Maalik (maalik) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-01-15 03:18:00 |
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Metal and plastic; dull, faded and wrecked. Maalik’s telephone is safely tucked away in one of the corners of his home. Not the place he had grown up, but the opulent home in Victor’s Villa that had been assigned to his family. In the morning it would smell of his mother’s cooking and in the evening the sea salt breeze would seeped through the open windows.
Voices would never replace touching.
One had to make due with what one could, and Maalik spent time shooting phone calls to friends in other Districts. Informal calls with no discernible purpose but to simply talk.
(One
Two.Three.Four) Rings - or maybe calls or days or weeks - no, not weeks, not yet..
Maalik ran his teeth over his lips as he waited (again) for an answer.
Haymitch did not want to answer the fucking phone. It brought bad things. Voices. Friends. All they did was remind him he had a reason to live. Sick as he was with the sheer fact of his continued existence, this was not good. Nothing was good. Least of all answering the phone when it was Maalik calling, and this was the mood he was in sober.
One way to ease that. Only one. He broke into the liquor in the top cabinet and smashed the neck of the bottle of red until it cracked. Glass on the floor and in his hand. He drank from it like that anyway, the spikes from the uneven crack of the glass pricking at his tongue. The phone had stopped ringing, but it would again. It always did. Maalik was like that.
Another time, he woke up with a heartbeat that would win any race, a neverending shrieking scalding his brain and hands that slashed at nothing with two sharp somethings. It was yellow outside. He squinted at that, but the cold band of pain around his head didn’t go away. Bad night. He couldn’t even remember drinking. The phone was right next to him. He tossed it on to the floor to make it stop. Noises came out of it. Words. Maybe kind words. Haymitch pressed his hand down onto his kneecap and squeezed his eyes closed hard enough that his teeth ached. It was worse when they kept trying.
It struck Haymitch like a command from God himself, the knowledge that the Capitol wouldn’t want him to pick it up. So of course he grabbed it. Saw it was Maalik and put it up against his ear anyway, and singing out an elongated as his back slammed up against the staircase, “Helloooo.”
The relief was palpable, reaching out - from where it had been locked and coiled - springing into action and striking.
”Haymitch.” (Youdickwherehaveyoubeenareyouokaywhathappened) The ever present silence that conveys all the questions that tapped phones will not allow asking. Maalik tangles the phone cord in his fingers. Tug and release-
the line remains steady
-he is on the other side. Harder to reach than this Victor liked.
“Good to hear you.” (Whatinthefuckingtwelvedistrictshaveyoubeendoing) The words feel heavy and the more he holds them back the more they threatened to spill.
Maalik lets the silence hang between -untangled, uncomplicated, endless, -the only thing touching them both.
He hated it. The kindness, the passive reproach. Haymitch slid down the wall, onto the floor, and chuckled, low and dark. His own fault. Caring about anyone at all. The worst of it is that he’s sure Maalik is telling the truth. There’s no running off this one. “That’s me. A welcome contributor to any conversation.” There was mocking lilt in his voice, evaporating as the next words out of his mouth, “Tell me how she’s doing. Little Red.” He was sure Maalik would want to talk about her at length. Equally sure it was his best chance to get the topic off and away from himself.
No. Maalik didn’t want to talk about that (and he couldn’t really express everything he wanted to until he saw Haymitch and he could
touchgrasphold
say it).
“Like the rest of us do.” Which could be good or bad, depending. Alive but not quite whole, the small cracks appearing as time went on. His hands not big enough to hold it together. “I’ll tell her you say hi.” The topic steers from the important subject (Haymitch) and Maalik does not pursue further inquiries.
He’ll see the other victor soon enough.