Song inspiration for this chapter: Runaway (U & I) – Galantis

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Runaway

Despite our best efforts, the traffic is so slow that we are a full half hour late. Although the alcohol does its share, my mood is at rock bottom. Haymitch never had the problem of drunk driving, so he didn't know the risks. My alcohol level wasn't high, but I drink so rarely that it was enough to almost get us in an accident.

Haymitch doesn't even bother to hurry a bit while I walk as fast as I can in my heels. And almost break my leg in the process. In the basement we meet some winners who are talking to each other. Neither Katniss nor Peeta are among them. I nervously press the button to close the elevator and we go to the ground floor. When it stops, I immediately jump outside and search the hall for them. Not a trace, just a flurry of flashbulbs that make me stagger back. I feel Haymitch's hand on my back.

The Peacekeepers struggle to keep paparazzi out of the Training Center, but a few still make it inside the building illegally each year. However they manage that. Haymitch pulls me back into the elevator and closes the doors. It's clear they're not here. Then they must have gone upstairs. I can't blame them.

As we alight on our floor, the red-haired Avox nods to us, hurrying past, surely in the midst of dinner preparations. Luckily I only ate a salad.

Shortly afterwards we find the two on the sofa in the living room. They don't talk, but the silence doesn't seem uncomfortable. When they hear us coming, they almost synchronously lift their heads in our direction and two battered pairs of eyes remain on us.

"There you are. We were worried," Peeta says seriously, looking more exhausted than relieved.

"You guys worried?" Haymitch scoffs, clearly amused.

"Not about you, really," Katniss replies, nodding at me with a grin. "You are not exactly punctuality personified."

I smile and my cheeks start to glow, but no one seems to notice. "I'm terribly sorry. But we got caught up in complications," I reply effusively, as if the day hadn't caused me any problems at all.

Peeta waves it off. He looks tired. The day must have been exhausting. To my regret one could smell it too. "It's okay, we found our way up here." He smiles at Katniss, who subtly returns it.

I sit down in one of the armchairs across from them and lean back in the cushions, relaxed. Today was the last official training day. Tomorrow they will be sent to individual training. "Well, how was training?"

There's plenty to tell. Katniss didn't want to show off her bow today, but she was persuaded to try the javelin. "It's complicated," she complains, annoyed. "You need strong arm muscles. More for men." As she says this, she closes her eyes wearily and massages her temples.

Peeta wasn't too keen on fiddling with weapons and has focused on camouflage instead. Again in the friendly company of the Morphlins, who seem to have become spellbound by him.

As they describe training to me in snippets, interrupting each other and adding things, Haymitch sneaks over to the bar, fishes some yellow drink from behind the counter, and pours him a glass. Then he saunters over to us, his blond hair falling in a mess over his eyes, and collapses into the other chair. In fact, he doesn't look like he's fully listening to the two. I give him a warning look, but instead of changing his demeanor, he just stares back, draining his glass in the process. I find it relatively difficult to ignore him.

After a while, with a steady check of the clock, I politely draw the conversation to an end to give them a chance to shower and get ready to be on time for dinner. I follow the two of them to our rooms, not without ordering Haymitch to appear neatly at the table. However, I'm not really sure if he even heard me. He seems to have drifted off now, although he has promised to keep his hands off the bottle.

The two hours until dinner fly by head over heels. For a while I just lay on my bed and stare out the window thoughtlessly as the sun literally seems to fly across the skyline. I recall the argument I had with my mother. Now that my feelings have calmed down somewhat, I don't know what to make of it. I can't hate my mother, after all she is still my mother, even though she can be very complicated. In fact, she's right to a small extent. I shouldn't have expressed myself like that in public. Even if no one has heard; seems to have heard. Think what you want, but think before you open your mouth. I just wish she would think differently about me. I wish she would have given me a chance instead of just concentrating on Aurelia. But she was wrong in one point. I have no jealousy towards my sister. I love Lia more than anything. She's my big sister and I've always loved looking up to her. But time passes and it changes us.

I don't leave my room until it's time to call Katniss and Peeta. The sun is now setting over the horizon. It's midsummer and the sun is starting to set a little earlier. Not much, but I still notice it. A distraction seems to have turned into genuine interest.

oOo

Haymitch is already seated at the table, which surprises me deeply. He doesn't look completely drunk. I still get a little dizzy thinking about my liqueur.

Silently I sit down across from him and look at my arm. I removed the broken glass by myself because I don't believe in inflammation. As long as none of Haymitch's blood found its way into my own bloodstream. Lost in thought, I stroke my arm with feathery fingers.

Peeta and Katniss arrive for dinner together, and as soon as they sit down, the Avoxes serve the appetizer. Today, both redheads are serving us, which seems to bother Katniss. Every time one of them enters the room, she discreetly turns her head away. I have no doubt that they are both from District 12. After all, where else are they supposed to come from?

Our dinners seem to be slowly becoming a routine. Katniss and Haymitch are both dead silent while Peeta and I try to strike up a conversation. It doesn't really work out. I give Peeta credit for putting on a happy face the whole time. It must take a lot of strength for him. But not even he manages to hide his worry. While his mouth graces a permanent smile, his eyes tell an entirely different story.

At some point I give up too. Because as I watch Haymitch, I realize there's no point. He keeps staring at one spot, looking more drunk with every sip of his whiskey. At least it doesn't drag on unnecessarily today. We have nothing to watch together on TV and we quickly head back to our rooms. I don't know how they process it. How would I process it?

After a long hesitation, I finally got myself some sleeping pills. I despise them. They let you sleep dreamless but prevent the body from entering the deep sleep phase, which is why you wake up feeling restless. The packaging says to take a whole one, but still, I only take half. I'm afraid of accidentally overdosing. Although I think I'm being a bit paranoid. Please, who dies of one sleeping pill?

oOo

My heart is racing in my chest. I'm afraid it's going to pop out of my chest any second and take off on its own. I want to open my eyes, but my body won't let me. Even when it starts to tremble, it doesn't want to break out of its rigid state. The pills paralyze my body.

I don't know what time it is; I can't open my eyes. I'm trapped in the dark. My vocal cords are not responding. My breathing quickens and I can feel sweat forming on my forehead. I'm so hot!

Finally, I manage to sit up, panting, and jump out of bed. I just lie on the floor while my heart gradually settles, and I catch my breath. I don't remember my dream anymore, for which I am extremely grateful, but I know for sure that I dreamed something. My body has a protective mechanism that usually gets me out of my dreams before things get really bad. It's trained and used to it.

I get up, feet shaking, and look out the window. The sun rises above the horizon. Day means security.

Now I don't find it that difficult to go to the bathroom and dress appropriately for the day. I put on a green dress, made of velvety fabric and lots of lace, and the golden wig. One should see that I support them. I put on lots of makeup. As I exit the bathroom, I see my notepad flashing. I don't get messages often, mostly official ones, so I prefer to deal with them immediately. Even if I show up a little late for breakfast. Priorities.

They want an interview with Haymitch while the tributes are at the private lessons. We have less than two hours.

Every year they drag a few winners in front of the camera for interviews. They usually leave Haymitch out of the squad. But it is a Jubilee and Haymitch is the only living winner of such an anniversary.

I'm almost puzzled they haven't done it before. Considering that they rarely force him into an interview, he actually does it quite well. He's either drunk and talking weird but entertaining stuff for the viewers, or he's playing the charmer, like with my mother. I wonder how women still fall for him.

At least we don't have to passively wait at the Training Center while Katniss and Peeta are at their private lessons. The email specifically states that I am to accompany Haymitch. I hope they don't want to conduct an interview with both of us. Same disaster every time.

oOo

Arriving in the dining room, the three are already sitting at the breakfast table. They look up with questioning faces as they hear the clatter of my shoes. I greet them with a happy smile and a good morning. Haymitch looks at me with a mixture of question and concern. He's probably thinking about the night before last. I shake my head imperceptibly, without really knowing what I mean by that.

After helping myself from the buffet, I take my usual seat, next to Katniss and across from Haymitch. An Avox brings me coffee and an orange juice, and I thank him like yesterday. Haymitch's eyes lock into mine instantly. I meet his gaze with raised eyebrows and clear my throat softly. "You're due for an interview in two hours," I say, sipping my coffee.

Not a moment later, his hand goes up in the air and he orders a whiskey. Typical.

I look at him disapprovingly, but that leaves him completely cold, and he gives me a mischievous grin. To my surprise, his hair doesn't hang over his eyes and I catch a glimpse of the deep gray. He covers up his true feelings.

"Do you already know what you want to present today?" I ask and direct our thoughts back to what is really important.

Katniss looks up from her egg and shrugs. "Don't know yet, probably shoot some arrows," she says, but her voice says she's thinking about it more than she's letting on.

I hate to think back to last year when she fired an arrow at the Gamemakers. At least it made an impression. Still, I hope she does better this year. For the sake of all of us.

Haymitch has long since finished breakfast, but makes no move to go change. All he's wearing is a robe and hopefully shorts underneath. He raises the glass and wants to drown the rest of the whiskey. "Go get ready, Haymitch," I stop him and make him jump. "We don't have much time," I add, smiling at him with my wide fake smile.

With a gloomy expression he slams the glass down on the table, but does as I tell him. He slowly heaves himself up and takes off. Peeta grins at me from across the table and Katniss can't help but smile too. I reply with a wink.

Shortly after, I accompany Katniss and Peeta to the elevators and wish them luck. "We'll do our best," Peeta promises, but something sparkles in his eyes. Katniss also looks at me a little too reassuringly. They probably don't even realize that they're both acting identically right now. They get on the elevator and give me one last smile before it starts to move.

I take my time and slowly stroll back into the living room where I find Haymitch sitting in his chair staring at me. How long was he in his room? Half an hour at most. His hair looks the same as before. He's wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The same suit he walked around in the Capitol yesterday; the same suit he sweated in!

"You wore that suit yesterday!"

Haymitch's smug grin doesn't go well with me. He shrugs his shoulders carelessly. "And I wear it again. It's called sustainability, sweetheart."

I shake my head angrily and approach him, menacingly raising my index finger and feeling pretty silly for a moment. But then my eyes fall back on the suit and the thought is wiped away. "What were you thinking? You cannot wear the same suit two days in a row? Go change your clothes now!"

Almost automatically, Haymitch ducks his head and raises his hands reassuringly. "Calm down, sweetheart. You're a drama queen personified; I wonder why your mother didn't put you in the theater." He must be drunk, otherwise he wouldn't say something like that. He must have seen the look that crossed my face for a split second because he quickly rises from the chair. "Never mind, I'm already going," he mumbles and disappears.

I sigh, sink into a chair, and just close my eyes. He has no idea how exhausting he can be. When the Games are over, I'll definitely have to take a spa vacation. Not just for his sake, but to break away from all of this. How long can I keep doing this?

For a while already, I've been thinking about quitting, looking for another job. Maybe go into my father's business. Octavius himself said they're still waiting for me. I don't want to be involved in the Games anymore, I don't want to watch Haymitch on TV every year while he's giving drunk interviews. What happens to Katniss's family if she doesn't make it out of the arena alive? Will they have to go back into the Seam? After all, that's how the rules are. They are allowed to live in Victor's Village as long as Katniss is alive.

And precisely because of such little things that rack my brain, I sometimes want to just throw everything away. Who could stop me? I would have to retire in a few years anyway because I would be too old for the job as an escort. They're looking for young flesh, young women who will tease the sponsors and pull the money out of their pockets. Then why not right now? I'm sure there are others who could mess with Haymitch as well.

Absentmindedly, I get up and move to the window. I will miss the look though. How many years have I spent here? Can I just tear myself away from everything? Suddenly I remember my father's words. Dear, there are moments when you fall to the ground, but you are stronger than you feel you are now. It doesn't matter if you become an icon or not, life is better when you open your heart. You don't always have to be so hard on yourself. Just be as you are.

"Why is it so hard?" I reach into my pocket and pull out the package of sleeping pills. Angry, I throw them in the nearest trash can. "Stupid pills."

Haymitch really takes his time. They're expecting us in half an hour, and I hate being late, but Haymitch knows that best. When I finally hear his heavy footsteps in the hallway, I turn around in annoyance. I open my mouth to express my mood, but it falls open when I see the suit. Black with red detailing on the jacket that transitions to small flames on the sleeves. They dance like real tongues of flame when he moves his arms. It seems to be completely adapted to Haymitch's body, as it fits perfectly.

"Cinna," I whisper respectfully, eyes wide. I take a step closer to Haymitch and examine his tie, which for once he managed quite well.

My stare draws a grin out of him and he cocks his head to the side. "Surprisingly, this was in my closet today," he says, raising his eyebrows.

"I have nothing to do with it," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "Can we go?"

"If my tie looks alright, then yes," he replies smugly and grins mischievously.

"Adequate," I murmur, shaking my head, and head for the elevators without hesitation. Before that I grab my clipboard with our sponsors and other important dates that are on the table.

oOo

The interview takes place in the large broadcasting hall, where the tribute interviews are usually filmed. As soon as we are recognized backstage, they grab Haymitch and disappear into the make-up room with him. And from that moment I know this is going to be a big interview, not one of those little ones that they usually do with him.

Other victors are also invited. However, only those who knew the victor of the twenty-fifth Hunger Games. As far as I know, she was from District 2 and a respected woman. Not one of today's bloodthirsty young teenagers, but someone of a calmer disposition. She must have been very smart, which is why the district chose her to go into the Games.

How bad it must have been to betray your neighbors just to protect your own children. As a reminder to the rebels that their children had to die for taking the path of violence.

At that moment, Haymitch comes back looking quite upset. His face has been lightly powdered and his eyebrows traced. But not so bad that he could get upset about it. He stalks up on me and his face stops half a meter from mine. "You didn't say it would be this kind of interview," he attacks me, his voice shaking.

Startled by his outburst, I jump back and shake my head. "I didn't know about it, honestly," I defend myself, raising my hands to keep him from getting any closer. "They just told me that they wanted an interview with you and that I should accompany you, that's all."

Haymitch stops and looks at me with narrowed eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but the director preempts him by grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the stage. "Mr. Abernathy, the show starts in a few minutes. Please take your starting position", he instructs and then disappears, visibly stressed. Over Haymitch's shoulder I glimpse the stairway. Where there usually only tributes wait, now a few victors talk loudly. Could you hear them from the stage?

"Sorry," I say as he turns and joins them. Haymitch doesn't look back and ignores me, but I know he heard. The suit suits him really well.

Sighing, I join a few others who bustle in front of the backstage screens. Most of them are companions of the victors, both from the districts and from the Capitol.

The first victor is then called onto the stage. He must be around forty and talks about Adalia Hale, who had been his mentor. "Adalia was withdrawn," he says, lost in thought. "She did the best she could to get her tributes back home. She was incredibly clever, which is why she won her Games." He smiles and one could only imagine what happened to the left side of his face in the Hunger Games. It's covered in long scratches and appears to be numb as if the skin died. One is more focused on his facial expressions than his words, which is why I only catch half of what he's actually telling Caesar.

Another victor, quite a bit younger than his predecessor, narrates that in addition to being calculating, she was also quite strategic and far-sighted, which made her dangerous. "She was good with people, knew what they wanted and used that in her own interest." The other victors add little things and when old footage of her in the arena is shown, one of them analyzes her behavior. Luckily for her, she had an innocent face, but behind it was a little genius, which most of her fellow tributes realized too late.

Then it's Haymitch's turn, and the crowd starts screaming after many of them couldn't relate to the older victors. He casually walks on stage and, to my surprise, puts on his arrogant smile instead of playing drunk. His gaze is clear and calculating, as if he knows exactly what to expect.

Caesar greets him with a handshake, and they sit down on the sofa in the middle of the stage. He looks the same as always. Not a single wrinkle adorns his face, and his smile is even wider than last year, his hair dyed purple. I wonder if he might be gay. Not that I mind or that anyone else minds, this is the Capitol and anything goes. He acts a little like it. Who knows.

I lean closer to the screen, interested. "Haymitch, it's been a long time," Caesar begins the conversation in a friendly manner and laughs at the crowd. "Hasn't it, my friends?" The crowd cheers and shrieks in agreement. Haymitch leans back with a smile and winks provocatively at the crowd. "Well, after not having heard from you for a long time, you bring us two winners at once. How exciting!" Caesar raises his hands to demonstrate that they are shaking with excitement.

"And all because I finally found my way to the sponsors' lounge," Haymitch says, giving Caesar a smug grin. The crowd roars with laughter, as do the people around me.

"Does that mean we should keep Twelve on our radar?" asks Caesar, eyebrows raised.

Haymitch takes his time answering, swaying his head. "Well, I definitely don't want to be doing this job again next year, but since people like my successors, they can continue to tune in."

My eyes widen in surprise. Is he serious? Does he think our chances of getting Katniss or Peeta out of the arena are that high? Or does he only want to indirectly secure sponsors for us? The tactic seems to be working. The crowd shrieks and applauds. Katniss and Peeta are the fresh victors. Capitol darlings, if only for their dramatic love story.

"We're curious," Caesar assures him and grins conspiratorially. He does his job really well. "Haymitch, I'm sure you know why we called you here in the first place," he begins, and I see Haymitch tense ever so slightly. His facial expression remains indifferent. "It's the Jubilee and you are our only living victor. So I guess all the glory is yours today."

At that moment, the gigantic screens flicker and you can see the arena from a bird's eye view. His arena. The smile suddenly disappears from his face, and he simply stares at the beautiful green meadow that has turned so deadly. I automatically hold my breath when I see him. All of Panem awaits his reaction.

"Wow, I didn't even know how the arena looked from above. Why wasn't this shown to me before?" he asks and smiles smirking in Caesar's face.

Caesar definitely looks taken aback. "They didn't show you the pictures?"

"Only from the ground, but never from the air," Haymitch lectures him with a shrug.

"Then we'll definitely have to catch up on that!" says Caesar excitedly, and you can literally see his zest for action appearing on his face. "How about a look at your fellow tributes from home?" Before he has finished speaking, the camera suddenly zooms in, and one sees the face of a young girl. Close-cropped black hair, eyes out of the hem, no more than fifteen. She stands bolt upright on the metal plate, completely fascinated by the nature.

"Jadis Winslow, physically looked a lot like Adalia Hale." That's not true at all. The only thing that connects Jadis with Adalia is the short black hair, nothing more. "She died in the slaughter," Caesar adds cheerfully. Of course they have to show her death now, although it's not really spectacular. Jadis had gotten in the way of a career tribute that slashed her open with a sword.

Haymitch briefly bites his lip. She wasn't anyone special, but she was from home and that seems to be enough for him. The poor parents who are forced to watch this on TV. Dead for twenty-five years.

Then they show the death of the other male tribute, who also died at the cornucopia. A little more spectacular though. "Preston Corrigan." The tributes from 1 and 2 took two attempts to catch Preston. He managed to dodge the first spear, but the second pierced his larynx and nailed him to the cornucopia.

Mumbling of approval and the occasional sigh can be heard from the audience. They definitely seem to like the throwback.

Instead of continuing directly with the girl from 12, they now show some scenes. Haymitch sneaking through the woods and teaming up with the last girl in his district. She was really pretty. Blonde hair and blue eyes. But she too had to die.

"Maysilee Donner." Haymitch's face is hell on earth. They show her death in full. How the birds pierced her neck, how he held her hand until the cannon sounded. My stomach tightens. This is worse than hell on earth.

Caesar just puts on his show, makes a comment or two and tickles laughs from the audience with his jokes. Haymitch sits tensely across from him, and I won't blame him if he drinks himself unconscious tonight. His hands are clenched into fists and I can see the effort he is trying not to freak out. Or whatever else he would do in such a moment.

Striking in the further course of the interview is that they don't show how he became a victor. They only briefly show the moment when the girl from 1 throws the ax and Haymitch falls to the ground. They hide the rest.

The interview is slowly coming to an end and you can tell how much Haymitch is itching to finally be released. I nervously stand in front of the screen, waiting for Caesar to finally close the interview so we can go. "Well, Haymitch, it seems to me that your demeanor has changed drastically in past interviews, don't you agree?" he asks Haymitch, smiling with a curious look.

Haymitch doesn't know what Caesar is jumping at, nor do I. "What's changed?" Caesar asks again, and Haymitch shrugs in confusion. "Well, what do you think if we just pass the question along?"

At that moment I feel a grip on my arm and I turn around, startled, ready to smack my attacker. Across from me is one of the director's assistants. "Miss Trinket, they want you on stage," she informs me, pulling me away from the screen toward the stairs leading to the stage.

I look at her in shock and stop moving. "That must be a mistake," I explain to her. "I just came as an accompaniment, not to perform."

But the assistant with the green hair shakes her head determinedly. "They specifically asked for you." Then she pushes me onto the stage.

I barely hold my balance and I'm lucky that I can't be seen yet. What's this about? I was not asked here for an interview. Also, they don't usually do my interviews on such big stages. What am I wearing? I hear Caesar's distorted voice and the audience clapping and take that as my cue to go on stage. I step in front of the camera with small, quick steps and am blinded at first by the glaring lights that illuminate the entire stage.

With a silent gasp, I force a smile on my lips and warmly greet Caesar. He kisses the back of my hand and lets me sit next to Haymitch. Haymitch moves a little over to Caesar to make room for me. His eyes meet mine, reflecting my confusion.

"Dear Miss Trinket, or shall I say Effie? Oh, interviewing tributes is so much easier than interviewing people from home!" Caesar sighs, drawing another laugh from the audience.

I laugh too and lean over to him. "As long as I can say Caesar, you have my permission for everything!"

Caesar beams and we shake hands again. "Effie then. Now, Effie, what do you think is the reason for Haymitch's drastic changes?"

I turn to Haymitch and eye him warily. He returns my gaze without any emotion. He let me take the lead because he knows I'm more adept at interviewing than he is. "Probably because Katniss and Peeta froze all his liquor sources," I remark, smiling defiantly at him. Imperceptibly to the cameras, he raises an eyebrow and sighs. He ran out of steam a long time ago. But the audience can't seem to get enough and so Caesar peppers us with more questions before he bids us farewell with a heavy heart. Not without first asking us to come and see him again.

As Haymitch and I leave the stage together, I nod to Caesar and give one last effusive wave. The moment we're off the stage, my smile disappears. Without even looking at Haymitch, I march past him to my things, which I had to leave backstage. I get congratulations from all sides. Haymitch stands by the makeup artist and wipes his face with a wet towel. Then he throws it into her hands and she jumps back a step, startled.

"Can we go?" I ask, approaching him.

Haymitch gives me a look. "Now you're asking me one! Let's go!"

On the way back to the Training Center there is an iron silence. I don't want to talk to him and he probably doesn't want to talk to me either. When we reach our floor, he immediately sits down at the bar. I let him. He has to process the images. We still have a little time before Katniss and Peeta will be back from private lessons. So, I go up to the roof to look after the sponsor lists. I still have quite a bit of work ahead of me. The hours pass far too quickly, and it's actually time to pick the two up downstairs. But I remain seated anyway. They can find their way back up on their own. They also have to freshen up before dinner is served anyway.

I lie there for a while and watch the sun wander before remembering that Cinna and Portia will be joining us for dinner tonight. The interviews will take place tomorrow. How could I have forgotten all this? With a sigh, I awkwardly climb to my feet and go find Haymitch. It doesn't take long because he's still sitting in the bar sipping some drink. The Avoxes really shouldn't be allowed to serve him those without limit.

"Haymitch, Cinna and Portia will be here in a moment. Have you seen Katniss and Peeta yet?" I ask him, keeping my distance in case he's so drunk he turns to me in shock and might spill his drink on my dress. It has happened before. But my concern about his sanity fades to nothing as I stare into his face. Haymitch looks completely sober.

When he sees the expression on my face, he starts laughing. " Thought I'd get drunk, sweetheart?" He drains the contents of the glass in one last gulp and then pushes himself away from the bar. "As far as I know, those two haven't shown up yet."

It doesn't take long for Cinna and Portia arrive. We're both sitting in the living room now, waiting for them to arrive, or for Katniss or Peeta to make an appearance.

"Effie and Haymitch manage being in the same room after all," Cinna greets us and laughs.

I smile at him and we hug briefly before greeting Portia. "I'm so glad you're here and I'm totally excited to see what you've come up with this season!"

Cinna and Portia smile sadly. "Unfortunately, our creative freedom has been limited this year," he admits. "President Snow personally imposed a dress code on us."

One could probably read the disappointment on my face. Portia pats my arm reassuringly. "Cinna made the best of it," she says, smiling.

"We saw your interview," Cinna says, nodding to Haymitch. "Didn't know you could be nice." He grins at that. Haymitch gives him a friendly punch on the shoulder, and we sit down to eat.

"You have no idea how grateful I am that you designed this suit for Haymitch," I remark later and tell them the story from this afternoon. Then Katniss and Peeta join us. Katniss looks happy that Cinna is there. Her hair is still a little damp and she looks relaxed. There is no tension on their faces. Both appear calm but composed.

As I catch up with Portia on the latest gossip, I wonder how their private lessons went. It doesn't seem to have been bad, which puts me at ease immediately. We can't afford the drama of last year again, even if it went well then.

The starter is served, a clear soup with small noodles in it. Katniss and Peeta start eating in silence and suddenly I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I glance at Haymitch with concern and raise my eyebrows in demand. With a silent sigh, he lowers his spoon and looks up from his plate. "So how did your private lessons go?" he asks, sounding more curious than he would have probably admitted.

Katniss exchanges a look with Peeta. Cinna and Portia have also stopped eating and are looking at the two of them. I don't like the silence. "You first," Katniss says, practically piercing Peeta with a half-demanding, half-pleading look. "It must have been something really special. I had to wait for forty minutes to be allowed in."

Now that she's aroused my interest, I look over at Peeta, who doesn't look entirely convinced that he should speak first. "Well, I ... I performed that camouflage thing as you suggested, Katniss," he begins, but falters as if trying to find the right words. "Camouflage might not be the right word. I mean, I did something with colors."

I press my lips together in frustration. Portia clears her throat and gives Peeta a friendly look. "And what?"

"You painted, didn't you? A picture?" Katniss asks into the ensuing silence.

"Did you see it?" Peeta's voice sounds hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

But Katniss just shakes her head. "No. But they went to great lengths to cover it up," she replies thoughtfully.

"That's nothing special. No tribute may find out what the others did," I say impatiently. "What did you draw, Peeta?" I smile at him and suggest the first thing that comes to my mind. "A picture of Katniss?" It's so incredibly absurd, but as we all know, hope dies last.

Katniss looks at me like I've said something deeply stupid. "Why would he draw a picture of me, Effie?" she asks, slightly irritated.

My answer follows promptly. "To show that he will do everything humanly possible to protect you. That's what everyone in the Capitol expects anyway. Didn't he volunteer to go to the arena with you?" It's sort of true, isn't it? It's weird talking about the Capitol like you don't belong there. But the true answer is clear. Because he could have drawn something much more dangerous. The way both of them behave, I fear for the worst.

"I drew a picture of Rue, though," Peeta blurts out, looking very seriously at us both. "The way she looked after Katniss covered her with flowers."

And as I meet his gaze, I suddenly realize something. At a moment's notice, fear rises in me. Fear that Peeta might have crossed a line. It's perfectly clear why he painted Rue. And suddenly everything makes sense.

"And what exactly did you want to achieve with that?" Haymitch asks deadly serious and one can see that he actually already knows the truth.

"I don't know," Peeta says, the lie falling from his lips as light as a feather. "I wanted to hold them accountable, if only for a moment," he then admits, watching Katniss with a sad smile on his face. "For killing that little girl."

Cinna and Portia exchange a disturbing look. The silence is unbearable. My fear becomes unbearable. He puts them both in needless danger. Why don't they just play the game? I clear my throat; afraid I can't find the right words for it. "That's horrible." And it really is horrible. "Thinking like that ... it's forbidden, Peeta. Absolutely. You're only going to get you and Katniss in trouble." As the words slip out of my mouth, I think of my mother. Not the same, but something similar she said to me yesterday.

"I have to agree with Effie," says Haymitch. His voice sounds wrong, like it's ringing out in the wrong melody. Different.

Katniss clears her throat and regards Peeta appreciatively. This is definitely getting out of hand. "Now is probably not a good time to mention that I hung a doll and wrote the name Seneca Crane on it," she tries to blurt out as casually as possible. But the reaction is immediate.

I flinch slightly when she says his name, but it's enough to get Haymitch's attention. With a barely noticeable shake of my head in his direction, I bite my lip and stare across the table at Katniss in disbelief. Unable to say anything.

"You ... hung ... Seneca Crane?" says Cinna matter-of-factly.

"Yes. I demonstrated my new knot techniques and somehow he got caught in the noose," she tries to lighten the mood. The exact opposite is the case.

"Oh, Katniss," I sigh in dismay. "How do you even know about that?" Someone must have told her. I think of Seneca Crane, whose parents were good family friends. We were at his funeral. He was their pride. You don't have to be a mother to know how it feels when someone takes your child away from you.

"Is that a secret?" Katniss asks in a mock surprised tone. "President Snow didn't pretend it was. In fact, he seemed keen for me to hear about it."

Memories flash before my inner eye. My stomach makes an uncomfortable jump. Before anyone can react, I'm on my feet and storming out of the room, a napkin pressed to my mouth. Hopefully they'll pin my reaction on Katniss' words.

With luck, I make it to the toilet before I can throw up what little that I've eaten. In vain, I try to get the image of him out of my head. I consider ordering wine for a moment, but I push the idea out of my mind before my wits can take over. I let myself sit on the bed and sob quietly for a moment's time. It feels weird to cry. Unnatural because I've been doing it so much lately. I don't want to cry; I don't want to cry for him.

It's stupid and foolish to go back to the living room, but I'm forcing myself to do it. It's not Katniss's fault. It's not her fault that Snow does things like that to her. She can hardly approve it. As quietly as my shoes will allow, I pad back into the living room and join them in silence. They all look at me for a brief moment but look away quickly enough. My face must look awful.

The evaluations are quickly coming to an end, and I can't remember a single one. I just stand there, piercing the screen with an absent gaze, trying as best I can to focus on something else. I only catch their conversation from far away. Then, it's their turn and I force myself to really look at the screen for an instant. They get a twelve each and I'm getting sick again. The others are silent too. I'm the first out of the room and barely hear Katniss whisper.

-

Is it weird that the moment I scrolled up in my file to remember the chapter name I heard the exact song after it's named (Runaway by Galantis)? Coincidences happen...

Effie and her pills. Do you think she's said goodbye to them for good, or will her dreams force her back on the meds?

How did you like the chapter? I look forward to your opinions again!

Kind regards and see you soon

Skyllen :)