The Hand that Feeds

'coz you do what you're told - but inside your heart - it's black and it's hollow - and it's cold

Effie is still out shopping when an Avox delivers a gigantic box, a bottle of pink champagne and a large bunch of red roses to the Penthouse. Haymitch accepts the presents curiously, ripping the box open and shredding the tissue scraps of red lace nestle safely inside. He lifts the tiny garter belt with one fingertip and his mind goes into overdrive. There is a matching silk frock – designer and slashed to the navel to allow generous amounts of cleavage - he imagines Effie in the get up and his pants grow uncomfortably tight. Placing the gifts on the coffee table Haymitch goes in search of a corkscrew for the champagne. Pink it may be, but it is still alcohol.

Half the bottle is gone by the time Effie returns.

"I'd like to see you in this, Princess." He leers - wineglass in one hand, skimpy scarlet thong dangling from the other.

Her reaction is not what he expects – she doesn't explode and stamp her perfectly pedicured feet; doesn't squeal or berate him. Her blank stare is unnerving. She snatches the underwear from his hands, grabs the box and heads directly to her room at the back of the penthouse.

He trails her in like a puppy. "C'mon, Eff, don't be like that; I'll be gone by tomorrow. Is it 'cause I drank the booze from your beau? You got some flowers too." He waves the now bedraggled roses at her. A card falls to the floor, and he grabs at it curiously.

Can't wait to see you in these later, my darling. - Royston x

Astonished, he stares at Effie. Sitting at the dark wood vanity, she is methodically stripping off all her make-up, discarded colours strewn across the counter. She doesn't look at him.

"You're fucking Royston Merle?" Mirth bubbles inside him. "Royston… the hog? Holy shit Eff, I know you're desperate to climb the social ladder but can you actually get to his cock through all that blubber? You'd better be careful he doesn't eat you by accident… or is that it? That he does? Eat you that is. Ha!"

Haymitch isn't quite sure why he's laughing quite so hard - the thought of Effie with the obese businessman makes him nauseated.

Once Effie has finished removing her wig she gets up and aggressively pushes him towards the door. All of the muscles are tight in her face; blue eyes damp and miserable.

"It is not like I have a choice." Her voice is thick and controlled. "You know nothing, Haymitch Abernathy."

She locks the door behind her.

He slumps on the couch, taking sips from the magnum of champagne, waiting for Effie to come out. Idiot, he tells himself over and over. Stupid bloody idiot. Effie is owned by the Games just as much as he is. Her life is the Games. He's seen her cover her mouth in terror when speaking out of turn, scared that someone would rip the tongue from her head. He's heard the rumours about the trade in flesh – good money for a fuck with a victor. Why wouldn't they use one of their own for gain?

Breathtaking in red - Effie emerges. Her wig is black and severe. She looks like a delicate porcelain doll, right down to the glassy deadness in her eyes.

"Eff, I'm so fucking sorry… I didn't realise. I wouldn't have said those things…"

The grimace she bestows upon him is pained. Taking the almost empty bottle from him, she rummages in her small clutch bag and removes a phial of pills. She swallows several down with the last of the champagne.

Perched beside him, she rests heavily against his shoulder. Long nails scratch gently at the stubble on his cheek.

"You protect me somewhat, Haymitch, do you know that? When you are here I never get called upon for service. Nobody else wants to deal with your antics. My very own knight in moonshine." She presses her lips together, worried she has said too much.

He removes her hand from his face and wraps it in both of his own. Her pupils are tiny pinpricks; whatever she dosed herself with is working. He hopes it helps.

Buzzing signifies her lift has arrived. She rises gracefully and fusses with the obscene dress, trying to cover more of her body. She heads towards the elevator.

"Effie? Who do they have over you?"

"My brother."

She leaves.

He is still lazing on the sofa watching a shopping channel when she returns the next morning. She stares at him as if he is a mirage.

"You are still here." She states. She is exhausted, dark circles matching the blackness of her hairpiece, barely balanced on the ridiculous heels. She bolts to the bedroom.

Water starts running – a bath, Haymitch can smell the sweet bubbles. Effie reappears swaddled in a giant terry-cloth robe, a massive pair of woollen bedsocks covering her feet. Her arms are full of red material – the dress and negligee from the night before. She stuffs the lot into the waste disposal and turns it on without pause.

Climbing into the armchair next to him, she is tiny and stinks of cologne. Haymitch can see stubble burn all over the pale skin of her chest. She gazes listlessly at the screen – they're selling diamond necklaces.

"That's pretty," she states absently.

He pours her a shot of green liquor – her fingers are frozen as she takes the glass. She downs it in one savage gulp. He nudges the rest of the Absinthe toward her.

"You keep this Eff. I think you need it more."

She pours herself another, larger helping. "You are leaving today." It is not a question – Effie knows his schedule better than he does. She rises and heads towards the bathroom to scrub herself clean.

"I'll see you next year?" Haymitch says.

"Yes, of course." She grants him a rare real smile.

Just before she disappears he calls to her; "Princess, what's your brother's name?"

"Corbin."

Reviews are love. Lyrics at the top are from "The Hand that Feeds" by NiN. Thanks, illy x