Confessions and Plans

Neither of us get much sleep and it's mostly my fault. These are the same
dreams that previously kept Dasha and Betha awake. However, I doubt that Haymitch's sleep cycles were actually longer before I moved in. He doesn't seem to mind waking up every night because of me. I can't sleep without a light on, so he leaves the bathroom lamp on. The light keeps the demons away.

Every time I try to apologize or explain, he waves me off and reassures me that he doesn't have a problem with my sleep problems. Haymitch does everything to make me as comfortable as possible. It doesn't change the fact that I feel guilty.

The scream goes through my bones, and I realize a second too late that it's my own voice that is tearing me from the clutches of the dream. A gasp escapes my lips and I gasp for air, but my body is too overwhelmed by the terror of my own imaginings to be able to move or even function properly. I force my eyes open and try to push away my mother's panicked face burned onto the inside of my retinas.

Haymitch is at my side before I can even realize I'm in bed. You are in District 13. You are safe. Far from the Capitol. Now, this thought no longer allows me to breathe a sigh of relief. I feel Haymitch's hand on my shoulder and try to hold back tears. An almost impossible task. You let your family down. They're all dead because of you.

The longer the war lasts, the longer my stay in 13 drags on, the more nervous I become. I have no idea if Aurelia is still alive, if she will forgive me for the death of our parents, if she actually managed to avoid the same fate. I'm still trying to convince myself that her marriage to Caius might have saved her. His position within the government is good enough. At least that was the case months ago, before the rebels declared war on the Capitol.

Haymitch mumbles something and from the tone of his voice he wants to reassure me. I'm calm. So calm that no distraction can do anything to stop the fear in my chest that is eating me from the inside out. Since my conversation with Haymitch, I have made every effort to open up to my emotions, to allow the pain and fear. I miss the emptiness I felt before. The dreams have gotten worse and the images from my time in the Capitol are now clearer. The worst part is that after all these months, my mind still hasn't grasped the fact that my parents are dead. It refuses to accept it as the truth.

I stare into Haymitch's gray eyes, inches away from my own. He must have already been lying awake because I see no signs of tiredness on his face. "Will it stop at some point?" I hear myself ask in a wavering voice and the worried expression on his face softens.

"At some point." I don't ask. It's been twenty-five years since his Games, and he still hasn't fully come to terms with the trauma. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head and push myself up into a sitting position. Haymitch lowers the hand with which he was gently stroking my cheek. He seems a bit awkward, sitting there on the edge of the bed and not really knowing how to help me. His blond hair is disheveled and the gray shirt he wears to sleep is so wrinkled that I automatically wonder if he still hasn't learned to fold his clothes like a normal person. The thought distracts me for a moment and I glance at the clock.

"You should go back to sleep," I whisper between two warm breaths and keep my eyes down. "I just need a moment."

Haymitch snorts and shakes his head as if I made a bad joke. His hand continues to run through my hair and he sits closer to me. "I won't do shit. I'm here and that won't change."

My eyes almost automatically snap up to him and our gazes meet. It's too dark for me to see much, and yet I can't deny this expression of devotion. It's not the first time I've noticed it, but it's a topic I've been avoiding for far too long.

"Why are you doing this?" I force the words out before I can change my mind. Before the rush of my dream and the strange feeling you can only have in the middle of the night vanish into thin air.

"Why am I doing what?" Haymitch raises his eyebrows in confusion. I must have thrown him off track. Even though I've known him for so many years, it's still strange to see him so helpless, so vulnerable. Before, these kinds of feelings didn't matter. Back then it was just us, the crackling atmosphere of uncertain adventure and the highs and lows of the Hunger Games. Now, eleven years later, we are more serious, more mature, more experienced. But still clueless, it seems.

"All of that," I answer like a shot, struggling to find the right words. My tone slides up. "You visit me in the hospital, you stand by my side as I try to heal. You give me the last bit of your time, even though you look like you're about to collapse every day because this rebellion is costing you every nerve. You grant me refuge in your quarters and accept that you forego the final rest you can get in this war. Why? I don't understand, Haymitch, because if you still feel guilty, then now is the time to stop."

"Are you serious?" is all Haymitch can say. His voice sounds reserved and he tries hard not to let me see behind his wall. I feel the lump in my throat that suddenly forms. Nonetheless, I manage a nod.

"I forgive you, Haymitch," I say, trying hard to hold back tears. "The years of your miserable behavior towards me and also your escape from the Capitol. I forgive you for all of it."

"You forgive me?" His answer sounds almost mechanical and his hand in my hair doesn't move an inch.

"So you can stop this fuss now, alright? I'm grateful, I really am, but I don't think it would be a good idea to continue as right now." In a gentle movement, I reach for his hand, remove it from my hair and place it in his lap. The smile on my face is an effort, but I've worn it for years.

Haymitch makes a sound that makes me jump. It takes me a second to realize it's a laugh. It sounds bitter, dissatisfied and not the least bit amused. He twists his face into a distorted mask and looks almost desperate as he stares down at his hand. "You think I did all of this out of guilt?" My head manages another slow nod. "What's wrong with you, sweetheart? Do you really think that I sacrificed so much time for you just because I feel guilty?"

"So you don't feel guilty?"

"Yes, of course I feel guilty, damn it, it is my fault," Haymitch growls, raising his hands and clenching them into fists between us. His dark eyes shimmer in the dim light and I see the sudden irritation reflected in them. "But that doesn't justify my behavior. I lied to Katniss just as much as I lied to you, Peeta too. And do you see me running around trying to please them?"

"Then why are you doing it with me?" I ask again and again my voice is nothing but a barren whisper. I feel fear eating through my veins. This time a different form of fear.

Haymitch shrugs and bows his head. His blond hair falls over his forehead, blocking my view of his eyes. I resist the urge to reach out and brush it away from his face. It seems inappropriate and yet I feel the need for it in my fingertips.

"Why did you kiss me in the Training Center? You could have just left, and it wouldn't have been as bad for me." How many dark, cold nights has this one question been running through my head in the Capitol? How many times have I seen his face and wondered if it wasn't all just a big game for him?

"I was afraid it might be the last time," Haymitch murmurs, but he doesn't look up as he speaks. "After everything we've been through, no matter how long ago, I couldn't leave without you knowing the truth."

His words send shivers down my skin, but I can't even say why. Haymitch has never been good with words, never been able to communicate his feelings. But I can't move on without some form of validation. I've had this for far too long. "The truth?"

"Seriously, Effie, what's wrong with your instincts? You used to be so good at reading people." Haymitch sighs in annoyance, as if this conversation were an irritating but unavoidable matter that he had to get over with.

I raise my eyebrows in confusion at his comment, not sure how to interpret his last sentence, when Haymitch suddenly raises his head and our eyes meet. There is no conflict in his gaze, as I would have expected, but a clarity that surprises me. He rolls his eyes and a half amused, half irritated grin crosses his face, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. A second later his hands touch my cheeks and he leans forward.

I can't say what I expected. Somehow, part of me was hoping things would turn out this way. But after everything that had happened in our first year together, there was no place in my heart for such hope, even though I now know that most of it was an act to protect my life on Haymitch's part.

Haymitch's lips touch mine and it feels a little like our first kiss all those years ago. Stormy and without caution. His fingers dig into my skin and he pulls me toward him with such force that I gasp in surprise. This has nothing in common with the kiss in the penthouse. Because even though we are in the middle of a war and our souls are still broken in the same way they were then, if not worse, there is no room for sadness here.

Several emotions run through my body, each of them like a thunderous wave against my insides that I can barely control. At first there is a deep, paralyzing panic because this kiss overcomes all barriers. Now there is no turning back, no way to escape. Another crack in my mind is the only option if this goes wrong. But that feeling disappears quickly as if my body is no longer attached to a human being and able to change them with just the snap of a finger.

A long-forgotten feeling of happiness sets in. It's not strange to me and yet it feels like you're bumping into an old acquaintance on the street after years of radio silence. When I close my eyes and breathe in Haymitch's scent, feel his lips on mine, the warmth of his fingers on my skin, I travel back in time. A time when the world was at my feet and I wanted to make my dreams come true. The ghost of my memories imagines the taste of liquor on his tongue, even though I know it doesn't really exist. It's a strange longing that wants to swallow me up. Happy, carefree days compared to now, which still felt like icy knife stabs on so many levels. All of a sudden I have to open my eyes to stop the faces of long-dead children pushing their way into my consciousness.

It's like someone is reaching into my heart and pulling the emotions out of me in one gentle touch, replacing them with another. A hope arises in my chest that is new to me. Relief that I surrender to without hesitation.

I hardly notice how I gain the upper hand in the kiss. Suddenly my arms are wrapped around the crook of his neck and I tilt my head to the side, leaning into Haymitch. He gasps as I press my nails into his skin and I smile to myself. It's only when my lungs burn that I pull away from him and have to hold on to his shoulder because my head is too foggy to care about my sense of balance. Our faces are so close that I could go for the next kiss. Instead, I look into Haymitch's light gray eyes and wonder what he's feeling right now.

"Wasn't so bad, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice sounding rough and deeper than usual. His mouth twists into a grin and the grip on my cheeks weakens as he strokes my skin with his thumb in his peculiar way.

"Why did you wait so long?" I ask, almost angry that we could have ended this knife-edge dance so long ago.

"Because of you," Haymitch replies, taken aback, as if my mind was working too slowly to keep up with his. "You said you needed time. In the end you would have set Johanna on me because I took advantage of your situation."

Something is on the tip of my tongue, but I hold back the words. Haymitch is right. It took me a long time to get back in tune with myself and to somewhat overcome the past few months. "We would–"

The shrill sound of Haymitch's watch interrupts me and we both jump. A dissatisfied buzz leaves his throat, and he lets go of me to walk over to his bed and turn off the device. It's later than expected, already morning. Now that Haymitch is out of reach and I'm staring at him while his back is turned, I feel uneasy. Exhaustion overcomes me.

"We would what?" Haymitch's half sarcastic, half amused voice catches my attention. He turns back to me, his eyebrows raised in invitation as he holds his arm into the scanner next to his bed. "Don't imagine things, Princess."

"Imagining things?" I laugh, trying hard to make it sound arrogant and conceited. The smile that plays on my lips is all the more real. "I'm Effie Trinket. I take what I want, as long as I want it."

For a moment, Haymitch returns my smile with a satisfied glint in his eyes. I know he heard the hint of the old Effie in my tone, and it relieves him. Then he snorts and disappears into the bathroom, shaking his head. I sink back into the pillows for another moment, surrendering to the warmth coursing through my veins. It feels like my body is waking up from a deep sleep, as if I have finally unlocked the last, encrypted functions of my self.

Just make sure you don't fall flat on your face again, a warning voice whispers in my head, but I push it away for now. I'll have plenty of time to think about the actual meaning of the kiss. Just not now.

I listen to the distant running of the tap and try to shake off the tiredness. Unlike Haymitch, who is about to make his way to Command to join Coin and the other rebel leaders, today I have a day off. Each resident of 13 is entitled to two work-free days per week. You can't choose them, they are assigned to you every month. Things are different with Haymitch's position. The war doesn't stop for free days or after regular working hours and so there are times when we don't see each other at all.

It takes a lot of effort to leave the warmth of my bed. I stick my arm into the buzzing device in the wall and stare at the blank spaces on the schedule between breakfast, lunch, and dinner before pushing past Haymitch into the bathroom. Back then I was the early bird, always the first person on their feet, always alert and planning the day ahead down to the smallest detail. It's different nowadays. Because of my nightmares, I'm often so tired in the morning that it's difficult for me to keep my eyes open. In this gray District, I lack the motivation to stand up or do anything at all because I know I don't belong here.

Neither Haymitch nor I visit the canteen in the morning. He because he has no appetite and I because I'm eating at Johanna's. If I manage it before my shift, I usually stop by her and since the nursing staff never stopped providing me with a portion of food, I'm spared the lonely visit to the overcrowded cafeteria.

On days like this I spend more time with Johanna. Sometimes Finnick joins us too, but I doubt I'll see him there today. Lately, he and Annie have been more attached to each other than usual. Finnick doesn't talk much about it, avoids questions, but his mysterious smile alone is an indication that Annie's health problems have nothing to do with it. I'm glad about that.

A look at Haymitch's watch reveals that it's still very early. Earlier than most others in the District get up. But Johanna will already be awake. Like me, she doesn't sleep much. I'm standing in front of the mirror tying my hair up when Haymitch clears his throat behind me. A strange feeling runs through me at the sound of his voice and I have to force myself to keep my features neutral as I half-turn my head in his direction and raise an eyebrow.

"Wanna go eat in the canteen later?" His tone sounds hesitant and strangely hoarse, almost breathless. The kiss seems too long ago for us to be able to talk about it in peace before his leave. It doesn't make the situation any more pleasant. Where there was warmth in my body before, there is an uneasy feeling that makes my stomach tighten now.

"From your mouth, it sounds just as terrible as I imagine eating in the canteen would," I murmur, folding the gray scarf between my fingers. Haymitch knows my dislike of the canteen; he knows it's nothing personal. His question is unnecessary: we eat together most evenings without any prior arrangement being necessary. "Is there a special occasion?"

Haymitch runs his hands through his hair in a nervous gesture, leans into the doorframe of the small bathroom and sighs. Not a good sign. "Not with me alone, but with other people from Twelve. It's a small group and you already know most of them."

My body stiffens subtly, but I'm sure he sees it anyway. I do my best to put my hair scarf on without complications and press my lips together indecisively. "Who?"

"Mainly Katniss and her family," Haymitch explains, then hesitates before continuing. I wonder how he even came up with this idea. I wonder how this comfortable, familiar atmosphere from before could have given rise to this unpleasant, alienating inhibition in such a short space of time. "Then there are the Hawthornes, Gale's family, and a few others whose names wouldn't mean anything to you."

"Don't you think that's a bit risky?" I now know the canteen well enough that it no longer represents an interpersonal obstacle for me. Since I left the infirmary, I have had no other means of getting food, apart from the occasional breakfast at Johanna's. But I find it a bit questionable to be confronted with the residents of District 12, whose children I have sent to their deaths year after year.

Haymitch shrugs. He has his arms crossed over his chest and is trying hard to hide what's going through his mind. "I wouldn't ask you if I was worried about your safety."

"Where did this thought come from?" I ask, now turning completely to face him. Not a meter separates us and the thought that I could just cross it, so quickly, so easily, makes me take a step back. At least until my back hits the sink. "The only reason they accept me is because of their respect for you. That doesn't mean they want to eat their meals at the same table as me."

Haymitch grimaces and then closes the distance between us. He puts his arms on my shoulders, so that our discussion fades into the background for a moment and I wonder whether that counts as a hug or not. This kind of intimacy wouldn't be welcomed in the Capitol. It might not be considered uncivilized, but it wouldn't be particularly polite or socially acceptable. He pulls at the scarf and I suppress the sigh that's on my tongue as he runs his fingers through my hair and it suddenly becomes a little harder for me to breathe. By now, I have given up trying to obscure its presence. With a man like him, who goes out of his way to crack joke after joke and annoy me until I lose my mind, it's almost impossible not to comply with his wishes. Even if it only serves the desire to be left in peace by him. When it comes to the scarf, he has the same opinion as Johanna: he finds it ridiculous.

"They certainly won't welcome you with open arms, sweetheart, but they know what you mean to me, to Katniss." He looks down for a second and I know he's thinking back to our discussion earlier. Do you really think that I sacrificed so much time for you just because I feel guilty? "They know you saved Peeta's life."

"I didn't save Peeta's life," I whisper, because it doesn't take more than a whisper for my words to reach Haymitch's ears. Our bodies are so close that it would be easy to close our eyes and lean forward. Surrender ourselves once again to security, harmony, fulfillment.

"Katniss sees it that way." Haymitch touches my cheek one last time before pulling away from me. A grin has crept onto his face. "Just wait for me at the usual spot and don't worry," he says and then disappears towards Command.

oOo

"I don't know what's come over you, Trinket, but I don't think I like it," Johanna remarks, looking at me over the edge of her plate with narrowed eyes. She devoured the meal the nurse brought us within minutes.

I shrug as casually as possible. "I'm just tired, nothing more," I say, but I can't deny that I'm acting different than usual. I can't stop my thoughts from deviating to Haymitch again and again, to the kiss and to the new questions it left in my head. Or maybe she's just trying to distract from herself.

"Sure," Johanna replies in a snappy tone and shakes her head in an awkward motion, as if she saw something that disgusted her. From the moment I set foot in her room, her own behavior struck me as strange. Her fingers are constantly drumming nervously on the food tray and she shifts around in her bed as if she can't find a comfortable position. "But don't come whining when he messes up."

She was probably able to see it somehow. Am I that easy to read now? Annoyed, I cross my arms over my chest. "And what about you? You can't even sit still."

Johanna moans bitterly and the sound that then leaves her throat sounds like a mixture of desperate wailing and unbridled anger. "Dr. Jennings believes that I am, and I quote, finally ready to face the world. I wanna puke," she hisses through clenched teeth. Her fingers grip the tray and a moment later she hurls it across the room. The plate shatters into a sea of small, white shards and the dishes clatter to the floor with a banging sound. "I want to drive my ax into all of their heads because I don't feel like they understand how pissed I am."

Johanna's brown eyes narrow even more as I start to laugh. "You get released and you're mad about it? You constantly complain about every little thing on the station. Your behavior usually reminds me more of that of a spoiled, ungrateful child than of a grown, mature woman."

"Oh, shut up, Trinket," Johanna growls and throws herself back into her pillows, only to hit her head on the metal railing. A curse leaves her lips and she rubs the back of her head before sighing and closing her eyes for a long moment. "They're discontinuing the morphine. The doses are getting weaker and weaker, and I can no longer order new ones when I want them."

"That's a problem, Johanna," I murmur, placing my own tray on the plastic table next to me. "If they haven't noticed that you're addicted by now, they will soon."

"I'm not an addict," Johanna says, distorting her face in annoyance. "It's just a lot easier to live with all this shit when they give it to me."

"I should talk with Dr. Jennings. I'm surprised she hasn't noticed the whole thing long ago."

"Stay out of this, Trinket. Just say one word to her and your head will be rolling next." My skeptical look is worth a thousand words. I roll my eyes theatrically, but refrain from commenting. Johanna's empty threats no longer scare me. "Besides, she's rarely here, mostly with Peeta because he needs the care more than I do."

These are probably the consequences of the lack of staff. I snort and cross my legs. "I'm certainly not going to watch you become a madwoman just because you're too proud to admit the truth."

"Effie Trinket, always sticking her nose in other people's businesses," Johanna remarks and stares at me disapprovingly. "You know, every day you remind me a little more of that annoying bitch. No wonder I couldn't stand you back then."

"You better be grateful, because it seems like I'm the only one here caring for you," I reply without batting an eyelash and get up from my chair to sit on her bed.

"Enough people come to visit me, don't be imagining things," Johanna replies, her lips twisting into a loveless grin. She shows me her teeth and clasps her hands behind her head. "I wish they wouldn't. Finnick is getting on my nerves by now. Annie this, Annie that ... it sucks."

"He's happy, maybe you should try that too," I say, looking at her with suspiciously narrowed eyes. "When was the last time you were happy? Or at least content?"

Johanna gives a bitter laugh. "You're funny, really funny." Anger mixes with the ironic expression in her brown eyes and she glares at me. "Why don't you ask your Haymitch when was the last time he was happy? It's bad enough to be a normal victor. But being the victor who stepped out of line? This is another level of shit. So to answer your question, I can't remember the last time I was happy because that was a hell of a long time ago."

"Just because your past sucked doesn't mean the rest of your life has to, too," I murmur after a long moment of silence. Johanna has been moping for far too long. I couldn't sit there day after day, bottling up the hate in my heart, waiting for the end of the world, or whatever she is waiting for. Because all she does is wait. Instead of changing, instead of trying to get up and heal, she stays put.

But her trauma runs much deeper than my own. Her nightmare started years ago and has never stopped since. Maybe it's unfair of me to criticize her lack of enthusiasm for life. Effie Trinket has always been a person of drive, zeal and passion, someone who couldn't sit still and wait. I feel this energy slowly but surely taking possession of me again and I'm glad about it, because without a meaning in life I feel lost. I have no idea what kind of person Johanna was before her victory. Aside from what we've been through together, I barely know her. I wonder if she actually knows herself, since she was still a child back then.

"Do you have plans?" she asks suddenly, breaking me out of my thoughts. I raise my head and furrow my eyebrows in question. "If we win the war, I mean."

I shrug and press my chin against my bent knee. "Go back to the Capitol, I think. If they let me."

"I don't think you have to worry about the trial," Johanna points out, closing her eyes exhausted. "Coin would be crazy to mess with all the victors just to get one over on you. You're not that important to her."

"I was part of the Hunger Games. She will have no choice but to take me to court. When the war is over, they will punish everyone who played a role in the Games by choice." The thought of that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"They may officially condemn you, but you're not like the others. Katniss cares about you, you were arrested and imprisoned as a co-conspirator in the rebellion. These are all milder circumstances," explains Johanna. "Let's say you are acquitted, what do you do with your freedom?"

"As I said," I repeat my words from before and suddenly feel a lump in my throat. "Who knows if my apartment even still exists. Then my parents' house ... I have no idea what to do with all their assets. I would have to decide that with Aurelia ..." I trail off.

"Your sister?" Johanna asks in the silence when it becomes clear that I have no intention of continuing to speak.

I manage a nod. "I have no idea if she's even alive," I whisper, staring at my feet.

"As long as they didn't execute her publicly, I wouldn't give up hope," says Johanna, suddenly sounding a little hoarse herself.

"Sometimes I imagine how she would react if we met again," I whisper. "Either she would be relieved to see me, happy that at least I survived ... or she would hate me. For the death of our parents and the chaos my victors brought upon their lives."

"You think she might be angry with you?" Johanna sounds surprised. "Can she even understand your situation?"

"Aurelia and I used to be very close," I say, pressing my eyelids together. "She always knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling. Our personalities were very different and unlike my mother, who couldn't cope with that, she understood my desire for independence. Our relationship changed when she moved out, she was older than me and married quite early. We still got along well after that, but the connection we once had has still cooled down. It became more superficial because we saw each other less often. Her husband had an influence on her political thinking and although she was more liberal by nature, I can't say if that is still the case."

"Of course, your family is all drama." A croaking laugh escapes Johanna and she shakes her head in disbelief. "The statement It runs in the family takes on a completely new meaning."

"What do you want to do when the war is over?" I ask, ignoring her teasing.

"Finnick offered to accompany him and Annie to Four." Johanna shrugs. "I definitely won't go back to Seven. There's nothing left for me there."

"I'm so happy for you!" Johanna rolls her eyes at the excitement in my voice. "Four is supposed to be beautiful. I'll definitely come visit you."

She then nods. "It's almost done," she says, a grin forming on her lips. "How happy I am to finally get out of this shitty District."

-

Hello my friends,

long time no see. I'm really sorry for the long pause but there was so much going on in my life in the past month. University kept me busy and I wasn't feeling too well for some private reasons. A lot is changing atm and I needed some "me-time".

Still, I'm sorry I kept this chapter from you. My guys, Hayffie is officially back! Looking back, they had to go through so much. The chapters back in the Capitol, when the Games were still running, seem sooo long ago. I really hope you like it, please let me know! :)

There won't be an update next week because I'm not at home over New Year's Eve. With the second week of January my uploading-schedule will turn back to normal! :)

Merry Christmas and a happy new year my dear readers!

Skyllen