(You) Follow Me Into My Dreams

Sleeping is torture. For most of the night I lie awake in bed with my eyes closed, trying to ignore the screaming in my head. The most diverse thoughts stream past my inner eye; like the water of a river rushing down a sheer cliff at incredible speed. So fast that I hardly have the opportunity to take on one of the thoughts, since the next impulse is already pushing into the foreground of my perception. My brain doesn't want to rest.

Haymitch's face keeps popping up in front of me. I review our conversation, and when I drift off to sleep for just a moment, I'm startled awake by my own voice repeating our dialogue. I know I'm asleep when the low murmur of my voice begins to quote snippets of words. But it's not until it turns into a high-pitched screech over time that my body loosens the muscles that bind me to the mattress and I can jump up and gasp.

Ever since he left the hospital room, an icy emptiness has crept into my stomach that seems to be expanding with each passing hour. I know it's a harbinger of a panic attack. I lie awake most part of the night waiting for it to finally roll over me so I can put it behind myself.

Haymitch's presence should be throwing me into a terrible fear from which not even the loudest shriek in the world could rouse me. And despite the growing sense of resentment, I have the panic under control. My hands are shaking, my heart is racing, I'm sweating like crazy – but that's normality and gives me hope that my mind isn't lost. Another nervous breakdown is the last thing I need in this inscrutable situation.

When the tiredness finally overwhelms me completely, I roll from side to side. It feels like the minutes stretch into eternity. The darkness is everywhere and there is no sign that the night is finally drawing to a close. Although I should have had enough time to rest, every fiber in my body aches. The cold of the turned down heating clings to my limbs with icy fingers and whispers eerie phrases in my ear.

Katniss's screams make me spin around. My eyes dart up to the screen, which I've been completely ignoring until now. Wide gray eyes meet mine and for a moment I stand rooted to the spot, not understanding the sheer and brutal panic within. She is a stranger to me. But how could it be otherwise? I have never had to go through what this girl has gone through for the last year for a single day in my life.

Katniss's facial expression is distorted as she stares straight into the lens of the camera, which is now projecting her image onto every single screen in Panem. Most likely she is not even aware of it.

The camera zooms out and I see the bow she is holding in her hands. Where's Peeta? Why does she look so desperate? The last thing I remember is the plan the small group of allies on the beach were trying to carry out. Something must have gone wrong. Dried blood sticks to her fingers as she clutches the arrow she's aiming at Finnick's heart at that very second.

"Katniss, get away from that tree!" Finnick seems just as out of breath as Katniss. Dirt covers most of his face and beads of sweat run down his forehead. He strokes it with his sleeve and spreads more mud on his skin, which no longer shimmers in the light of the moon that shines in the small clearing. His voice sounds hoarse and rushed.

Katniss continues to stare at him without moving an inch. She doesn't even seem to be breathing. Something flickers in her eyes. Confusion. Bewilderment. Consternation. I suddenly fear that Katniss will make the wrong decision. Finnick seems to have the same concern as he puts his hands up in the air in a soothing gesture. The fear is plain to see: his fingers are shaking, and his artery is pumping blood through his body far too quickly.

After a second of overcoming, the young victor takes a step towards the girl. The corners of his mouth twitch and a barely visible smile forms on his lips as he begins to speak. "Katniss," Finnick says, stressing each syllable of his words with such deliberation that I get the feeling he's practiced the phrase a dozen times already. The thunder that has been omnipresent up until that moment ceases, and now his words ring out across the clearing, so that every inhabitant of Panem can easily hear them. "Remember who the real enemy is."

Katniss doesn't seem to understand at first. Her tangled brown hair blows around her face, from which all color has now drained. And then suddenly a burning fire of determination lights up in her eyes as she gets the meaning. She moves away from Finnick and turns her head to the sky. She lowers her bow and runs back to the tree.

Finnick screams her name, but it's already too late. The roar of thunder returns with such intensity that I step back, startled, and look out the darkened windows of the Training Center to make sure there isn't actually a storm raging outside.

Katniss grabs the knife lying on the ground next to Beetee's lifeless body, ties it around her own arrow, and then aims it into the dark night, towards the glowing stars. A blinding bolt of lightning hits the tree, Katniss screams and lets the arrow fly. The TV flashes white one last time, then disconnects from the arena.

I don't bother using the remote to bring the TV back to life. Something in my gut tells me it will be a long time before I can see Katniss's face again. The thought makes me so sick that my mind wanders to Haymitch.

Haymitch. A hot anticipation runs down my spine. In a rushed motion, I turn to see him standing in the doorway directly behind me. His lips are pressed into an impenetrable expression and he has his arms crossed over his chest, but for a moment I can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. He is here. He's still in the Training Center.

And then I know that I'm dreaming.

"Where are you going?" I hear myself asking before I can take in his full form.

Haymitch looks like he's about to leave. He wears black plastic boots, which I've only seen on Peacekeepers, and the rest of his clothes are dark colors as well. Almost as if he doesn't want to be seen. The jacket, which he must have slipped over his shoulders in a quick gesture, has a long, deep hood. Perfect for hiding your face from the greedy security cameras dotted around the city.

"It's time for me to go," Haymitch says, pushing himself off the door frame. His gray eyes look at me cautiously, almost suspiciously.

"Go?" My voice soars an octave and I feel fear rising inside me. My stomach tightens like after a hard punch. "Didn't you see what happened? Katniss needs our help!" I point my long pink fingernails at the flickering TV.

But Haymitch just shakes his head, as if I've missed something fundamental. "And that's exactly what I'm doing right now."

He takes another step into the room and for a moment I think he wants to approach me. It's only when he walks past me that I realize he has no intention of stopping. My heart makes a startled leap. I realize he's leaving me in this very moment. My legs stumble forward without my brain having to think about it. I block Haymitch's path and place my hands flat on his chest in a firm gesture. My hands look tiny on his broad body.

"That's not possible," I burst out in a desperate tone. "What did you set your mind on? Where are you going?"

"I can't tell you that," Haymitch whispers, without a shred of remorse in his voice. He avoids my challenging gaze as he speaks. "It's better that you don't know. Now get out of my way, Effie. You've slowed me down enough already." In one movement, so quick I barely even notice, he has grabbed my hands, pulled them from his chest, and pushed me aside.

I can't help but stare at him wide-eyed as he continues on his way, not turning for another glance. It's now or never, a voice screams inside my head, so loud it seems impossible to ignore. If you don't do something now, you'll never see him again.

"No," I say with such authority that it surprises even me. Haymitch's shoulders jerk for a second, but he doesn't stop. "You won't leave me that easily, Haymitch Abernathy. You can play the tough, emotionless guy for as long as you want, but you don't intimidate me."

His head swivels toward me in a flash, and I could swear a bone in his neck makes an agonizing crackle as he does so. Haymitch knits his brows into an annoyed expression and fixes me with an almost hostile stare. "You have no idea what's at stake right now. With every breath I waste on you, Katniss's chances of getting out of there alive diminish."

"But ..." I stammer, obviously thrown off balance. What is he talking about? What is he trying to tell me? Just what did Haymitch get wrapped up in? "Haymitch, please ... you're rushing things. If you leave now, there's no way to make this all right. You are running to your own doom!"

Haymitch's roar of laughter pervades the living room. Then he stops abruptly, looks down briefly and then smiles sadly at me. He is standing directly under one of the lamps and the yellowish light makes the circles under his eyes appear even deeper. "Only a person from the Capitol would say something like that. If you still haven't realized it, then I can't save you, Effie."

"I don't need anyone to save me," I whisper, barely audible, yet defiant.

"I hope so, sweetheart," Haymitch says, his feet stepping back toward the door that leads to the hallway and elevators. "I hope so with every fiber of my being."

I leap forward, my mouth open to scream, but no sound comes out of my throat. How long have I slept? I have to blink several times to get my bearings. My heart is still pounding like crazy when I realize I'm still in the hospital room. The lights are off, so the night's rest still applies. An almost desperate sigh escapes my lips in place of the scream. Morning hasn't come yet.

As I pry my cramped fingers from the sweaty covers and lean back against the pillow, my breath caught, I realize I'm not going to sleep again. This night brought enough demons with it.

As my body slowly calms down, I press a button on the heart-lung machine and listen to my heart beating. The noise will keep me from going back to sleep. After a little eternity and exactly 2,640 heartbeats, the light finally goes on. I'm so focused on counting that I startle, get lost and lose track. I have no choice but to start over. After another 1,800 hits, Dr. Jennings enters the hospital room with a pre-announced knock on the door.

The doctor's black hair is pulled back in a ponytail and bobs as she walks toward me with feathery steps. When she notices that I'm already awake, she smiles. "Good morning." Her voice is soft and friendly, and I automatically wonder if the Capitol dictates her this socially behavior.

But then she narrows her eyes suspiciously as she gets close enough to me and takes in the fresh circles that are showing on my weary face. Her gaze wanders briefly to the cardiogram and back to me. "You look tired," she now remarks in a slightly sterner tone.

I shrug my shoulders almost imperceptibly. My head may be tired, but that will only be beneficial for the night to come. Maybe then I'll get more sleep. Dr. Jennings jots something down on her clipboard that she seems to carry in her hands almost ubiquitously, as if she needs it to survive. It reminds me of Katniss and her bow. Then she disappears briefly and returns minutes later with a tray.

The doctor moves my bed into a sitting position, opens the small side table above me and places the tray in front of me. It must be breakfast time: a bowl of unsavory-looking gruel, a banana, and a glass of water. But I stopped judging food by looks a long time ago. My stomach is growling, I'm hungry and I'm grateful that I have something to eat. I'm grateful regardless of whose clutches I am actually in. Capitol or District 13 don't matter here.

"It's time to check your data again," explains Dr. Jennings, and this time I let her do her thing without resisting the procedure.

There is still no proof that this place really is the mysterious District 13. If I'm honest, I myself doubt the degree of reality of my outside world in some moments. Could it be that I'm in a permanent simulation? The Capitol was able to fool me into a distorted reality with the help of an ampoule. A permanent simulation, which takes place exclusively in my head, does not seem far from their possibilities. But the queasy feeling in my stomach has been so focused on Haymitch for the last few hours that my thoughts didn't even allow me to worry about anything else.

Dr. Jennings conducts her check-up, using the same routine as the day before. Again, after each step, she writes down some values and words on her board. I wonder what the numbers mean. I can't decipher her handwriting. She notices my curiosity and smiles slightly. Then she hands me the clipboard and I take it without hesitation, albeit more as a reflex. "I've been told that you are quite a clever woman."

I need a moment to give the doctor a sensible answer. "That depends on who you ask." The sheet is a blank page. For each examination, Dr. Jennings chose a word for the title and underlined it with her pen. Underneath abbreviations, values and individual words such as stable, normal range and progress are jotted down. Only the heading psychological condition doesn't yet have any subordinated values.

A silent laugh escapes her lips and her shoulders tremble slightly as I hand her the clipboard back. "That's probably true, but I know someone who only speaks well of you."

Our eyes meet and she sees the displeasure in my eyes. Of course, I know immediately who Dr. Jennings is talking about. Whether it's the Capitol or District 13; I'm sure there aren't many people out there who have anything positive to say about me.

"I think it was courageous how you spoke to General Abernathy yesterday. After everything that has happened to you both, this conversation must have been extremely difficult to process," continues Dr. Jennings. Her voice has now taken on a cautious tone. As if trying to capture a feral cat without frightening it in the attempt.

General Abernathy. The corners of my mouth don't twist. The cold facade of my artificial expression covers my face like a second skin and feels surprisingly familiar. A small part of Effie Trinket still exists. I shrug again. I don't want Dr. Jennings to see through me. I don't want her to see how upset I was by meeting Haymitch.

Having had an accelerated pulse all night, my heart beating wildly at the mention of his name doesn't give me away. My thoughts are already with him non-stop. I bow my head briefly and clear my throat. If my voice deviates even a little from its natural sound, all the effort was for nothing. "The conversation was indeed informative." The sentence slips slowly and monotonously from my lips. Its sound reminds me of Finnick from my dream and how rehearsed his words sounded to Katniss. Now I'm wondering if he actually pronounced it that way at the time or if my brain is just playing another trick on me.

"I didn't expect to see him again." I can fake my aloofness all I want, but his name just won't roll off my tongue.

Dr. Jennings gives me a smile that tells me she doesn't entirely believe my indifference. She has completed her check-up and I'm waiting for her to leave my room as I did yesterday. Only yesterday Haymitch took her place. But instead of leaving, the exhausted-looking woman lowers her clipboard and takes a seat at the foot of my bed. I'm amazed that she is already so tired in these early hours of the morning.

"I know General Abernathy– Haymitch quite well from his time in the infirmary. Shortly after his arrival, about four months ago, he was placed in our care for a sobering-up," says the doctor, running her fingers along the top of the clipboard while her eyes go blank. "He had a very difficult time here, much of it spent in delirium. In the process, he mentioned your name more than anyone else's."

My stomach lurches and tightens into a knot, choking me off air. I can't stop the blood rushing to my cheeks. In my mind's eye I try to picture Haymitch tied to a hospital bed like this for his own protection, calling my name. To my surprise, I don't find it particularly difficult to conjure up this exact image in my mind. I've seen him drunk often enough.

"Sometimes it seemed to us that he saw you in front of him. Of course it was a pure illusion that his brain played on him, but for him it was as real as I am, who is standing in front of you now," continues Dr. Jennings matter-of-factly without looking at me. She stares at a spot behind me on the wall. "He kept apologizing to you. Sometimes he would argue with you about things that must have happened during the Games. Other victors were named, he stridently cursed the Capitol and also accused you of being the victim of brainwashing."

A single tear runs down my cheek, but I don't wipe it away. Haymitch may not have gone through what I did, but he had to deal with his own demons for that. If he really regrets the things that happened between us like Dr. Jennings is portraying it, then his guilt must be eating him up. I force myself to close my eyes for a moment and imagine how I would feel in his place if I had to leave him in the Capitol. I understand the regret, but that still doesn't excuse what happened to me.

"At first we didn't know who he was talking about all the time. It wasn't until Miss Everdeen visited him and explained, who you were, to several overwhelmed doctors that we understood his behavior. I never followed the Hunger Games, a truly repulsive theatre, but some years the headlines even got to me. District Twelve's rise to the league of career tributes eleven years ago was an omen to some here in Thirteen that could have started the rebellion. Unfortunately, things turned out differently."

I wonder if that last sentence means the relationship between me and Haymitch, or the general fact that the rebellion didn't start eleven years ago. Dr. Jennings's account of Haymitch's time in the infirmary makes me nauseous. Is she trying to win me over? I would like nothing more than to forget what happened between him and me. His reasoning for leaving me because he thought I was safe in the Capitol sounds silly and foolish to me. Wasn't his dead family the best example of the Capitol's violence against innocents unfortunate enough to have a rebel in their close acquaintance?

Before my body can enter a trance state, Dr. Jennings continues in a loud voice. She has to notice that my senses are slowly leaving reality. "Now to something more encouraging: most of your data has recovered to near normal levels. Many of your injuries have healed, but a few are in the final stages of healing. Thus, all doors are now literally open to you. From today you are officially allowed to leave your room."

-

It seems like Haymitch didn't have an easy time either. Would you forgive him if you were in Effie's shoes? I'd be happy to read your opinion!

Skyllen :)