I Want You Next to Me

I can't tell when I start dreaming. I have no sense of time. It feels like my body is falling without ever reaching the bottom. I float between space and time, between reality and fantasy, but all I see in my mind's eye is this woman. She is always alone, always surrounded by an endless darkness. And yet she sees me standing in front of her. Sometimes she talks about what she had to go through out there, in her District, and why it was necessary to make an example of me. Sometimes she screams words at me that don't reach my ears, even though I'm standing right in front of her. Her voice turns into a hysterical, distorted screech. Sometimes she just beats me with her brass knuckles. Then my wet blood glows in the darkness and runs down her knuckles.

But when I come to, her raven black eyes are all I can remember. I squint against a familiar brightness again and it's almost paradoxical how often I've woken up in exactly this position in the past few months: in an uncomfortable hospital bed under bright fluorescent lights with a tube in the crook of my arm.

As the sterile smell of the room hits my nose, I hear the accelerating beep of the heart-lung machine to my right. Even though the sound is familiar, it takes my foggy mind a full second to realize that the device is imitating my heart. My body reacts to all of these red flags with fear. A familiar cold spreads through my chest. Sudden panic clutches my limbs in a tight grip. My body feels the IV in my left arm without having to open my eyelids. A dark memory brews in my mind's eye. The heart in my chest skips a beat, as if it's trying to fight the instinct in my head that warns of the danger I'm in. But I still fall into the gaping hole that opens in my middle.

For an eternally long moment I allow the fear to press me into the pillow with all its strength. Like a weight on my chest that prevents me from reaching the surface of the water. Could it be that the Capitol actually put me in a simulation? Did I wake up from this dream only to see the face of a Peacekeeper again?

I try to recall the last events. There was this woman, she was accompanied by two strong men who pushed me against a wall. I remember the dull pain that shot through my body like lightning bolts but didn't really hurt. When I lie still and pay attention, I can still sense the weakening throbbing on my skin. Whatever painkiller they gave me, they didn't give me much of it if the effect is already wearing off. Not a good sign.

My eyelids flutter as my pupils adjust to the bright light. The first thing I see when they regain focus is the tube in my arm. Dizziness hits me and my throat tightens. My hand shoots forward reflexively and part of me is glad because it means I'm still willing to fight back rather than let them have their way. After a few attempts, my fingers manage to get a secure grip on the infusion tube and pull it out of the crook of my arm, without being careful not to hurt myself.

Then suddenly footsteps sound across the tiled floor. Rough fingers close around my wrist and the scream catches in my throat. I snap my head up to meet a pair of gray eyes, dark blonde hair, and a scruffy stubble. My heartbeat returns to normal immediately.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Haymitch says, and I can feel the fear in my limbs ebbing like a sinking tide. "You're safe." He doesn't say I'm fine. He knows I don't care. He knows the only thought that matters to me right now. You're not in the Capitol.

I sigh and lean back into the pillows, which suddenly no longer seem hard and uncomfortable to me. How ridiculous my emotions are. One look at my surroundings would have been enough to save me from this roller coaster ride. It's not my old hospital room, but it looks almost identical. Except for the glass front, which is now on my left side, everything is identical. Haymitch stands to the left of my bed and his eyes scan my face searchingly, as if he's looking for signs of a panic attack. He doesn't know that he just turned it away. I wish I had the strength to tell him about it. I wish I could tell him what a positive effect his mere presence has on me. But I can't. Every time I try, this huge, insurmountable lump forms in my throat that stops me. Maybe one day I'll be able to do it.

Katniss stands at the foot of the bed, leaning against the metal frame. Her long, brown hair falls in loose strands over her shoulders. The fog that was over her every feature the last time we met has disappeared, replaced by an astonishing clarity with which she now studies me. A clarity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up because it exudes an experience and certainty that no seventeen-year-old girl should have. I see the vision that many others have seen in her before me. Concern speaks in her posture and yet at second glance you can see the helplessness with which she stands here in the room. As if she was trying to hide her powerlessness to change the situation behind this wall of strength.

"We could have been bedmates if they had tried a little harder," Johanna says at that moment in a cheerful voice and my attention moves from Katniss to the young victor who is sitting on my bed and leaning back a little to consider me with a grin. I know her well enough to be able to see behind her facade and notice the sparkle in her hazel eyes. Anger and fear.

"What a shame, I specifically told them to hit me harder," I murmur back, my voice thinner than expected. I clear my throat before I continue. "Did they lift your bedrest or how did you get here?"

Johanna smiles a sinister smile. "Do you think I'm gonna sit still after being told you got yourself into trouble again?"

"You didn't have to do that," I say, putting on a smile that obviously doesn't reach my eyes. "You have to take care of yourself."

Johanna snorts and rolls her eyes. Haymitch cuts in before she can reply. He takes a step towards me and is now standing right next to me. "What's the last thing you remember?"

So back to business. I sigh to myself and give him a look that tells him how little interest I have in answering that. But the expression in his own eyes is pleading and he seems more worried than I have ever seen him. It reminds me too much of his time as a mentor, when he was mentally present enough to actually register the deaths of our tributes. So I briefly tell them how the attack happened. But I can't say how I ended up here.

Katniss speaks up for the first time. Her voice is quiet and strained, but a confusion bubbles beneath it. As if she can't believe she is actually seeing me lying here. As if it borders on sheer impossibility. I wonder how she got this misconception that I can't bleed the same way she does. Maybe she still sees the Capitol in me and can't understand that we too can experience suffering. "A patrol found you at the place of the ambush. You were unconscious when the soldiers brought you here."

The room seems to heat up noticeably due to Katniss's short words. Haymitch tenses up almost imperceptibly and even Johanna grits her teeth but turns her back to me while doing so. I just shrug. My past is far from a clean slate and somehow, I can't blame them for trying to right this injustice in their own way. Even though there was a lot of anger associated with the attack, it was ultimately an act of desperation. In many ways, District 13 is nothing more than a large prison. My prison also forced me to commit an act of desperation.

"What do you want to do now?" Katniss asks, surprised by my disinterested reaction.

I just shake my head vaguely and fall into a distant, indifferent attitude. Haymitch sits back from the conversation, a strange look in his eyes. It's the first time he's seeing this vulnerable side of me – because until now it's been hidden from everyone except the Capitol prison. I close myself off from the outside world for a moment and listen to my inner self. It's not the fear that I would have speculated on, but a resignation that is foreign to me. An indifference to what has happened and Haymitch and Katniss must see it too, because they try to keep their faces neutral.

"Aren't you angry? Look what they did to you," Katniss then adds with some distance. She still can't be able to make use of me. She doesn't hate me, but in her head the division between Capitol and Districts is black and white. She knows that I'm not on her enemy's side and yet she doesn't count me as an ally. She looks at Haymitch and suddenly has to hold on to the bed frame in order to stand upright. Emotions flicker across her features. Whatever she recognized on her mentor's face must remind her of some pain of her own, because suddenly she looks away, unable to meet my gaze. As if I reminded her of someone.

The further I slip into my trance, the stronger the invisible wall around Haymitch becomes. As if he wants to protect himself from my callousness. Only Johanna doesn't even bat an eyelash at all of this. Her fierce smile frames her edged face as she leans toward me. "Angry at some strangers for doing what exactly?" She grabs my arm, and her nimble fingers pull the morphine tube out of the crook of my arm in a precise reaction. Both Haymitch and Katniss twitch as if they would lunge forward if I showed any sign of dissent. But I let her have it. No painkiller has passed through the canal anyway, so my body isn't on one of those trips that Johanna enjoys.

Almost absentmindedly, I press the button on the bar behind the bed, only to wince at her following words. "This is nothing compared to what she went through in the Capitol," Johanna continues, her almost hostile eyes resting on Katniss. Her dry lips twist into the ghost of a smile that reminds me more of then than now, and she turns back to me. "I bet you took the punches without really feeling them. I could probably break your hand and it still wouldn't be anything compared to what–"

"That's enough," Haymitch growls with such sharpness that the young victor suddenly turns her head in his direction. Haymitch's hands are clenched into fists and yet I can see the trembling of his fingertips. He struggles to keep his emotions in check. The atmosphere in the small room is on the brink as he builds up in front of Johanna. As a lion does to its prey before tearing it to pieces. Haymitch shows Johanna his teeth. "Not another word."

"You can't tell me what to do," Johanna hisses back, furrowing her eyebrows angrily. If she were in full health, she would surely have taken up the challenge of imitating his aggressive stance. Three victors in one room can spell trouble, but when it's Haymitch, Johanna and Katniss, it's inevitable.

"It's alright," I interrupt the two of them, before Johanna might change her mind and go for Haymitch's throat. The severity in my voice is enough to at least give her pause. I look back and forth between the two and take a deep breath. "I ... Johanna's statement doesn't bother me."

Johanna is vulgar and open and our coping strategies for dealing with our time in prison couldn't be more different: She distracts herself by inflicting pain on others, and I throw myself into new tasks in order to forget. But we never talk about what actually happened. With no one. It's a surprising attempt on her part to distract me from my current suffering, and although it hits me right where it hurts, it does wonders. The reason for my visit to the hospital fades into the background as memories of the Capitol now creep from the farthest corners of my mind. I tell myself it's better this way than dealing with what's being planned against me here and now in District 13.

A mirthless laugh escapes my lips and the three of them stare at me as if I've lost my mind. "I could use a drink now." Maybe Dr. Jennings was right in her prophecy that all it takes is one wrong thing to happen to reopen the hole in my chest. If I don't learn to come to terms with my past. But how am I supposed to process it if I'm not even able to speak with others about it? And now people here are also trying to take my life, even if Johanna is right. Compared to the Capitol, this attack was nothing.

"Me too," Haymitch murmurs tonelessly, his face lacking any humanity. He looks like he's dead. His eyes meet mine and suddenly I feel it again, that warmth in my chest that found its way into my heart a few weeks ago. The sight of him gives me more grief than what happened to me.

My lips curl up of their own accord and my expression softens as I reach out a hand to him. Haymitch doesn't hesitate as he takes a step closer and his fingers close around mine.

"That's my signal then," murmurs Johanna, staring at our intertwined fingers in disgust. She unplugs herself from the IV, jumps off the bed and slips out the door. Katniss follows her without another word.

"Do you want it?" Haymitch asks, pointing to the tube that is now lying useless on my bed, where Johanna left it. I shake my head and put it on the nightstand so it's out of my way. Haymitch sits down next to me in a careful movement. His thumb draws invisible circles on the back of my hand and for a while we listen to the silence around us.

"Your hair has grown," he remarks at one point, unsure of what else to say.

With my other hand I touch my head and run my fingers through the blonde strands that now reach my shoulders. I had it cut to a uniform length shortly after I arrived in 13 and now, it continues to grow at the same rate, which is a relief. I give Haymitch a smile and at the same time wonder how I manage to do it. He liked my hair from the moment he first saw it. I've always hated it. Now even more than then. Will I go back to my wigs when the war ends? There was a time when it seemed impossible for me to show myself to others without them. But since the months in prison, since this right was taken away from me, things have changed.

"How are you?" I then ask and he lets out a harsh snort.

"I should be the one asking that question, sweetheart."

I shake my head again and look him straight in the eyes. Liquid silver in the center of a dark ring. "It seems to affect you more than it affects me." My words are honest and straight to the point and I see him freeze for several seconds.

"It shouldn't be like that," he says through gritted teeth. An unpleasant coldness has crept into his tone, reminding me of the way he sometimes talks to Katniss when she's done something stupid.

I raise an eyebrow, not interested in being lectured by him, and wait. My face hardens as I study him.

"I shouldn't be the only one fighting for you, Effie. You should do it too." The finality in his voice bothers me. My fingers itch with the urge to clench them angrily and I snatch my hand from his grasp.

"If you had started earlier, maybe I would be able to do so now," I reply pointedly, pressing my lips together. I don't like the direction this conversation has suddenly taken. I lower my head so he can no longer look at my face.

"You know that's unfair," Haymitch growls.

I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe, but the world is unfair, Haymitch. You know that better than I do."

Something in the atmosphere changes, as if the light around us suddenly dims. I know I'm coming across a topic that we've left undiscussed for a long time. "I was wondering whether we had finally put the endless arguments behind us with our new start in Thirteen. But you seem eager to turn back into that annoying version of yourself."

For a split second I wonder whether I should be hurt or startled by Haymitch's words. To my surprise, I am none of those things. This is our well-known game. It's our way of dealing with each other, from our first meeting back in District 12 to our last in the penthouse, it's always been that way. Eleven years of teasing and discord cannot be easily forgotten or put aside. The weeks of weakness and desperation on my part have made this reality a distant memory. But now that I'm slowly feeling better, our interactions are shifting back to old patterns. Not completely, but little by little.

His words anger me, just as he planned, and I feel the blush of anger rise in my cheeks as I throw my retaliation at him without flinching. "New start?" My voice has taken on a coldness that speaks from the depths of my consciousness. A feeling I can't control because it doesn't feel like I'm speaking the words, but a foreign part of myself. "You left me to die in the Capitol, Haymitch. I didn't struggle to survive every day, only to find myself here reviewing another broken part of my past."

Haymitch stares at me as if President Snow himself were standing in front of him. A blazing hatred burns in his gray eyes, he has jumped up from the bed and every muscle in his body is waiting to be set in motion to hurt something or someone. Then he opens his mouth. "Damn it, Effie," he whispers in a trembling voice that catapults me back to the present with such force that I almost flinch. Unforgivable pain, so deep it chokes my breath, flashes across his face. I regret every sentence I've uttered as he looks away in an almost confused gesture, clenching his hands into fists. Tears are in his eyes, and he has trouble blinking them away. I know they won't fall. I've never seen him cry in eleven years. He composes himself not a second later. It's one of those moments when even I can't see through his walls. "If you find my presence so repulsive, you should have said something."

"I am sorry," I say so quickly that he can barely put one foot in front of the other on his way out of my room. "I shouldn't have said that. I know what it cost you. Stay here, please don't leave."

"Bossy as ever," Haymitch murmurs, but does as I say. He twists his face into a grimace. "What's up with you? You're usually not behaving like that."

I shake my head cluelessly and close my eyes tiredly. "Why can't this just be a dream where I wake up in my bed in the Capitol and everything is as usual?"

"Yeah, sure, everything is shit as usual," Haymitch remarks darkly as he sits down next to me on the bed. "Children die, people starve, opinions are suppressed. How wonderful." I hear the unspoken words. The unspoken names of those he feels responsible for. Chaff. Mags. The eighteen children who died under our care. His family. His girl.

"My goodness, you know I didn't mean it like that," I hiss, now a little closer to my old voice. "I just want the normality back that I've been missing since the Games. Waking up in the morning and knowing where I belong. I want a task, a meaning of life. I want a life. This isn't life, Haymitch."

"It won't always be like this," he says thoughtfully. "The war will be over soon."

"Naturally. And once the war is over, everything will turn so much better at a moment's notice. I'm so excited."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, sweetheart," is all he replies.

"But isn't it true? You hope so much for the end of the war without knowing what will happen afterwards. Not everyone has that luxury," I say in the politely distant voice that Haymitch hates so much because it reminds him of the Capitol.

I turn my head and look at the barren wall. Bare and gray, like everything at the moment. When will I bring color back into my life? My sister's face appears in my mind's eye. The perfect daughter, the perfect wife, who always bowed to other people's words and lived such an exemplary life. Deep in my heart I still hope that this marriage was able to save her. I can't bear the thought that even Aurelia is dead because of me, and I don't want to accept it. With so many lives weighing on my conscience, will it ever be possible for me to return the colors? How will I cope when I'm alone in the Capitol again? Without Johanna, without Haymitch and without my family.

Haymitch grabs my hand again and pulls once, signaling me to look at him again. When our eyes meet, he strokes my cheek with his other hand. His skin is warm and so familiar that I curl against it without thinking. I close my eyes for a moment and try to swallow the lump in my throat.

"I know the situation is difficult for you. I should have been there." I know he's not talking about the time in the Capitol. I also know how difficult it is for him to say the words out loud. Revealing his feelings is something Haymitch has been avoiding for far too long. He has lived a life of emotional isolation for too long to open up straight away, as one would expect in a book.

I shake my head but keep my eyes closed as I squeeze his hand. "They would have overpowered you, Haymitch. There were three of them."

"They should have tried," he growls, and I almost curl my lips, knowing he probably would have killed them all if he had been there.

"What's done, is done. I just hope I can avoid this in the future."

"You will. I won't let you out of my sight again," Haymitch promises and then corrects himself. "None of us will. You know Katniss and Finnick. They protect their people."

"But they have others to look after. I've been a burden for far too long," I explain and now open my eyes to make him understand with a look how much this situation bothers me.

"You're overdramatic as usual," Haymitch remarks, sighing while rolling his eyes as if I'd said something extremely stupid.

"Are you sure you're not being overdramatic here?" A small smile plays on my lips and for a moment it feels like it used to between us. I raise my eyebrows in silent challenge, waiting for the smirking comment that never comes.

Haymitch doesn't grin back. His serious gray eyes linger on his hand, which hovers in the air between us and which I still lean my head against. I know that dissatisfied look. My stomach twists uncomfortably as I put my thoughts into words. "Just say it."

Haymitch squeezes my hand a little tighter and starts drawing circles on my skin again. As I watch his thumb, I wonder how it happened that this touch doesn't feel strange to me. I enjoy the feeling of his warm skin on mine. I enjoy being close to him. I enjoy not having to pretend because he would see right through me anyway. During the Quarter Quell, I dropped my mask, just like he did. We have slowly come closer again and allowed the frost of the past eleven years to melt. And although for a long time I thought that everything, every friendship, every emotion, would be lost with my captivity in the Capitol, things have turned out differently.

My eyes search his and for a moment we are caught in each other's gaze. Unable to tear ourselves away. Then Haymitch sighs and lowers his head in exhaustion. "Peeta is feeling a little better," he begins, and all I feel is a strange relief. "They now let him roam freely in his room and his behavior towards the doctors has improved because he finally realizes that they mean him no harm. It took him a long time to understand that he was no longer in the Capitol. Much longer than any of you."

I am pleased. How could I not? I often think about Peeta, about our interviews in the Capitol and what they must have done to him during that time. It's hard to push those images out of my head and think back to the old Peeta. Maybe because all my memories of the time before prison have faded into a faint darkness. Maybe because it's been so long since my last encounter with the real Peeta. Our farewell in the penthouse? The interviews? I hardly remember it anymore ...

"That's great news," I say, smiling slightly. "What about his behavior towards Katniss?"

Haymitch's face gives nothing away. "The doctors are still in the phase of figuring it out. You know they sent Prim to him, and he freaked out. They think that maybe it would be better to let someone to him who he shares a common past ..." He clears his throat and doesn't manage to meet my gaze. "A shared past in the Capitol."

It takes a full minute for the words to make sense in my mind. My eyes widen in surprise. "They want me to try to talk to Peeta?"

Haymitch groans quietly to himself. "They're hoping he trusts you because you've been through something similar, and it might make him see you in a different light because of it. If he understands that you are free and doing well, he may be more open to other things. Plutarch asks you personally."

I snort in annoyance. "Plutarch could have come here in person." I'm silent for a moment and then look at Haymitch. "You don't want me to go," I state.

Haymitch avoids my searching eyes. "He's dangerous, Effie, I'm not kidding myself. Look what he did to Katniss."

"Our relationship is different," I whisper, peering past him to the windows hidden behind gray curtains. "I'm sure he'll listen to me."

"Nothing I say will stop you, right?"

I shake my head and manage a smile. "I would do anything to help Peeta."

"I know." Haymitch sighs. "I feared that answer."

"You would do the same if you were me." He can't answer that because it's the truth. He left me behind to save Katniss. He would do anything for the children. "Help me up," I then demand. "I don't want to waste time."

-

New chapter!My test was horrible by the way. I'm pretty sure I won't get the percentage I aimed for. So I'm not that good atm. Still, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Skyllen