Leave the Comfort Zone

"He's an idiot," says Johanna. As with my last visit, she is lying in her hospital bed and looking at me with that typically arrogant look from her chestnut brown eyes. She looks thoughtful as she lets the words melt on her tongue, and yet she seems pleased with herself to be able to curse at someone other than the insufferable nurses. The victor's long, thin fingers play with the IV tube that is stuck in her right arm.

As long as the morphine is in her system, she is tolerable. Most of the time she gets upset about everything and everyone in her immediate surroundings and even I don't miss out on her tirades, but I prefer that to the situation when the doctors can't keep up with the painkillers quickly enough. Johanna always had a wild, irrepressible streak in her. It was that what made her so unpopular in the eyes of the Capitol. Any deprivation, even a short one, turns her into a hot-blooded fury. The lack of morphine is then compensated for by an unstoppable rage that makes her scream and lash out almost obsessively. The doctors should have known better than to connect a woman with such a history to the tube. Now it's too late.

I sigh softly and shift back and forth on Johanna's bed, watching her deftly pull the needle out of her arm to take a break for eating. A few minutes ago, as so often unannounced, a nurse burst into her room and placed two trays with the prescribed food rations in front of us. The nurses are friendly enough, even if they often give both Johanna and me a somewhat hesitant look, as if they weren't entirely sure about our mental state. Somehow I can't blame them.

The overwhelming feeling I felt in my chest when I last held the needle between my fingers has completely disappeared since my conversation with Haymitch. To be honest, I've lost interest in anything since then. Although I tried to convince myself that the things he said outside my room that morning weren't important to me, they've been gnawing at me ever since. His words keep me from sleeping and when I manage to slip into the darkness because of exhaustion, his words haunt me even in my dreams. Since my regeneration, they have morphed into a jumble of images and scenarios that always flow into each other like a complicated spider web, although never in the same order. Sometimes someone beats me up on the floor of a cell, sometimes I'm standing in front of Haymitch in the penthouse, sometimes they shoot my parents in the head. Only one thing is certain: Haymitch's whispering words in the background of the bizarre, frightening scenes that repeat over and over again. Like a song that just starts all over again after it ends. A small part of me is grateful for the distraction his confessions provide. My health, which was previously my real problem, is moving further away from my attention with each passing day.

"Is that all you have to say?" I ask Johanna in a skeptical tone as my fingers re-tie the hair scarf on my head. Yesterday I was so exhausted from one of our arguments that I didn't have the energy to return to my own room, so I spent the night slumped in the uncomfortable gray plastic chair next to Johanna's bed. It's not just my neck, which I was barely able to straighten when I woke up this morning, that has had a negative impact. The hair towel is the exact reason for my lack of sleep.

Johanna thinks it's silly that I cover my hair. In her opinion, her condition underlines the struggle we endured in the Capitol. Just as she presents her shaved head as a memorial, I should do the same with my hair. Johanna cannot understand the complexes I have with my appearance. And even though a woman like her could never even begin to understand it, I tried to make her understand. In vain. In just a short space of time my argumentation had degenerated into a shouting-match. Apparently we had been so loud that two nurses had found it necessary to barge into the room and threaten to remove me from the visitor list. Apparently the excitement wasn't good for Johanna, even though we both had different opinions. You might think that after everything we've been through together, we would have nothing but respect and goodwill for each other, but that's not the case. Sometimes our bickering reminds me a little of the past, the time of the Hunger Games, when the two of us had clashed often enough. And yet it's different: Today we need these arguments, this stress over something banal, because it distracts us from reality, even if it's only for a few moments. But a ban on visits is not an option for any of us. When Haymitch and I aren't together, I spend every free minute with Johanna. It only feels natural and right to be here by her side.

"Haymitch is a good guy. He's always been," Johanna finally admits and shrugs her shoulders as she wolfs down her food. Although she complains constantly about the muck, as she calls it, she is not shy about licking her plate after eating. The Capitol part of me makes me shudder every time I see it.

After three days of hesitation, I finally brought myself to tell Johanna about Haymitch's confessions. I intentionally left out the part where Haymitch suggested that her family shared a similar fate to his. The young victor had noticed from the first moment that something was bothering me, but she didn't dwell on it any further. She is not a very curious person by nature and when you do share something with her, she often acts as if she doesn't care in the slightest. "The Capitol has made him an example for all of us. When victors considered breaking ranks, Snow pointed at Haymitch to remind them what happens to those who don't bend."

I refrain from asking questions that concern Johanna's past. This is a part of her story that she never says a word about. Instead, I wonder how I could have been so blind for so long. Most things were already subconsciously clear to me from the beginning. Nevertheless, I needed Haymitch to consciously understand reality as that. When I think back now on my time in the Capitol, a white veil hangs over the memories and emotions, as if I have aged and become wiser by years since then. It is strange.

"I wish I had done more for him sooner," I finally admit after thinking for a while. "But somehow it took me so long to understand it all."

An amused laugh leaves Johanna's throat. It sounds too dark, too rough, to come from a woman. She has never been part of the image of women I created in my head. And yet she is strong and independent in her own way, so much more than I could ever be. Without my family's connections and wealth, I would be a nobody today. Then, I would probably work in one of the office buildings in the north of the city, with the typical small-town problems always in the back of my mind. Instead, you took the unusual, life-threatening problems of someone caught in the crossfire. Sure you wouldn't trade if you could?

"Honestly, Trinket, if I were from the Capitol, I would have happily and without hesitation been blind on both eyes. What would it have benefited you to know the truth? It would have only made things worse. As long as you don't enjoy the Games, you haven't done anything wrong." The words come so easily from Johanna's lips that I'm surprised where this sudden insight comes from.

"But wasn't it you who reminded them at every possible moment that they should put an end to all of this?" I reply with enough skepticism in my voice that the almost reprimanding tone reminds me of Haymitch.

Johanna just shrugs her shoulders, puts her empty tray on the bedside table and sticks the needle back into the hollow of her elbow. "I didn't mean the common people. You can either enjoy what the powerful are doing, or you can look the other way," she explains in a whirring, calm tone that makes me sit up and take notice. It's time to talk to Haymitch about Johanna's medication problem ... "Anything else would be suicide."

I don't know how to respond to that. In the past eleven years I have found myself on the threshold of the abyss of truth so many times. Even in the aftermath of our splintered ... arrangement, or whatever one might call it, I witnessed things that made one question the credibility of the Capitol. When you look after a victor like Haymitch, who drunkenly says a word about anything and everything, there's no getting around it. And although, in addition to snippets of conversation and snippets of words, I also saw gruesome scenes unfold right in front of my eyes, I subsequently blocked them all from my memory. I chose to look away. And even though I regret it, I know Johanna is right. Being more involved and asking questions probably would have cost me more than just my position.

If I have my way, the conversation is over. I have nothing more to add to her and that's okay. Actually, we are silent much more than we talk. Often, we just sit there, secure in each other's presence, and wait. Even if none of us can name for what exactly.

"Katniss visits me sometimes," Johanna suddenly blurts out and the name makes me look up. She also looks thoughtful, but for different reasons than I do. "It's strange to see her here. She doesn't fit here at all. When I look at her, I somehow always have to think of the forest at home. Strange, considering she stands for so much more out there."

I know better than to address her District 7 reference. Instead, I ask what has been on my heart for a long time. "How is she doing?"

How is the girl who ignited the whole nation? How is the Mockingjay doing, now the figure in a real war? How does she cope with this? After Katniss's return from the first arena, her mental state had deteriorated greatly. Now she was in the arena for a second time. Dr. Jennings said she had visited me when I had still been still out cold.

"The time without Peeta took its toll on her, especially after your interview at the Presidential palace. From what I hear from Finnick, the days in the bunker must have been hell for her. She looks like she's still not really out of the arena."

"Is she, though?"

"Not really," Johanna says, a mocking, annoyed smile spreading across her face. "No victor ever leaves the arena."

We talk some more about Katniss, but other than increasing concern, Johanna's descriptions of her appearance or behavior don't bring me anything else. This young, courageous woman, who quite unintentionally got the ball rolling, is a stranger to me. Peeta was always the one I got along better with. I don't even know if she's interested in seeing me. After all, I picked her sister's name back then. After all, I'm Capitol. I embody everything she detests.

At some point I say goodbye with brief words. Johanna knows that I have to go and why I haven't touched the second food tray that the nursing staff brought for me. A grin spreads across her lips, a mixture of malice and anticipation, as I push my tray over to her as I stand up. Who in 13 wouldn't want a double portion?

Then I leave the medical complex with quick steps. By now it's not the first time I've left it, even if it's the first time I've done so alone. So far, Haymitch has always accompanied me. Without him, I wouldn't have taken a step out of the safe haven that the infirmary represents in my eyes. In the past few days, he has shown me a few places in 13 and if I had thought that the District could also have some nice corners, then his tour brought me back down to earth quickly enough. There is hardly any place where I can breathe fresh air or walk through greenery, and as an ordinary civilian I am deprived of these spaces because they are used for research.

With each additional corridor that brings me closer to my destination, the number of people around me increases. After a cramped elevator ride, I finally find myself in the heart of District 13 and am surrounded by gray-clad people who walk past me with focused eyes. Only very few people take the time to turn to me on their way. Right now I'm happy about it. The thought of being even closer to many of them makes the palms of my hands sweat. And when a passer-by happens to look over at me, my heart stops. I can't stop it. They're nothing more than fleeting moments from the corner of her eye, and yet my body reacts with terror. I would love nothing more than to just blend in with the crowd. I want to be invisible. That's better than being alone.

Shortly afterwards I step onto a large, circular square. This is where the residents of District 13 hang out. They chat, stroll around or stand at the edge of one of the numerous open passageways that lead to different parts of the District or open into huge halls. The President's regular speeches take place in one of the halls when she addresses her nation. The only other hall makes me hesitate in my walk. With each additional step my feet move forward more slowly until they finally fail.

The central canteen looks like an ugly, soulless place from the outside and if I'm honest, I have no interest in taking a closer look at it or even eating there. The bright white neon light shining at me through the entrance awakens an uncomfortable feeling in my chest, even if I can't quite place it. For several seconds I debate turning on my heel and taking sick leave in case anyone asks further questions. But at this moment my eyes rest on the familiar, tall figure standing a few meters from the doorway. It's too late to retreat now, because he turns his head in my direction and spots me in the crowd of people, who avoid me in annoyance because I'm still standing frozen in place.

"You promised," Haymitch says when he's within reach. A slight smile plays on his lips, but I can still see the concern in his silver eyes. He's afraid of overwhelming me.

I've seen a lot of 13 over the past few days, but that was different. We were alone and there was no one my presence could upset. The suggestion to eat with him in the canteen hadn't come to him until yesterday and I had thought about it for a long time. Starting today, things would be different. My anonymity would be gone. In Haymitch's opinion, this would happen sooner or later anyway. And he's right. Still, I'm afraid to enter this room. Not just because of the people who have a grudge against me, but also because of the atmosphere. There's a lot about District 13 that reminds me of the Capitol prison. I can't say how I'll fare with so many people in one place.

"And I keep my promise," I explain slowly and clearly and then take a step in Haymitch's direction. He's wearing his usual soldier's uniform, which looks a little more formal than mine. "All I need is time."

Haymitch nods, glances over his left shoulder and then moves to the side to block my view of the entrance. He puts both hands in his pockets and leans towards me. His blonde hair falls lightly over his forehead and my hand twitches, wanting to push it away from his face. "You say when it gets too much for you and we'll be out of there immediately," he replies quietly and waits for my okay.

"Alright." A strained sigh escapes my throat and I have to close my eyes for a moment to focus on my feet and force them to move again.

Haymitch matches my walking pace as we walk towards the canteen. "And how is Johanna?" The nervousness has given way to his usual grin, but I can't say for sure whether he's just faking this sudden calmness to distract me.

Intentional or not, I take the bite. "She's being her radiant self," I say, rolling my eyes. Neither Johanna nor I spoke to anyone about the details of our time in captivity. Of course, the doctors can piece together a few things based on our medical reports, which they certainly also told Haymitch, but we haven't talked about it directly. I don't know if I could. Luckily for me, he hasn't asked any questions yet. Sooner or later, when this dark phase is longer behind me, that will certainly change. But for now he seems more or less content. He knows enough; also to understand the unexpected relationship between Johanna and me.

"Well then, I'm reassured," he murmurs and shakes his head. We enter the canteen and suddenly I can't take my eyes off Haymitch. He needs to shave again, the stubble on his beard has become far too long. He also looks exhausted; his meetings at Command probably didn't go well.

"Effie?" His soft voice brings me back to the present and I flinch. My gaze is still on his face, only now he's standing right next to me again and looking at me with a concern that he's desperately trying to hide behind another grin. I pretend I don't notice. It's easier to pretend I don't notice the feelings coming from him. In the past, just the slightest reaction from me was enough to make his walls go completely up. Today he's trying hard to keep them down and I know it's difficult for him. He has hidden his emotions from the public his entire life.

Only now do I look around the hall. Or just a room? I imagined it to be much bigger. The canteen is perhaps three times the size of our canteen in the infirmary. Otherwise everything is identical, from the tables to where the food is served or the lighting. It is only when I take a second breath that I notice several open doors that must lead to other dining rooms. It's actually a clever solution, remembers a part of me that was interested in architecture many years ago. Less noise, less crowds, less time spent here.

"Hm?" We stand in the queue that has formed in front of the food distribution. The first people who walk past us with their trays give me strange looks, but so far they only recognize Haymitch. Then my presence in 13 can't have made the big news yet.

"You need to put your arm under the scanner, so the staff knows how much to give you," Haymitch whispers in my ear so that no one around us notices my lack of knowledge of their system. He seems to want to delay the truth as much as I do.

I just nod and trot ahead of him as the distance to the counter gets smaller and smaller, risking a sideways glance across the canteen. The longer we are in their midst, the more people notice Haymitch. There is still no sign of dislike in their eyes, which are now increasingly focused on him. And from him to me. Although I don't see any flashes of realization anywhere, I can see their perplexity over my headscarf. To people who live under rigid authority, my deviation from the norm must look like a mistake. Someone who cannot or will not fully adapt to the District. Some people don't seem to like the idea, as the first ones grimace in irritation.

The workers at the food counter, however, completely ignore me. Their eyes scan over me, as with the others in front of me in line. They don't seem to care who they serve, as long as you don't hold up the others waiting. Haymitch and I pass the counters in a few minutes and then quickly retreat to a lonely table at the back, left edge of the room; not far from where we sat and talked in the canteen of the infirmary about a week ago.

"Satisfied?" Haymitch asks after we sit down. His portion is almost twice the size of mine, and yet he has lost a few pounds since the Capitol.

"The place is fine," I reply cautiously, not really knowing where to look or what to do with my hands. I've been used to eating in front of Haymitch for years, this isn't it.

One of my conditions for visiting the canteen was that we sit away from the other residents, without any strange faces that I can't relate to. I'm not ready to face the unknown people here yet. And yet, now that we are sitting here, alone and secluded and yet visible to everyone, I wonder whether it was perhaps a mistake to come here in the first place. Everyone knows Haymitch, but no one knows me, the mysterious woman with the headscarf at his side who looks more sickly than healthy. Was it foolish to think that people wouldn't be interested in something like that? In a District like 13, where every day is the same as the last and rebellion is the only hope for change? In the dull quality of life in 13, gossip certainly has a very easy time being picked up and spread. The greedy looks of many people who now look over at us and don't even try to be discreet only confirm my suspicion. Why didn't I think of this much earlier?

"They're staring at us," I then remark, and I can hear the dissatisfaction in my voice as I meet the eyes of some of the observers. Only this direct gesture makes them look away and it gives me a strange kind of satisfaction.

Haymitch's face tells me he can feel the eyes on his back. "Do you want to go?" he asks and starts to eat. He tries to appear as casual as possible. As if our meeting is nothing unusual. My direct return of their eye contact doesn't really help, but I can't help it. Their rude behavior bothers me so much that I really want to let them know. I shake my head in response, pressing my lips together but not stopping.

"You remind me more of the old Effie every day," Haymitch suddenly says and I quickly turn in his direction. His usual smile plays on his lips and he must have been watching me for a while.

"Why?" I reply, almost challenging. I'm not quite ready to raise my eyebrows yet, but basically Haymitch is right and I can feel it myself. I'm not necessarily feeling better, but the more time passes, the more ... control I have. It doesn't change the nightmares or the panic in my chest, but fear is no longer the only emotion I feel. The ice inside me is melting, albeit slowly.

Haymitch shrugs, leans back, and his grin widens. Something flashes in his silver eyes as he looks at me and not for the first time I feel a warmth rise in my body. This warmth is what really reminds me of my old self. Maybe because I once connected to much with it. Maybe because I'm finally able to cling to the spark of hope that this warmth represents. Maybe because it once meant so much to me.

"You hate people who have no decency," is all Haymitch says, and I understand him without him having to elaborate on his explanation.

Since our conversation outside my hospital room, we have been speaking more openly to each other. I answer the questions he asks and he does the same to mine. We both know the invisible barrier that prevents us from asking questions that exceed each other's capacities. As I discovered, Haymitch isn't able to answer everything for me either. Just like me, he has topics that are still digging in the wrong places. Even though it's selfish, I'm happy about it because it means we're not so far apart and he can understand me better too.

A general murmur goes through the room. You can literally feel how an excited unrest is running through the rows of people. The eyes that were on me seconds before turn away and find the source of the excitement. And yet it only takes a moment for the almost greedy looks to find their way back to us, even if the expression in them has changed. Haymitch, ever the victor, feels the change in the atmosphere without seeing it and turns around. Suddenly it becomes dead quiet. Only then do I see the slim person walking between the neighboring tables and heading straight towards us. Long brown hair, rhythmically precise gait, brown lost eyes. I have to look twice before I recognize her.

If I wanted to say something, the words stick in my throat as Katniss comes to a stop in front of our lonely table. She looks between Haymitch and me with an uncertain expression. Then her wide, thoughtful eyes turn to me. "Hello Effie," she says in a rough but firm voice.

"Katniss, love," I whisper, jumping up as quickly as my poor reflexes allow. The girl must know what's coming because her arms are already halfway open when I wrap her in a hug. She doesn't seem averse and I'm glad about that. "You don't know how happy I am that you're safe. I was so worried."

Katniss nods and you can tell she's trying to keep control of her emotions. She forces a small smile onto her lips. "I'm fine." She's definitely not fine, but maybe considering the circumstances. Her eyes dart around the room, over the residents of District 13, studying our every move and slowly trying to make sense of who I am. "I'm sorry for what they did to you, Effie," Katniss says after clearing her throat and playing with the hem of her leather jacket. In terms of looks, she fits here even less than I do. She's wearing her hunting clothes and I wonder how she got them.

"Not worth mentioning, love," I say quickly so that she doesn't get the idea that she has to worry about me too. "I'm here and that's all that counts. Would you like to sit with us?" I point to the empty bench next to me and start to move to the side when Katniss shakes her head.

"No thanks. Gale and I are going hunting. Haymitch told me that you would be here today, and I wanted to come over here to tell you something." Haymitch told me about the privileges that Katniss bargained for with Coin in exchange for playing the Mockingjay. He didn't tell me how bad she actually is.

Her face is chalky white with deep circles under her eyes. The empty, dead expression in her gaze seems to be of a permanent nature, because even as she speaks to us it doesn't completely disappear from her pupils. It reminds me a little of the haze that alcohol causes in Haymitch. Katniss's whole demeanor seems rather fragile and broken and doesn't have much in common with the pictures Peeta and I saw of her in the Capitol. It makes perfect sense. What seventeen-year-old child wouldn't look like this if the conflict of an entire nation was being carried out on their shoulders?

"What do you want to tell me, darling?" I ask as gently as possible and give her a slight smile. None of the forced, over-the-top smiles from before. I wonder what she thinks of this Effie, sitting in front of her so bare and different. Does she understand at least part of my own conflict? She doesn't look like she's capable of empathizing with anyone else in her condition. I don't want her to think that I enjoyed playing that role of escort or that I enjoyed watching her and Peeta survive in the arena. I don't want her to think of me as one of the Capitol monsters that I have been for far too long.

"Well, I actually wanted to apologize to you," Katniss explains and lowers her gaze to her leather boots, as if gravity were suddenly much heavier on her shoulders. "After the escape to Thirteen, we didn't know what happened to you for a long time until Haymitch and I saw you on TV with Peeta." The mention of Peeta's name only seems to throw her off even more. The poor girl.

"Shortly after I arrived, I made a list of names. Everyone on the list should be granted impunity for their actions if–"

"I don't think this is the right time for this conversation, Katniss," Haymitch suddenly interrupts and Katniss recoils from his harsh tone. Their gray eyes meet in a silent exchange. I don't know what it is, but it's clear that Haymitch is trying to withhold information from me.

"If Katniss has something to say, then she can say it," I remark sharply, glaring at Haymitch across the table. Then I turn my head back to Katniss and add in a friendlier tone, "There's nothing to apologize for, Katniss."

"Yes," contradicts Katniss, but then continues without giving her mentor another look. "You're not on this list, Effie. We only found out about your capture long after I had made the deal with Coin. I tried to add you later, but she wouldn't let me talk. I'm really sorry."

Multiple emotions rush through my body at once. Astonishment. Affection. Panic. Fear. Only with a lot of effort can I put on a smile that looks half as mild as the one before. Haymitch sees right through it and Katniss, even in her state of mind, doesn't take long to figure it out. The guilt in her eyes only grows. "Like I said, there's no reason to apologize. I survived the Capitol, it can't get any worse. So don't worry about me."

Katniss just nods, takes two steps backwards, and then seems to remember something else. "And thank you," she says, her voice taking on an honest, almost relieving tone. "Thank you for being there for Peeta. I won't forget that." With these words, the young girl turns on her heels and flees the canteen with quick steps. Her dangling braid is the last thing you see of her before she disappears around the corner.

"So you didn't want to tell me about that?"

Haymitch sighs and shrugs as he leans across the table towards me. "I didn't think the time was ripe for it. Besides, Katniss wanted to tell you in person. I don't understand why, but she feels obligated because it's her list."

"It's not her fault at all," I reply like a shot. "I'm touched enough that she even thought of me, even if it was too late by then."

"I would have put you on the list if I hadn't been in rehab."

"It's not your fault either."

"I'm not saying that." Haymitch shakes his head and pushes some strands of blonde hair out of his face. His watch beeps at the same moment. He closes his eyelids tiredly.

"It doesn't change anything," I try to tell myself. And yet it would be an enormous relief to know that in a new Panem I don't have to fear death or anything like that. "This list doesn't change anything. I never expected to go unpunished, so my expectations are the same."

"Don't worry," Haymitch says and takes my hand across the table, despite the numerous looks that are on us. "You will never go near a prison again. My promise still stands."

Despite the recurring chill in my stomach, I return his squeeze. It's a new habit to hold his hand. He does it sometimes. Most of the time I let him. It gives me security. It gives me strength to keep going. It reminds me that someone cares about my fate.

-

Hi guys and welcome to another chapter! :)

Katniss has her first appearance since shit went down in the arena! What do you think about her encounter with Effie? I'd be happy to read your thoughts. Please leave a like and comment to support my work. :)

See you next week,

Skyllen