For different parts of the story I came up with playlists with songs I heard while writing these parts. For the next chapters:

Playlist: District 13

- Little Dark Age – MGMT

- Let's Love – David Guetta & Si

- Umbrella (feat. JAY Z) - Rihanna

- Sky and Sand – Paul Kalkbrenner

- Love Me Like You Do (Slowed + Reverb) – Ellie Goulding

- In This Shirt – The Irrepressibles

- Runaway – AURORA

- Space Song – Beach House

- The Mother We Share – CHVRCHES

- Hometown (Slowed + Reverb) – twenty one pilots

- Another Love (Slowed) – Tom Odell

- Habits (Stay high) – Tove Lo

- Stranger X Feel Something

- After Dark – Mr. Kitty

- Black Out Days (Slowed) – Phantogram

- Daddy Issues – The Neighbourhood

- Dancing In The Moonlight (feat. NEIMY) – Jubël

-

Trick or Truth?

When I open my eyes, I have to blink. The tiredness that overcame me in the cell still tears at my limbs. Invisible fingers lie on my eyelids and try to push them shut again. It's only when my body registers the thick mattress beneath my back that I blink again. A soft blanket envelops me like a cocoon, and I instantly wonder when I last saw a real blanket.

Then I raise my head and freeze for a split second. I'm lying on a hospital bed in a typical looking hospital room. To my right is a machine that records my heart sounds. It mimics every pounding of my heart with its own soft tone. The entire right wall front of the room consists of glass. Theoretically I could have looked out into a hallway or an adjoining room if the windows hadn't been drawn by white curtains. On my left is a small bedside table with a glass of water on it. Only the memory of water triggers the need of thirst in me.

My senses register all these impressions within seconds. I don't allow myself any longer to put on a neutral face. The happenings in the cell must have been another subterfuge of the Capitol. It's not Dr. Aurelius's room, whose level of comfort could not have been compared with this room. This bed alone is worth dying for. In my mind I go over the possible things they could do to me. I'm trying to figure out why they put me in this room and what they hope it will do.

It's perfectly still. Nothing can be heard apart from the beeping of the cardiac-rhythm-machine. The room must be soundproof. Of course it is.

At that moment, the door in the right corner of the room opens and I wince. I don't know what I was expecting when a short, dark-skinned woman enters the room. She has short black hair, brown eyes and wears a gray uniform. The white coat over her uniform looks as if she slipped it on in a rush. In her hand she holds a clipboard. When she looks up, a careful smile spreads across her face. I don't know why, but it gives me a pang.

I can't make a sound as the woman approaches me. I stare back and forth between her and the door, wondering if it locks automatically from the outside. A casual flick of her hand draws my attention back to her form and I take a closer look at her gray uniform. It resembles that of the soldiers in my cell.

"Hello, Miss Trinket, my name is Dr. Jennings," the woman says in a soft but firm voice, and I lose the thread. "My following words will probably be very confusing for you. Until a few days ago you were held captive in the Capitol. You are now in District Thirteen and in safety. One of our task forces was able to free you."

I can feel the gaze of Dr. Jennings on me. She studies my behavior almost critically and tries to draw conclusions from it. She wants to see if she convinced me of the lie. And even though I know this is just another Capitol ploy to break me, my body is reacting. My breath hitches and I feel the glimmer of hope my brain is trying to force on me.

When I don't reply, Dr. Jennings continues with her script. "We gave you a thorough medical examination after your rescue. I will now list your findings and leave you with a copy of it," she says with a more serious tone and points to the clipboard in her hands. "You have multiple fractures in your ribs, some are fully healed, most are in various stages of healing. One of the broken ribs punctured your lung. Your neck has second degree swelling, you have a mild concussion and a skullcap injury. We also have reports of various lacerations, some of which are in critical condition due to infection. You also suffer from malnutrition and dehydration."

Each point on her list seems to push my body deeper into the bed. With every word she says, the pain in my muscles seems to burn hotter. I forgot about it until a few seconds ago. My body seems to groan beneath me, and for the first time in an unknown amount of time, I actually go into it and wonder what's wrong with my body. So far I've just taken all my wounds and pain as given and unchangeable. Because they were. They are. But the doctor's words make me prick up my ears. Hearing what they actually did to me makes my hands shake. The edges of my field of vision turn black. My heart is beating far too fast in my chest and from afar I hear the device that makes my heart audible to everyone present.

"All of the traumas listed indicate a particularly severe form of–" She pauses for a second and I wonder why. "A particularly severe form of abuse that occurred over a period of at least three months. Mental damage is not included in the medical findings."

My senses go numb. I stare past the woman emotionlessly, trying to keep the memories locked in the drawers I created for them in my mind. If they escape, the weeks of hard work will be for nothing. My eyes burn, but I won't cry. The Capitol will never see me cry again.

"You had to go through a lot," says the doctor when I say nothing again. "Rest." With that she leaves my room. It's dead quiet for a moment. Then I hear the familiar click of the lock.

I panic as I realize they've locked me in. I was right. This is nothing but a prison cell. The beeping of the heart machine reminds me that everyone can hear my feelings. But the fear in my limbs is stronger than my defiance of the Capitol. My heart starts racing.

Then I feel a cold liquid pour into my right arm. I stare down and see that a tube is attached to the crook of my arm. Before the flashbacks from the times in the dark room can haunt me, the drug takes effect and my eyes close.

For a while I doze off a lot. Mostly plagued by nightmares that are more pervasive than ever. It's always my own scream that wakes me up. I wake up often, but I'm always alone. Sometimes the lights in the room are on, sometimes not. I don't see an intentional pattern behind it. Or maybe that's because I'm too busy trying to keep my body from breaking. But it's not exactly like it was in that dark room. I'm not manacled. If I wanted to or had the strength, I could get up.

At some point, I've already stopped counting my awakenings, I manage to shake off the tiredness completely. It's only now that I realize they haven't given me anything else since the first dose. My own exhaustion has always pulled me back into the depths.

As if on cue, the door opens and Dr. Jennings appears in the doorway. This time I don't flinch. Instead, I try to peer past her and see the unfamiliar territory beyond the door. Then a scent hits my nose which makes my mouth water. Dr. Jennings holds a tray in her hands and carefully sets it down on my legs. She leans forward and pushes a button on the wall. The back of the bed rises and I'm pushed into a sitting position.

"Your stomach first has to get used to normal portion-sizes again," explains Dr. Jennings with a warm smile on her face.

It's more than hoped for. I haven't felt the urge to eat for a while. If you bring me something, I eat. If not, then not. She serves me a sliced apple, a bowl of warm broth, and some bread with a glass of water. It's not much and yet more than enough.

I nod gratefully and slowly begin to eat while watching Dr. Jennings as she reads and notes various numbers from the heart-lung machine. When she's done, she turns to me and explains that she needs to do some examinations now.

Her words make me hesitate and my eyes narrow a bit. She brought me something to eat, has always been friendly, but that doesn't mean anything. I don't know this woman and she may still turn out to be a Capitol actress who just wants to lull me into false hope again.

The doctor notices my hesitation and puts the clipboard down to the side. "You don't have to worry, Miss Trinket," she says slowly, in a nondescript voice. "You are out of danger. If we had wanted to do something to you, we would have done it by now."

Is she right? I don't know. It's nothing but words. Words don't mean anything, all that matters are actions. She could lie, it would be so easy to lie. It could still be a trust tactic to twist me around their finger. But what else can I do? As I look at her, I suddenly have to think back to Dr. Aurelius treating me after my supposed execution, which turned out to be just a rehearsed play. Despite his job, he had always been friendly and had even subtly expressed his regrets to me. He just did what was expected of him to avoid becoming a traitor himself.

Finally, I nod to Dr. Jennings and sit up a little to get this procedure over with without further complications. I'm not afraid of doctors, but every corner of this room reminds me of the Capitol prison. The gadgets, the tools, the tubes in my arms, the insomnia, the nightmares. The room may look different from my cell, but the atmosphere here seems similar to me.

While Dr. Jennings listens to my lungs, draws blood, and takes my temperature, I try to focus my mind on something else. When the first ampoule fills with my blood, I have to turn my head. The images that immediately appear in my mind's eye make me cringe. The doctor says something, but I can't hear her. I think about the interview in the Presidential Palace and Peeta splattering his blood on the floor as the Peacekeepers tried to drag him out of the room.

I force my eyes to focus on the doctor's face as I slowly turn my head back toward her. When I speak, my voice is hoarse and barely more than a whisper. "Was Peeta Mellark rescued too?"

The question doesn't change whether I actually buy the story of the rescue. I don't. But if it's actually true, then I want to know how he's doing. It's a good question to ask Dr. Jennings to draw her out considering her possible lies.

Dr. Jennings turns to me, trying to hide the surprise in her eyes. They are the first words I utter. So far, she has been more or less leading a monologue. Before answering me, she goes to the clipboard and jots something down.

"He was," she replies, but I hear the restrained tone in her voice. "Unfortunately, Mister Mellark is in a very bad condition. He was physically injured like you and Miss Mason, but his psychological damage is far more serious. The Capitol has done immense damage to his memories."

The room around me starts spinning, so I close my eyes for a moment to organize my feelings. I remember Peeta being emaciated but doing more or less fine. Given the circumstances. For me, he managed his warm, if brief, smile. Or was that just a facade? I search my brain for a clue to confirm what the doctor is saying. When I can't find anything, I consider probing to get more information out of her. But as conclusive as Dr. Jennings talked about the matter, I don't believe it.

"The current situation must be very confusing for you, we know that," she begins to speak when she sees the expression on my face. An encouraging smile spreads across her own face. "This may seem like isolation to you, but it's not meant to be. You needed the time to recover from your worst injuries. Your body took time to heal. According to the lab results, you are now in better condition."

For a moment I think about her words. Now I can't hold back the burgeoning hope in my chest. I take a deep breath, trying not to let this almost alien feeling lure me into making an irrational decision. "Does that mean I can go back to Johanna then?"

"What do you mean?" asks Dr. Jennings, now obviously confused.

I tell her that Johanna and I shared a cell for quite a while until some Peacekeepers took Johanna away. The word rescue doesn't come off my lips in my report, because my fear of further intrigue by the Capitol is still too great. And even if not, this could also be a dream. A trick of my own brain to free me from the world of cruelty.

As I finish my story, Dr. Jennings eventually shakes her head. "Unfortunately, Miss Mason's condition remains critical," she explains, and when she sees my interest in the conversation waning, she moves on to another topic. "But I have good news, nonetheless. Someone is here to see you."

But I don't listen anymore. My thoughts revolve around Johanna. Could it be that the Capitol actually killed her? Is that why this doctor is trying to stall me? Did they do something to Johanna that would justify their excuses? Panic spreads in my chest. I'm afraid they may have buried Johanna under a blue plastic sheet by now, like they did with the dead girl from District 12.

I'm so deep in thought that I only subconsciously notice the door to the hospital room being opened. Then someone says my name. It's a deep, rough and very familiar voice. A voice I thought I'd never hear again. A voice that for a long time I thought was nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

The thought of Johanna is instantly forgotten. I can't think of anything anymore because the voice I've been waiting for and then cursed for so long brings with it a surge of memories and feelings I didn't think were possible. It buries me under it. I gasp, feeling my heart tear in two.

Images fly past my inner eye.

Our first encounter. His surprised look because he had expected a completely different kind of person.

Our first kiss, which had tasted of alcohol and had still taken away my fear for a moment.

His strong hands around my body that had kept me from falling apart after Ramon had died.

The hard look on his face as he had made it clear to me that there would never again be anything between us like the few stolen moments we had had.

The ten icy years of silence.

The awakening of our team spirit through Katniss and Peeta.

Our last kiss, which had tried to grasp the feelings of the past years and turn them into emotions.

His farewell, which I had only recognized as farewell too late.

And finally, all the pain I have gone through to be able to stand here now.

I don't know where I get the strength to look up. My muscles are heavy as lead and won't obey me. I can feel the hot tears running down my cheeks and have to blink several times to keep my composure.

Then I finally look at him.

Haymitch stands at the foot of my hospital bed and stares me in the face with a mixture of seriousness and regret in his gray eyes. His jaw is clenched, and I can tell he's waiting for something. Something the old Effie would do? I can't tell. When he realizes that I won't wake up from my rigidity, he takes another step towards me.

"Hello, Effie."

-

Oh my. Here we are. Effie and Haymitch are reunited. Or is it all another truce by the Capitol? I'm excited to know what you think about this chapter! Please let me know! :D

Skyllen