after all. I see our three figures on the monitor again, looking from Peeta to Caesar, lips tightened and fingers trembling. I can't allow myself to show even the slightest emotion. Everyone in the room feels the dangerous sling of failure tightening around the situation. Someone will have to pay for this today.

"Apparently the rebels are trying to disrupt the circulation of incriminating information," Caesar says almost mechanically. Every smile has left his face and a serious expression now rests on it. "We will resume this broadcast once safety is restored. Peeta, do you have any last words for Katniss Everdeen?"

Peeta narrows his eyes and his whole body freezes for a moment. Then he starts to speak. "Katniss ... where do you think this is all going? What will be left at the end? All are in danger. In the Capitol and in the Districts. And you ... in District Thirteen ... will be dead before dawn!"

I inhale sharply and my head snaps in his direction.

"Turn it off," the director yells.

The Peacekeepers are running towards us.

"No," Peeta calls, jumping to the side. The crew turned the camera away from us and are frantically working to shut down the entire system.

Two of the Peacekeepers approach Peeta and punch him in the face. I yell and try to run to Peeta. His face is covered in blood and he falls to his knees. "Peeta!" But at the same moment they pull him back to his feet and drag him away. A strong grip wraps around my own arms and I am pulled away from it. "Let go of me." I gasp out my breath and struggle against their grip. When I look up, they've already gotten Peeta out of the room.

I stare at the white tiles and Peeta's blood, which has landed on the floor from the Peacekeeper's punch. Now that Peeta is gone and there is nothing more I can do, I no longer resist their grip. It's no use anyway. It's only when I later tell Johanna about all of this that I realize that Katniss and Haymitch could be in imminent danger. Peeta must have overheard something in the palace, Johanna suspects. It will be an attack on District 13, she thinks.

-

Hi everyone,

I hope you are alright! Where I live, it's almost midnight and it's my favorite time to upload my stories. I hope you enjoyed this new chapter, it's heartwrenching. You may see some parallels to the book Mockingjay. Let me know what you think in the comments! :)

See you next week,Skyllen