Song inspiration for this chapter: Way Down We Go – KALEO & Spirits – The Strumbellas

Way Down We Go

I've just reached the pedestrian zone when Haymitch catches up with me. His hand grabs mine and my purse almost falls out of my hands. I just stand there, and he has to turn my shoulders to face him. If only he hadn't come along ...

Haymitch's eyes find mine, but I avoid his gaze. I can't look at him. The fact that my mother said such things in front of him makes me uncomfortable. The fact that she could bring herself to tear my life, everything I've worked so hard to build, to shreds in his presence brings tears to my eyes again. Now that he's standing in front of me, I can't just blink them away. So I just stand there and stare at my shoes waiting for him to say something.

This whole fuss must seem incredibly ridiculous to him. All the unnecessary worries of some spoiled Capitol folk whose whole purpose in life revolves around them. "Your mother ...," Haymitch finally grumbles and sighs to himself. Then he grabs my arm, and we stroll through the pedestrian zone at a leisurely pace. "Seriously, this woman is crazy."

"I'm sorry," I choke out, patting his arm. "She can be extremely difficult, but she doesn't usually say things like that. I must have really upset her." I try to keep my voice neutral, but Haymitch sees through me, nonetheless.

Haymitch lifts his head, and his eyes find mine. There's an expression of wonder in them. As if he were surprised at my words. "What are you apologizing for, Effie?" he asks irritably. "You certainly don't have to justify yourself to me, nor to her."

"It is not proper to present such quarrels in front of third parties, regardless of her dissatisfaction. Of course, I'm not innocent, but she didn't want to let go," I say. The heat has dried my tears, but the sun makes me feel like my makeup is melting away. My hand slips into my purse and I pull out a small mirror.

"You look good," Haymitch sighs, tugging my arm to make me follow. "Really, I don't understand how you can think about your looks now."

I just shrug and look at my face from all sides. My body relaxes a little when I see that the make-up hasn't melted, and my dry tears can't be seen. "Let's go," I then demand, free myself from Haymitch's grip and want to go in the direction of the car.

"But we still have all noon," Haymitch complains, grabbing my arm again.

I turn to him exhausted. "I just want to go back to the penthouse and curl up in my bed until duty calls."

Haymitch doesn't look like he'll let me sway him into getting something else than what he's set his mind to. "You promised to show me around. Besides, I don't think moping will help you forget your mother."

I don't have the strength to free myself from his grip again. My tired look is all I can manage. "But I don't feel like it."

"I'm sure you'll feel a lot better after that, sweetheart," Haymitch says seriously, stroking my cheek. I should have leaned away from him, but my body is frozen. "Come on, it's only a few hours. You can even choose the restaurant." He winks at me.

What does he actually want from me? I don't know what to make of his caring nature. I shake my head again and take a step back, but Haymitch doesn't let go. A smile graces his lips, not the fake charming smile he used to please my mother with, but his crooked, gentle grin. He looks pretty happy with himself.

"I would have chosen the restaurant anyway," I remark, shaking my head and trying to sound confident. "Okay, but we won't stay too long. Think about Katniss and Peeta."

Haymitch's strides are so big that I struggle to keep up with him as he picks up a faster pace. My will has left me just now, but his expression is so content that I don't want to spoil it for him now. As happy as Haymitch Abernathy can be.

It doesn't take long before we're back on the main road. We walk across the street to the park where children feed ducks in the lake with their parents. School seems to be over because there are many young people in the park. Girls stand by the skate ramps and watch boys skateboard.

Neither Haymitch nor I speak. We enjoy the silence between us and the sun that keeps us warm. After returning to the street, we walk towards the school quarters and soon pass my old university. I absently point to the tall white building that looks like a temple from ancient mythological books. Part of the roof extends beyond the actual facade and is supported by five large marble columns. Huge stairs lead up to the entrances of the university. I enjoy the sight to the fullest. University of Technology and Art is engraved in old letters above the pillars.

"I went to college here," I remark and can't help but smile a little.

Haymitch stops immediately and looks at the building. "Is this your university?" I nod dreamily, thinking back to old times. "I can't even imagine you here, as a student," he says, narrowing his eyes. Probably trying to paint a younger picture of myself.

"Those were good, carefree times," I admit. "But it's been a long time." The lump in my throat won't go away. Something feels different. Unusual. The time has passed so quickly. How long has it been? Thirteen years? "We're running out of time." I sigh and Haymitch pulls me on.

We walk along the long sidewalk. I'm still hooked into him, but it doesn't bother me. People give us funny looks. Were it not for the victor of District 12, Haymitch would hardly be distinguished from the Capitols. A fact I prefer to keep to myself. It would only upset him.

I give Haymitch a wry look and see his eyes darting down the street as if he's looking for something. "You're hungry," I state.

He grins and shrugs. "You know I don't want to eat at the Training Center today."

"Haymitch, that's- you're being incredibly rude." I think of the Avoxes and the amount of effort they put into their daily dinners.

"As if anyone cares if and where we eat," Haymitch remarks, then eyes me from head to toe. "A little change of scenery wouldn't do you any harm either."

I narrow my eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" I drive across the wide, busy street with a searching look and go through a few places in my head where we would not be disturbed. Not a long list when accompanied by a victor. Now that I'm giving people more of my attention, I see the suspicious looks we're getting. People notice us. Suddenly the proximity to Haymitch seems strange to me. I carefully detach myself from him. His questioning look is not long in coming. "I don't want to be the number one headline tomorrow because there's speculation," I explain, hoping he doesn't take the words the wrong way.

But I see the understanding in his eyes. "That's brand new," Haymitch murmurs, raising his eyebrows but nodding.

I sigh and roll my eyes. A gesture I've been making a lot lately. His bad behavior must rub off on me. I walk Haymitch down the street. The restaurant is on a side street crowded with clothing stores. I used to come here often when I was a student, so it wouldn't surprise me to see some familiar faces again. You can take a look inside through the windows. It's well frequented, by students as well as by people of our age. As if we were ancient. It extends to the main street, although the entrance is further back on the side street.

I glance at Haymitch out of the corner of my eye. His eyes rest on me. I slowly climb up the steps. I hear his heavy footsteps behind me, and I know he's following me. His arm darts past my head and opens the door for me. I give him a grateful smile before entering the restaurant.

The hallway is brightly lit. Framed on the walls are certificates praising the restaurant and its food. The floor is made of a dark stone, but so smooth that the lights are reflected in it. Other interior details are all golden. The door slams behind Haymitch. I follow the numerous voices and soon find myself in the main part of the restaurant. Only now do I remember that it extends over two whole floors.

The first thing that strikes me is the rectangular shape of the room. Two sides are lined with windows giving a nice view of the main and side streets. The other two walls are made of white quartz, which I recognize immediately with my trained eye. The floor looks like a chessboard, alternating black and white stone slabs. Glass lamps hang from the ceiling. They turn in a circle and let the points of light dance back and forth. The edges where the walls and ceiling meet are covered with golden plastic-beams. Just as I remember.

In the center of the large room is a circular bar, surrounded by a few chairs with red, worn upholstery. Then there are all the tables that are irregularly distributed in the room. The chairs also have red upholstery. There's a hustle and bustle. Waiters walk around taking orders and bringing drinks and food. Guests talk loudly.

That's what I love so much about this restaurant. At first glance, it looks noble and upscale, but once you get used to it, you'll soon be sucked into a turbulent maelstrom. I can't help but smile. This place is associated with so many memories. My first day at university. My first date. Cozy evenings with friends.

"Can I help you?" A voice sounds from the bar at this moment. It's loud and has to fight against many other voices to get through to us.

I follow the voice and stare into the face of an old college friend. He's hardly older than me and wears jeans with a white shirt. His blond hair hangs casually over his eyes. Artist.

"August?" He must have recognized my voice because suddenly he beams at me and hops across the bar.

"Effie? The Effie Trinket?" His eyebrows jump in disbelief. It's really been a long time. I nod silently and before I know it, he's pulled me into a friendly hug. When I pull away from him, he gives me a nonchalant grin. "You haven't been around for a long time, Trinket," he says, mockingly offended. He steps back and looks over my shoulder. "At least you brought us a customer."

"August, this is Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the fiftieth Hunger Games," I introduce Haymitch, waving him to my side. He eyes August cautiously. "Haymitch, this is August Fords, we went to college together."

"Oh, that's how it is," says August. "So we only went to college together." His laughter echoes around the room and I know he's thinking about the old days.

I put my hands on my hips. "In the first place, yes," I reply, pursing my lips. "How is Cecily?"

His expression brightens immediately, and he raises his left hand excitedly. A silver ring with multicolored diamonds is emblazoned on his finger. Not to be missed. "She proposed!" His voice squeaks with happiness.

I clap my hands with a smile, forgetting my depressed mood for a moment. "That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!"

"Victor of the Hunger Games, huh?" August now asks, making a playful face. "Our mathematician got that far? And I thought that you'd stay at university to become a professor. Thank goodness."

"My mother would've never allowed that," I remark, laughing at the thought.

August, who has been confronted with my mother more than once in the years of friendship, understands immediately. He shakes his head exuberantly and the grin on his lips widens. "Did Octavius ever recover from that stunt? I hear they still tell the story in college today. Your mother is said to have totally freaked out on the way to dean."

"We have the talent to be remembered anytime, anywhere," I say, trying to be nonchalant and grinning, but suddenly it feels more real. A spark of truth clings to the words.

"So, do you want to sit down?" August finally asks.

"But a little apart, please," I say, nodding and adding the justification. "We still have a lot to plan for the Quarter Quell."

He smiles understandingly and leads us across the room to the stairs. "I'm honored." I follow August and Haymitch follows me. It's much emptier upstairs than downstairs. The atmosphere is different. More serious. The people are better dressed, no students to be seen far and wide. Soft music reaches my ears from hidden loudspeakers.

August points to a table by the window. It's rectangular and quite large for two people. There are four chairs around him. We sit down gratefully. Haymitch across from me and I at the window to look out. "Here you have a little more space for your documents," he says with a smile and disappears with the superfluous silverware. Shortly thereafter, August comes back with two menus and one drink menu. Grinning, he hands it to Haymitch. Then he looks at me. "I know what you're drinking anyway."

My eyes dart outward as I try to smile. The sun shines mercilessly down on the sweating people. I'm glad we're not wandering out there anymore. "So, the fruit liqueur's still available?" I finally ask, smiling broadly. August nods with a cheeky grin. "Of course, the students are just as crazy about it as we were back then."

"Incredible" I laugh and shake my head.

"Generations don't seem to change," he replies, now turning to Haymitch, who follows our dialogue in silence. "And what can I get you?"

Haymitch's eyes travel from August to mine. There is skepticism in his eyes and a wrinkle forms on his forehead. He seems to think for a moment before finally clearing his throat. "One wine and one water, please." He points to a wine on the menu with his finger.

Now it's my turn to frown. August nods and leaves us alone. "Water?" I blurt out in disbelief. I put my bag on the second chair next to me and cross my legs.

A thin smile graces Haymitch's lips as he shrugs. "Believe me, sweetheart, you'll be grateful later," is all he has to say.

It stays quiet between us for a while. Haymitch is staring at the table, fidgeting with his cloth napkin impatiently. I stare demonstratively out of the window. Here and now, I don't have to play a role anymore. I can be myself, alone with my thoughts, without fear of a concern for my behavior, a subconscious reaction, or a decision of criticism. Still, I try not to think about my mother, my sister, or the dreams that haunt me at night.

Haymitch, who until now seemed deep in thought himself, raises his head. I don't react immediately, but when I look up, I recognize the look in his eyes immediately. He's struggling with himself. He can't find the words for something he wants to say.

"Go on," I urge him.

His eyes darken for a moment at the annoyance in my voice, but he bites his tongue before he can throw anything at me. How very noble of him. It never bothered him before. Back in time. I feel the sudden pang in my chest. Pain. A dull ache that I've had in my grip for so long and actually thought I'd gotten over.

"Why were you so upset when your mother mentioned your sister?" His question sounds serious and curious, but I can see how much effort it takes him to confront me with it. Not because he doesn't want to spare my feelings, but because he gave up asking about personal things a long time ago.

I look at him in silence and Haymitch returns my gaze with the same calmness.

I'm grateful to him for giving me the time to think about it. Actually, his question could be answered quickly and easily, and yet I hesitate. I take the subject quite personally, but from Haymitch's perspective, wasting energy on such superficiality probably seems beyond ridiculous. Compared to his benchmark, my problems are nothing but absurd. Maybe that's what makes me hesitate.

I close my eyes to avoid Haymitch's gaze and weigh the arguments in my head. Except for the one conversation about the nightmares and the one time he woke me up from one of them, he's never been exposed to any private life. And he never showed any interest in it either. When I think about it, I hardly know this Haymitch at all. I know his old self, the person he was eleven years ago. However, I cannot say how much this corresponds to the man who is now sitting in front of me. Has he changed? Time shapes us. Always. Maybe I just need to learn to let myself go. But I've tried once before. That's when he dropped me.

When Haymitch grabs my hand, I don't flinch. I open my eyes and see his face leaning over the table. His hand is much bigger than mine. It lies almost protectively on top of mine, and I can feel the warmth radiating from him. My muscles relax. The way he looks at me tells me he can see my inner conflict.

"You can trust me, Effie." For a moment I think I'm dreaming and blink in amazement at the ghosts in my head that must have been playing that trick on me. Haymitch's voice is serious, and his face shows no emotion. His eyes alone give him away. There is a burning pain in them that seems so familiar to me. Suddenly I know that he's thinking exactly the same as me.

You can trust me, Effie. Memories fly past my inner eye. Of events that happened years ago. My body instantly stiffens, and I have to open my eyes to escape them. To escape the voice of his past self. I look into his eyes and try to find something, something that tells me that trusting him here and now would be wrong. But whatever I've been looking for, I can't find it.

"I love my sister and I wish her all the happiness in the world," I try to explain. I don't want it to seem like I'm jealous of Aurelia, because I'm not. "My mother's the problem. You saw what expectations she has of me. She doesn't understand that I'm different from Aurelia. It's next to impossible to please her and I've tried almost everything. I even became a part of the Hunger Games because she idolized them. But instead of the recognition I was hoping for, I got nightmares and panic attacks." Of course, there are other reasons why I became an escort. I wanted the spotlight, wanted everything that came with it. But now I know that her parenting had a lot to do with those feelings.

Haymitch's hand twitches as if something hurts. Then the grip on my hand tightens. "Sounds like a typical family drama to me," he explains in a calm voice. "You always took things too much to heart. Let her talk and do your thing. What else are you supposed to do?"

"My mother can't be shaken off that easily," I try to explain to him. At the same time, I ask myself why I want to make him understand this drama, as Haymitch calls it. "Everything has to go according to her plans. We were designed for achieving great things from a young age, with powerful parents behind us to support us in everything. As long as they approve."

"Powerful parents, then," is all Haymitch says with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"Not like you're imagining, Haymitch." If Haymitch had his way, the division between the Capitol and the districts would still be black and white.

"I already know that she wasn't that enthusiastic about your studies, but the Hunger Games as an alternative? Seriously, sweetheart?"

I shrug. "It was already too late for a career in the fashion industry, I was too old. There were not many avenues open to me that my mother would've approved of."

Haymitch stares at me like I'm speaking a foreign language. There's an impenetrable expression on his face. "I never thought Effie Trinket was the kind of person who would submit to someone else. At least that explains your annoying, pushy nature when you don't get what you want."

"Oh yes, of course." I roll my eyes and snatch my hand away from him. "Maybe we should change the subject."

Haymitch sighs but keeps his hand outstretched. We are silent. The only thing to hear is our breath. I've already given up trying to get a reply from him and feel a flush of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks when he finally clears his throat. "I think ... now I understand why you're striving for perfectionism all the time," Haymitch says, and I'm glad of the sincerity of his words. I don't know how I would have dealt with a joke or dismissing my experiences.

"Maybe you should try perfectionism, too," I say, trying to put on a happy face. My features feel heavy and stiff and I'm sure I'm failing to convince him.

"I don't think that's a quality you should be proud of. It's brought you too much grief for that." To a stranger, his words would be harmless. Not for me. It feels like a punch in the gut, but I'm sure Haymitch didn't mean to hurt.

Suddenly the memories of that time come back. Back then. My first year as an escort. We have changed. We have become two completely different persons. While I picked myself up and hid my feelings behind a colorful mask, Haymitch completely crashed. Over the years I've convinced myself that he wasn't always like that. And it's true because I saw the ending myself. For the last eleven years I've just tried to put it out of my mind. The 64th Hunger Games messed everything up. He broke my heart. And yet I should have known better.

"She's not the only thing that has caused me pain," I reply, my voice taking on that cooler, more distant tone I use whenever I want to seem aloof.

My words are not innocuous, and when Haymitch's eyes meet mine a moment later with a humiliating expression, I know he gets the insinuation. There's that touch of remorse in his eyes again that I don't understand. As if they would offer me a silent apology.

"This will all be over soon," Haymitch says in a whisper, as if he doesn't want anyone else to hear his words. He's making an unnecessary effort because we're alone up here. "And when that time comes, there'll be no more pain." As he speaks, he rubs his thumb reassuringly over the back of my hand. But his touch has the opposite effect on me. Where his fingers brush my hand, he seems to kindle my skin. I didn't even notice that he grabbed my hand again. Or did I give it to him?

I narrow my eyes and laugh a mirthless laugh. "We shouldn't be doing this, Haymitch," I whisper back, pulling my hand away from him again. I lift my head and look straight into his silvery gray eyes. Again, there is this longing that I cannot explain. "Don't you remember what happened last time?" Don't you remember that it was you who destroyed everything?

Haymitch nods and now pulls his empty hand back as well. "You're right." It's odd that his words feel like a thousand knives, when that's exactly what I wanted to hear. Nonetheless, that oddly melancholy look doesn't go away from his eyes.

- 

How do you like it, so far? Happy new year! :)