Archive of Our Own

A/n: So this first bit is an adventure in stream of consciousness. The following portions take on a normal narrative structure.

"Just give me one fine day of plain sailing weather and I can fuck up anything, anything. It was a wonderful life that we had together and now I fucked up every little goddamn thing." (Frank Turner, 2013).

PLAIN SAILING WEATHER         

ONE

           There are accusations from bodies that have no right to point fingers. His knocks me backwards like a slap. So carefully planned and insidiously plotted. I didn't even see his hand until it knocked me down. It was never a debate. His answer was mine to swallow.

            I judge, you judge. "There is only so much hypocrisy I can be a part of."

            Sidelong glances across kitchen tables. Bloated pauses in conversation. They were cataloging every word. Counting the slurs and slides. Trying to read the secrets in my eyes. I'm realizing now, I've played the deal all square.

            The wind blows my hair across my face, into my eyes and mouth. I stare through the dark strands into his eyes. He wants to send me away. I search out his lips with my eyes, as he continues to talk, to explain, to twist his lies to lessen his pain. I watch his teeth, tongue, and lips move together flawlessly, spinning untruths with practiced ease. I feel his words fall from his lips and hit me. Haymitch relinquishes the grip he had on my upper arms. I hadn't even felt his hands.

            I did love Peeta or at least I tried to. I wanted to. They said I would never deserve him and I think they were right. I let him take my virginity. He smelled like sweat and hope and paint. He brushed my hair from my eyes and whispered declarations of love into my neck. I smiled and he kissed me again. I stared at the ceiling until it was safe to untangle my limbs from his. The harsh light of the bathroom revealed no discernible difference in my face. Unfamiliar dark eyes still stared back at me. The invasion of my body didn't change me like I hoped it would. I slid back between the cool sheets. Emotion I was afraid to broach hung heavy in my throat. I let his limbs entwine with mine once more. He was gentle and he was kind. I should have loved him, but I didn't.

            I cut my teeth on his heart. I learned the ways of the body in his embrace. I wanted to slip my skin and make a home inside of him. I tried to love him, but I could never catch the feeling. Peeta's not the only casualty of the carelessness of me.

            The past lingers on in flashbacks and nightmares. Sometimes I am sure my flesh is blistering, crackling, melting; the girl who was on fire is still on fire. I was the face of their revolution. I was their Mockingjay, but that story is done now. I'm yesterday's girl.

           "Are you happy here?" He asks.

            He kisses me hard and I let him because I want to, because it's something to do, because I am afraid no one else ever will. What is the current state of you and me? We're a corrosive dance of codependency. He's watching me now, irritating in his kindness. The words erupt from my throat without my consent,

             "I can keep playing with your heart and you can keep letting me or you can walk away. I'm not here for you to save." The drugs make me brave. I can't hear his response, but I can hear the walls and taste the stars. 

            "When did I become your responsibility?" I mumble. "Why is your way of living so superior to mine? There aren't any rules. You can't say how I should live my life with any certainty." He leaves the room. I shrug. This is obligation dressed as love. I wasted so much time trying to force that piece that didn't fit. He knowingly linked his fingers with my greedy hand and his fate with my fickle heart, yet he's still surprised to find the taste of dirt in his mouth.

            "You were an ordinary girl, I made you a hero." Snow taunts me in my dreams.

            "You didn't make me anything. I made me." I want to yell, but I cannot because we promised not to lie.

            I wake up with the taste of blood in mouth. There are things I can't remember. Feelings unattached to experience linger half-formed and blurred, dancing in the ether of remembered and forgotten. We don't talk about it. Life has been forever fractured into before and after. I stare into the mirror. The tile is cold against my feet. That girl isn't me, but she's wearing my face. The needle settles in the sink.   

            I'm falling in slow motion. Life coalesces like melted wax. The smell of cold and sunshine mixed with a blur of colors and of sound. I sink onto the cold, hard ground and feel the cut of my teeth catching my tongue. My face is flush against the tile. His arms are around my waist. I'm captured once again. I'm stranded on that stage again. Too bright, too hot, too loud. Too many bodies pushing. Too many hands that want. I'll pretend to be anything they want me to be. People carve themselves into my skin. I let them. I don't know the face in the mirror anymore, so let them paint me and mold me. The show must go on.

            The next few days are all hot showers, tasteless food, and side-eye. My life is spread like the remains of a party gone horribly awry, everything strewn across the dirty kitchen floor. Night is static, is problematic. My body hums. I can't sit. I can't stand. Life is still, mockingly so. These summer nights are beautiful. Where is the rain? Where is the wind? I feel dangerous surrounded in tranquility. Everything has stopped, but I'm still spinning, unraveling with every revolution. Exhaustion masquerading as restlessness rubs me raw. It was an insignificant glance. It wouldn't haunt me if it hadn't been the last. My thoughts are a constant string of commentary rehashing and re-remembering. I'm trying to reframe senseless violence in an organized way. I talk to her even though she'll never hear. I sneak a hit. Oblivion is sweet and forgiving.

            I am a series of broken promises, systemic, chronic instability. I wield my label of mentally disordered like a sword. Parrying any attempts to touch me, help me, or fix me. I remember the cut of Johanna's knife. My fingers seek out the mangled flesh. Our scars are gone, but the ache remains.

          My dreams are filled with the smell of fire, of sweat, and dirt. The mumbling of a man close enough to hear, but never close enough to touch. I wake up in a cold sweat, the battery acid taste of fear fresh in my mouth. I am aimless and inept, a half person wandering in the dark, my hands thrown out searching for a handhold. I need something to keep me here rather than there. I am in untethered freefall. Tomorrow, I could be anywhere. I could be anyone. Today, I am a lost girl swallowed completely by a wave of synthetic happiness. Disappearing in the wash, return date unknown. I've been treading water, but my legs are tired now. I could always ride the lows farther than the highs. Candy sweetness rushes through my veins.

            You talk, I talk, but neither of us is interesting. Nothing we say matters. I talk, you talk. It's tedious and annoying. Pausing in between, waiting your turn to speak. Holding my thought until you finish yours. Maybe they can tell I don't care. Maybe they can tell I don't really hear them and I hardly ever consider them. That would explain the distance that seems to have fallen between me and ever one else, that ever expanding crevice that is making it harder and harder to care about any of them. I tried to say the right words and think how they think. I tried to be like everybody else, but I could not quite understand the rules.

            It's like losing a word on the tip of your tongue. I know she existed. That girl I was. I know it, but I just can't get it back. Every night I fall asleep, praying I wake up me again.

           A needle tears a new track, but lightness fades like lights always do. It's dark and everything is hard and sharp again. Things cut and prick the skin marring delicate flesh with memories and remember-whens. Why isn't the violence of my life written in the smooth lines of my skin? It's a playground now. Who can play where bodies once burned? I reach for my needle. The high comes again.           

            It's an affectation, the celebrity of me. The intention of my movements was never fame. Still it came, like a tidal wave. Slowly the shoreline receded and I realized I wasn't wading anymore. The water is rushing over me now and I am tangled in the undertow. I hear a voice screaming and I know it is my own. Scissors slip and cut the skin. He's hiding in his room when I seek him out. 

            "I don't have anything for you." He's cold and hard. It's a foreign feeling. 

           "That's fine because I don't want anything from you." I taunt.The blood pools warm and wet beneath my sweater. 

            "Get out of here, Katniss."

            I dance in the doorway, childlike, afraid. "I don't want to."

            "Well, I'm really not in the mood for you and your mind games bullshit. You love me and then you don't. You want me and then you don't. I can't keep up." He won't look at me.

             My fingers tangle in my hair, "I'm allowed to be unsure...to need to work out my feelings." I tiptoes towards him and then back again. My hands itch to touch him.

"You are, but, you do it without consideration to me! To my feelings! I loved you. I gave you everything you wanted and you don't…" I can read the sadness in the slump of his shoulders.

"I didn't mean—"

He turns violently and cuts me off, "You did. You meant it. You liked that I loved you! That I let you take everything and you didn't have to give anything back."

His face is pressed close to mine. "I'm sorry." I say to the ground. The room spins. Too much. Too deep a hole.

He grips my arms. "I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to decide. I need that from you. Are you staying or going?"

"I don't know."

"Make a choice."

"I can't."

            I let it linger too long and now it has festered. I can smell it, the fetid, putrid stench of the carelessness of me.

"Have you ever fallen asleep in one world and woke up gasping in another?" He doesn't know.

"Katniss, you're bleeding!"

"This girl isn't me, but she's wearing my face." He never understands.

"Haymitch! Help! Somebody help!" He's pulling at my sweater, but I'm fading and I need him to understand. 

He's tying something tightly around my arms. I'm on the ground looking up at his face.

"They made you love me. It was just a story. It was all just a story." Because it was. 

"But, it's our story." He replies, soft and sad.

"It's what I was supposed to do."  

TWO

            I open my lips to the persistent push of his tongue. I pull his body closer to mine, greedy for the weight and for the warmth. We fall into the familiar progression of intimacy. Hands caress delicate flesh and clothes fall carelessly to the floor, but, then he's looking at me and we aren't just two bodies seeking a release anymore. His hands pause. He kisses me hard and there's desperation there, but something else, something else that I don't want to know. The rules of lust are easy. Love is so much messier. He's inside me now. I can see our bodies from my vantage point above the bed. It's faster than I wanted and closer than I meant. He watches me come undone and he holds me when we finish. I can feel his heartbeat against my back and taste his breath on mine.

            Cold hands yank me from my dream. A blur of white shoves a tube down my throat. I lurch forward my hands flying outward. Strong hands force me back against the bed. I pick out my name in the swirl of words surrounding me. I find his face. He's standing behind the doctors with his arms folded across his chest. The starched nurse beside me holds a needle. I twist and turn, but cannot escape the straps affixed to my limbs. The needle punctures my flesh and familiar warmth swims through my vein. Peeta's eyes look sad. I can't fight the rush of liquid sleep. I'm drifting away, but I think I feel his hand on mine.

            The days pass in a haze. Screaming. Cursing. Fists flying. Flailing. Anger, angry, rage. Pain. Dull and sharp. Seething. Blood and fire. Terror. Screaming. Pleading. Begging. Promising. Spasm. Cold and hot. Hot and cold. Fluid, fluids. Tears and vomit. Snot and sweat. Stop. Please. Stop. There's nothing left inside of me and still I heave. I've been wrung out to dry. I am vacuous, viscous, and vicious. Idle, sticky, cruel. Falling, slipping, sliding backwards into fevered dreams. Peeta's hands and Haymitch's glare. Thick and woolly memories twist and twine with violence cut dagger sharp. Her eyes on mine, Rue's screams, Finnick's smile. Cinna. Too many colors and not enough sound.

            I wake to find a man standing over me. The tang of something foul and filthy fills my mouth. My throat is raw and my lips are cracked. The light cuts at my eyes like broken glass ground in. The doctor passes me a cup of water. I flinch, a combination of pain shooting through my wrist and nerves I can't seem to calm.

"Just take a little," he advises, "You probably won't be able to keep much down for a while."

This body has starved. This body has burned. I know the rules of a damaged body. I take a small sip.

"Let me take a look at that wrist. Is it still giving you trouble?"

"It's fine." An unexpected flood of hateful rage overtakes me, "Just leave it! Leave it. Get out of here! Go!" I throw my cup. The water splatters across the floor. I am slightly disappointed it didn't shatter. I'm out of breath. I swallow deeply trying to stave off hyperventilation. I think I might faint. Darkness is pricking at the corners of my eyes.

"Deep breaths." He gently grasps my wrists. "In and hold it and out. Again. Again."

"I didn't. I didn't mean to." I feel the hot flush of tears rushing forward.

"You're okay." He responds. I appreciate that his tone is consoling, but not pitying. "Getting the drugs out of your system is only the first step. You've got quite the trek ahead of you. Mood swings are not uncommon. You messed up your brain chemistry pretty good." He makes a note on his tablet. "It's going to take a while before you even out."

"How did I get here?" I ask avoiding the topic of drugs entirely.

"Your friend brought you in."

"Peeta?"

He taps at the tablet and scans the screen, "Yes, Peeta Mellark. He came in with you." He says Peeta's name, as if he's never heard it before, as if he doesn't know who we are.

My brain is too muddled to make sense of his intentions. "Is he still here?"

"No. We sent him home." He takes my pulse distractedly.

I'm equal parts upset and relieved at Peeta's absence. "When can I go home?"

He peers down at me. There's a glint in his eyes that I don't appreciate, "You've been put on a 30 day psychiatric hold, but after that it's up to you."

A hold, psychiatric…"You can't make me stay here."

"Your mother signed you into treatment."

"My mother was here?" I haven't seen her in months.

"No, but she was contacted upon your arrival. She filled out the necessary forms."

"She doesn't have the right! I'm 18."

"You were never cleared after your last diagnosis of mentally disordered. Your mother has conservatorship."  The familiar tang of anger fills my mouth.

"You can scream all you like." His lips quirk, "It won't make a difference."

            He stares down at me once more. We size each other up. He knows me and he doesn't care. I don't know him, but I already hate him. He's another person standing in my way. My mouth has fallen open and I snap it shut with an audible pop. They've abandoned me here. It's another invasion. Resentment rushes in. It's my body. It's my choice. I think I've earned the right to oblivion.

"I don't need any help. I'm fine." I huff. The words are more petulant than I intended.

"The help is there, but whether or not you accept it, well that, Miss Everdeen, is entirely up to you. You can spend the next 30 days staring at the wall if you so choose."

            I think I wanted him to yell at me. I wanted him to justify the anger welling up inside of me. If he screamed, I could too. His calm was disconcerting.

"The nurse will be in shortly to help you move into the inpatient dorms."

            I don't acknowledge him. He remains unfazed. I roll onto my side and curl into my pillow. I think I could sleep for a year. I hear the door snick quietly shut behind me.

            The nurse comes and helps me shuffle down the hall. The medicine they gave me purged the drugs from system. I'm exhausted and my head is pounding. The nurse explained that the worst was over physically which is why I am being moved out of the medical wing and into psychiatric care. I didn't even know that places like this existed. The nurse swipes her ID card and the door swings open with a click.

"We're locked in?"

"You'll be restricted to the ward during your stay."

"Can I go outside?" I trail behind the nurse taking in my new home. The walls are pale and muted. The sharp scent of disinfectant fills the air. It's warm. There is none of the starkness of institutionalization. There are other patients milling around. It's quiet and calm. I thought madness would look different.

"Maybe in a few days. We'll get you settled in first and then we'll talk about privileges."

"Going outside is a privilege?"

"Your floor nurse will cover all of this in your orientation." She stops in front of a white door labeled 2D. "This is you. Your roommate is at group, but she should be back soon." She places a gentle hand on my arm. "I'll leave you to settle in. The next bell will be for dinner. I'll be at the nurse's station if you need anything." She gives me a small smile and turns to leave. "Open or shut?"

"Shut." I answer without hesitation. She closes the door behind her.

            I sit on the edge of my new bed. The room is cool and it smells faintly of smoke and pine. I spread out on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I think I might be too tired to be angry. I try to sort through my thoughts, but exhaustion derails each train of thought. The door to my room bursts open. I jump up and I see her, my roommate in institutionalization and my partner in rehabilitation, Johanna Mason.

THREE

            I push up my sleeves as I settle into my chair. I watch his eyes linger on the "23" inked into my skin.

"What's that?" He asks mildly.

"A reminder…" It's a nervous tick, the habitual running of my fingers across the number embedded in my skin.

"You survived."

"They didn't." I examine the faded black numbers. "The number is higher now. Guess I should get it changed." My voice is pitched with false cheer.

"You can't bring them back and you can't undo it." He's brusque with me. It's a fun game we play.

"Surprising how that does nothing to assuage my guilt."

"You can't bring them back and you can't undo it. You have to decide how you live with that."

I shift in my seat. "I've got a new roommate."

"How's that going?" He smirks at my avoidance, but he lets it play.

"Oh, we're old friends." Insouciant, without a care, I tuck my hair behind my ears.

"That's not an answer."

"It's…" Problematic, heavy, it's too many things that I don't have words for, "fine." He doesn't have to respond. I know fine is not acceptable. Fine is not an answer. Fine is a placeholder for scarier things.

"We've done this together before." I offer. He lets my words hang in the air. The silence is mine to fill. "After they got me out of the Capitol, she was there. I used to steal her morphling…She was there for the worst of it. For the aftermath of the…of what they did to me."

"She brings a lot of memories with her."

Open space, I can take the conversation in whatever direction I choose. "I couldn't stand her when we first met. The girl on fire." I roll my eyes, "Panem's girl. She grew on me though. We went through some shit together."

"Did you stay in contact with her?"

"…No." No is an answer. He might let me get away with it. I sneak a glance. Probably not. "We went our separate ways. It was over. They went home. I went to Four."

"You could have called or written. Travel isn't prohibited any longer."

The master angler, he's dangling the bait, but I don't think I'm ready to bite. "People grow apart." I shift in my seat. 

"She left you behind."

"Everybody leaves."

"Do you ever ask them not to?"

I on the edge of my seat, my fingers dig into the sofa. "It is what it is."

"It's a choice."

Hook, line, and sinker, "It's not a fucking choice! My parents died, Snow murdered everyone else, and Finnick…that fucking asshole, got himself killed. I couldn't stop that! I couldn't ask them to stay. It's not a fucking choice." I take in greedy, gasping gulp of air. I'm hovering over him; I don't even remember standing up.

"People die. I'm sorry to say that you know that better than most, but you don't have to be alone, Johanna. Letting people in is a risk, but not letting them in? There's risk in that too." I fall back into my seat. His eyes lock on mine, "You killed yourself, Johanna. You pumped your body so full of drugs you were clinically dead on the table. How did not needing people work for you?"

I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood. "You don't know anything."

"Tell me then. Explain it to me."

            Explanations form and dissolve on the tip of my tongue. I am awash in a flush of anger and righteous and something I fear might be shame. We fought a war together and everything was fast and hard. I was part of something. I reveled in a shared violence and shared hate, but then they left. They left me. I wasn't strong enough. What if I could have saved him, but I wasn't there. Finnick died and I wasn't there. I killed my family, I killed Finnick, and I killed those kids. And Annie...Maybe alone isn't safe, but I think alone may be what I deserve.

"I don't need anyone and I certainly don't need Katniss fucking Everdeen." He shakes his head. It's a slight movement, as if he caught himself before he could complete the impulse. It wouldn't matter. I can taste the disappointment in the room.

"Can I go?"

"If you wish."

I sweep out of the room without a second glance.

FOUR

"You stopped contacting Dr. Aurelius. His notes indicate that you were on the mend."

            I shrug. They can make me attend these sessions. They can't make me participate. The doctor settles back into his chair and I settle into mine. The light of the room cuts like knife. All the softness and warmth in the world have abandoned me. The walls and rooms seemed upon first glance to be welcoming, but everything is sharp and jagged now. My skin hurts. My mouth is dry. I can't tell if I want to scream or cry. I think I could sleep for a month if it wasn't for the nightmares. He notes something on his tablet.

"Do you want to talk about the incident in group today?"

            They locked me up without my consent. I can't go outside. The pills give me headaches and make me cloudy. Peeta left me and I don't think I'm sad enough about it. I haven't slept. They whisper about me in the dining hall. I didn't mean to throw that chair at that girl.

"You're on restricted movement."

            I've been briefed. It's not like it matters. If they really wanted to punish me they would make me interact with other people.

"You have nothing else to say?"

            I cross my arms.

"Fine. You can go. The nurse will take you back to your room."

            The walk down the hall is icy. Apparently, violent silence is catching. Entering our room is like walking into a storm cloud.

"What's wrong with you?"

Johanna is lying back on her bed smoking. She exhales a stream of smoke, "Did you throw a chair at Smiley during group?"

"Only a little bit."

"I would have loved to have seen that. She was sniveling about it over lunch. She thinks you should be kicked out of the program."

"If only it were that easy."

"I'd be long gone if chair throwing was a crime worthy of expulsion."

"I didn't really throw it at her." I offer. "It was more just in her general direction."

"It's the smack. Messes you up even after it's out of your system."

"So they say."

She bites at her thumbnail. "You still not talking in therapy?"

"I don't have anything to say." She gives me a face. A classic long-suffering, I can see through all your shit because I'm Johanna Mason face.

"You are a dirty fucking liar."

"What's your problem?"

"You." She takes another drag, "You're my fucking problem, brainless."

"…What?" Where did this come from?

"What problems do you even have? Why are you here? Peeta loves you. You have a fucking home. You have everything. You always have. What is the point of you?"

"I don't know what your problem is, but I don't want to be here anymore than you."

"You're so naïve. Still." Her eyes are wide, "After all that and you're still a fucking child." She crosses her legs and looks at me, "I'm a voluntary sign-in, dumbass. Not all of us have mommies that care and boyfriends that worry."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I have no idea…" She sputters, "I have no idea. You have people that care about you. They're trying to save you and you're fucking throwing it away."

"Johanna?" I don't understand where this is coming from. We don't participate. It's mundane. It's beneath us. It's not what we do. "I was fine. I was fucking," the word feels strange on my tongue, "fine. They locked me up me. Another choice someone else made for me! I don't need this, not from you."

"Poor baby Katniss, you almost died and someone cared enough to save you. Really, tell me again how I should feel bad for you."

"I didn't almost die. I had everything under control. I was fine!"

"You look like you were fine."

"You're one to talk! When's the last time you showered? When's the last time you slept? You're not doing any better than I am."

"At least, I'm trying." She throws each word with precision. "You aren't even trying. You have this whole life just waiting for you and you're wallowing in here! I lost everything. Everything! Because of Snow and his fucking games. And you and your fucking war. You've hardly even suffered! What Peeta's devotion wasn't enough? So you pumped yourself full of drugs for some more attention?"

            My hands are around her throat. Her dark eyes are staring up at me blazing with a fury I don't understand.

"Do it." She rasps. "Do it, girl on fire."

            I slam her head back against the bed. She throws me onto the ground. I scramble to my feet. She throws the first punch. I'll have a black eye in the morning. We're on the floor. Punching, kicking, pulling, grabbing. I lose the upper hand and so does she. We spin apart and then back together. I have handful of her hair and she's laughing, this horrible, desperate laugh. I'm enjoying the crack of my fist on her skin and shock of her fists on mine. I catch an elbow to the nose, which snaps loud and undeniable. My vision blurs. I can feel the blood running down my face. I push away from Johanna and slide backwards to rest against the metal frame of my bed. My vision clears and Johanna is staring back at me. She's resting against her bed. I think I see flecks of blood on the tile stretching between us. She still has a feral glint in her eyes and her breathing is fast and heavy.

"You're bleeding."

"No, shit." She heaves.

            We stare out at one another. Her hair is a disaster. There's blood on her lip and her eye is swelling shut. I can see my fingerprints sunk into her delicate flesh. Her lip twitches and a small smile creeps across her face. I mirror the expression. The laugh that escapes is unexpected, but it's not unwelcome. When she joins in, I feel a lightness in my chest. Something I haven't felt without artificial aid in months. We lie bleeding and sated on the cold tile floor. Her shoulder is warm against mine.

"We're in so much trouble when they find us."

I smile ruefully, "It was worth it though." She passes me her cigarette. I take a drag and cough violently. She laughs. "Ugh, that is awful."

"You get used to it." She takes the cigarette back. A moment passes, "You hit like a girl. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yeah, well you smell."

"Bitch." She leans her head against my shoulder. "Things got mixed up again."

"It happens."

"Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"…I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad you're here too." I scratch at the blood drying under my nose. "What are we going to do about your face?"

She laughs, "Clean the blood off, at least. You're going to have a black eye."

"So are you. I never thought I'd miss the makeup magic of the Capitol."

Johanna jumps up from the floor, "I know where we could score some makeup."

"I can't leave the room and you can't go anywhere looking like that."

"Watch me." She smiles wickedly, "Do you have any food stashed?"

"Johanna, wait. What are you going to do?" I try to grab her arm, but she brushes past.

"We need something to trade. They aren't just going to give it to us."

She raises an eyebrow and folds her arms across her chest, "I know you have food stashed, so just give it."

"I know you have food stashed." Victors are like squirrels. Even Peeta stockpiled. Starvation is a hard sensation to forget. 

"I'm clean." She waggles her fingers, "I don't need to hoard food. It's an unhealthy habit." She says in a mocking tone.

            I continue to stare. Her face shifts from condescension to exasperation.

Her mouth twists, "Fine, but you have to contribute too."

            She crawls under her bed and pulls down the food she has stashed under her mattress. I take some of the food I was keeping with my clothes and toss it onto her bed.

"Who are we trading with?"

"You," she says pointedly, "aren't trading with anyone."

"Fine, Johanna, who are you trading with?"

"The terrible twosome." I don't know their real names. Johanna calls them Smiley and Sunshine. District 2 exports who hate me only slightly less than they hate Johanna.

"They aren't going to deal with you. They'll turn us in." Panic settles warm and heavy in my stomach, "They're going to separate us."

"That's not going to happen. When have I ever left you anywhere?"

I've learned to read a face. I saw the fleeting pang of hurt dance across her face, but I can't reason the cause. "Just be careful."

She tugs on the end of my braid, "Always."

            I pace the floor. Counting my steps and waiting for the sound of angry feet storming towards our door. It's silly the stress I feel pulling at my limbs, the anxious itch tickling my feet. I need to do something. I need to contribute. Staying together is important. I turn towards the door intent on fleeing down the hall, head first, into whatever awaits me. I pause, my hand lingering on the door handle. I turn away from the door and stalk back to my bed. I settle against the wall and wait. Tomorrow, if I talk in therapy, I think I'll let myself be proud of this moment. Johanna waltzes into the room a few seconds later holding a small container triumphantly in her hand.

She waves it in the air, "Success!"

"How much violence factored into this success?"

"I am very charming when I need to be."

            Intimidating more like. She's proud of herself. It's infectious. We gather like two children around a special gift. I'm excited. There's an appeal to this deception. It's a break in the monotony of recovery and it's familiar: Johanna's devious grin, our disregard for rules and regulations, and the illusion that we're above the system.

"Do you just like smear it on?"

"It's too bad Peeta's not here, he could paint us up." There's a catch in my throat that I know means tears. I haven't said his name since that morning I woke up. I've only thought about him as someone who abandoned me, who betrayed me; I think I forgot that we were friends before any of that. Johanna doesn't notice. She's too busy experimentally spreading the liquid onto her bruised face.

"Fuck. That stings. Is it working?"

"No, come here. Let me." I remember my many hours in the makeup chair, languishing under the well meaning, if not misinformed, hands of my team. Cinna. Cinna. His face. His warmth. His hands safe and gentle. The sound of flesh splitting and wet screams. I did that. I brought them. I'm screaming. My face is hot. Cinna falling limp. His body in their arms. His eyes on mine. Cinna. No. The sound of my blood rushing in my ears.

"Katniss!" A shrill voice cuts through the roar of silence.

            Her hands clamp onto my arms. I can feel the tears washing down my face and scrape of a scream in my throat. The door bursts open, but all I can see is Johanna. Her eyes are wide and bright with anger and unshed tears. One of the men tries to remove Johanna. She whips around and the man leaps backwards.

"Leave them." The doctor stands in the doorway.

            He nods and Johanna lunges and grips my arms once more. I'm back, but I swear I can smell the sunshine and salt water of that day. There's blood in my mouth. I bit my tongue again.

"I'm okay. I'm fine. I just-" There are too many people staring at me now. I can't catch my breath with this many eyes on me. Johanna is already there. She releases me and shuffles the orderlies from the room. The doctor keeps his distance, but he refuses to relinquish his hold on the doorway.

"It helps if you sit down. I always sit down." She offers in a quiet voice.

"I'm okay."

            The doctor looks between us. He can see the bruises blooming on Johanna's face, the scratch running down my cheek, the stain of a nosebleed not quite washed away. He pushes his glasses up on his nose and clears his throat. The fog is still clearing from my brain and I can't even find the words to form a lie.

"I'm going to assume those are from the flashback I just witnessed. Do either of you need medical attention?"

"We're fine." Johanna confirms and I nod wordlessly.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Miss Everdeen." I nod again in response. He inclines his head, "Johanna, you have something on your face. Might want to clean up before dinner." He nods curtly and exits the room into the hall.

"Let's get cleaned up."

"Okay." I answer.

FIVE

"Ah, Miss Everdeen, how are you?"

"I want to go outside." It's abrupt and appealingly rude.

"I think we could work something out. Do you like being outdoors?"

            It's a small question, but I can't anticipate his intention in asking it. I'm not sure I want to open the door. He doesn't poke or prod. He sits in quiet repose and waits. What if when I open my mouth everything I have been keeping inside comes pouring out? What if he tells me I am crazy? What if I am? I've seen the looks on their faces, all that pitied concern. Hands move slowly out towards me as if I am some wild beast. Mentally disordered that's what the doctors in 13 called me. What if I am irrevocably damaged? What will happen to me? What if they never let me leave? I choke back any attempt at a response. They can't know or they'll slap another band around my wrist and leave me to rot. I can't take that risk.

He shifts in his seat, "I think we can make a deal, Miss Everdeen. If you go the next two days without an incident and you try in group. Just contribute something, other than violence that is," He adds with a smirk. "I'll up your status early and you can go outside."

"Two days?"

He nods, "Two days incident free and then of course you'll need to maintain appropriate behavior to continue to have the privilege, but I think you are more than capable. I'm sure Johanna will give you a hand."

The scratch on my face still stings. I can see the game in his words. We could talk about Johanna or we could talk about last night. "Why do you call me Miss Everdeen? You call Johanna by her name."

"You haven't given me leave to call you by your first name."

          I realize I don't even know what his name is. He's the unnamed doctor who holds me against me will, but there's kindness there. Kindness laced with something that may be care, but it's something I don't trust. No one cares without conditions, but I don't like being called Miss Everdeen. Snow always called me that. It sends a shiver up my spine.

"You could call me Everdeen. No miss." That's how they addressed each other in the mines. It was a sign of respect, of adulthood.

"Okay. Everdeen it is. So do we have a deal?"

"Yes."

"Are we going to talk about your love for the outdoors?"

          Outside is safe. Outside is free. My bow in my hands. Aim, pull, release.

"Two days." I stick out my hand. His grip is dry and firm. His brown eyes stare up at me, a laugh hiding in the corners.

"Two days." He confirms. "I'll let the nurses know."

"Can I go?"

"The other doctor needs to see you. The nurse will take you down."

"Okay."

"Everdeen, are you going to talk to me?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I'm here when you make up your mind. Go. Dr. Testa is waiting. Send Johanna in."

            I close the door quietly behind me. Johanna looks up at me.

"So we kicked out or what?"

"Well, I'm not, but I told him it was all your fault. So I don't know about you."

She licks her lips. "Don't make me beat you up again, girl on fire."

"Like you could."

"See you later." She nudges my shoulder as she slides by me into the office.

The tall redheaded nurse leads me down the hall. Two days. I can do two days.

SIX

"Johanna Mason. Get into any fistfights today?"

I laugh, "No. Not today." My fingers run across the scab on my lip, "Thank you for not reporting us. I think one more fight and the admins would have kicked me out."

"Are you a threat to Everdeen's continued safety?"

"No."

"Good. Don't do it again."

            I lean back against the couch and cross my legs. He continues to watch me, his face the picture of expectation.

"She hit me first."

"And why did she do that?"

I can't smoke in the office, but I would kill for a cigarette. He knows why, of course. The bastard knows, but he wants me to say it. "Because I'm an instigator."

"Why did you pick a fight?"

            I like to throw honesty like a knife, but only at other people. He'll wait me out. He always does. I can't take the empty air.

I hedge. "I lost more than she did, but we still ended up in the same place. She has a mother. She has friends." Peeta, Haymitch, the other kid. "She's so angry about being here that she can't even see how lucky she is. They loved her enough to try to save her. I had to save myself! I lost everyone. I'm in this alone and she's…not. She's throwing it all away." I finish lamely.

"Your pain is your pain. You can't compare it to other people. Whose pain is better? Whose pain is more? It doesn't matter. You have to deal with what's going on inside your head and let others do the same."

"I know." Arms across my chest, supercilious, and defiant, I know all this already.

He remains annoyingly focused. "What do you know?"

I roll my eyes because charm is wasted on this man. "I can't lash out at other people because I don't want to deal with my own shit."

"Anything else?"

No. Nope. No. Not me. "…I care about her." It's like pulling teeth.

"And…"

Lines were made to be crossed. Walls are made to be torn down. "…I don't want to push her away. I like having her here." He raises his eyebrows in a way that indicates I should continue. He's a dick. I think it's why I like him. "I don't want to be alone."

"So what do you have to do?" He smiles like a proud teacher.

"Stop punching people in the face." I answer dryly, might as well make him work for it.

"That and what else?" Smart ass. I can see it in his eyes. He won't say it. I can't seem to move him to swearing.

"I need to tell her. Okay? I need to tell her that I care about her and I need to stop letting myself be forgotten. I got it, okay. You were right," I sing-song. "I don't want to be alone, so I have to make the effort not to be."

"I knew you were smart."

"You're insufferable, you know that? Take my word on it, as a fellow insufferable person."

"I will keep that in mind. This seems like a good place to stop, unless you have anything else?"

We've barely scratched the surface. "No, I'm good. See you around, doc," I chirp and throw him a smile.

He shakes his head and laughs, "I'll see you next week, Johanna."

            The room is empty when I return. Unfortunately, I was hoping for a distraction. I climb up on the desk and pull out my journal, my fucking feelings diary. I've drawn a very dilapidated tree when Katniss bounds through the door. Thankfully, before I succumbed to productivity.

"Where'd you go?"

"Doctor. I got my stitches out." She holds up her bandage free arms.

            I hadn't seen the cuts before. She's been wearing long sleeves. There are shallower cuts healed shiny and pink, but the two deepest cuts are still angry welts. 

"That's good." I say, biting back the question I really want to ask, which is why.

"He says it will scar." She's examining her wrist.

"I'm sorry…."

"No. It's fine." She sits next to me, "Do you have any scars?"

"Not anymore. I used to have an awesome scar that ran all the way down my arm. They cleaned me up before my games."

"Do miss it?"

"I never really thought about it."

"I've done all these things, but I don't have any scars. They pulled us out of there and they washed it all away."

I don't know why this is important. "I don't miss it. I guess. When they first got rid of it, I was always surprised that it was gone." I offer.

"You can't just wash it all away. It's still a graveyard even if they put in a swing set."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about." Her face shifts from contemplative to upset. She's blinking back tears. "I want to know. I just don't know."

"No. It's fine. I don't really know either. It just…bothers me."

"In my first games, I got slashed by the girl from Three. It was infected by the end. They scrubbed the scar, but I swear I can still feel the itch of it sometimes. Feel it." I pull up my shirt so she can feel the skin where the scar used to be. "The skin still feels weird. They probably implanted me with something."

She rolls her eyes. I like to think it's my charming influence, "It feels like skin. I had a nasty scar from when you cut out my tracker. They scrubbed it away during my trial."

"I remember. Cutting you, not the trial. I didn't watch your trial. I was frankly tired of hearing about you." I pull her hand into my lap to examine the scars.

Her eyes are serious, but her voice is soft. "I wasn't trying to kill myself. They thought I was trying to kill myself with the drugs and the cuts, but I wasn't."

"What were you trying to do?" I fold up her sleeve and discover there are others. Just a few shallow cuts near the crook of her arm intermixed with needle marks.

"Make it stop."

I fold her sleeve back down and pat her wrist. "Make what stop?"

"The flashbacks. The drifting. Just a small cut. Just to keep everything clear."

"So what happened here?"

"Too much morphling. I was slipping…I pressed to deep."

We fall silent. I can't say I understand because I don't. I don't hurt myself. I hurt other people. "I set a house on fire."

"What?"

I run my fingers across her scar. "I was staying with Annie and Adric in Four. I took something. I don't even remember what it was, but I blacked out. I guess I was cooking something. I don't really remember much besides Annie screaming and the baby crying. She pulled me out of the house."

"I didn't know that, Johanna."

"We all make mistakes." I push her hand off my lap, "Let's go find some food. I think it's grilled cheese night."

SEVEN

"He was my only friend." She whispers into the warm night air.

            Our room is a muted combination of brown tile and pale blue walls smogged in a perpetual haze of smoke and smelling of sweat and antiseptic. Johanna sits on her bed with her back pressed close against the wall and her knees pulled up tight. A cigarette dangles carelessly between polished fingers. She takes a drag and exhales. Her eyes track the puff of smoke that escapes out the tiny barred window.

"I remember watching his games. He was such a charming dick. The biggest flirt, all cocksure smiles, and innuendo. They loved him in the Capitol." She smiles, "The golden fucking boy. I hated him."

            I let the silence settle between us. I'm at an advantage here. Waiting is a hunter's game. I settle against the cool blue wall and stretch out my legs. She bites at her lip. A tendril of dirty tangled hair falls into her face. She showers now, but not frequently. She inhales again. Her hair has grown long since the games. The black waves fall past her shoulders now. The drugs washed all the strength from her body. She's all sharp angles now. Her skin is smudged with bruises. She catches me looking at her. Her dark eyes flicker with something unreadable.

"We met at a 'party.' Snow had extended the invitation personally. I was politely reminded of my obligation to attend." She rolled her eyes. "Finnick was there in all his glory. Fucking gorgeous. Every person clamoring for his attention. It was a disgusting display. Snow hovered at his shoulder with this vile fucking smile like he was proud."

She sneers with a refreshingly familiar gleam in her eyes, "He clapped Finnick on the shoulder like a father would and that's when I saw it. The first crack in the pristine façade. The tightness in his jaw, nostrils flared in disgust, and that glorious hate in his eyes. He pulled it back so quickly; I thought I had imagined it." She gazes out the window once more, "I thought I had too much to drink or maybe the heat and smoke of the room were messing with my head. Making me see what I wanted to, but then Snow walked away and Finnick looked up. He looked right at me and he winked. That stupid fucking jerk." She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, a mix of emotions run across her face. "The dick didn't even warn me." She shrugs, "I guess I should have seen it coming. I really thought that no one could touch me once I won. I played their stupid fucking game. I gave that son of bitch a show and it wasn't enough. The bastard still wanted more from me. I threw a drink in his face. He grabbed my wrist and he just stared at me for a moment. I could smell the blood on his breath. I could taste it, but then he just let go." She pauses and fixes me with a stare, "You know that feeling when your stomach drops and you wish like hell you could take it all back? I remember choking back the "wait" lodged in my throat. I remember sliding to the ground. I think they were probably dead before I hit the floor."

"Finnick found me. He sat down beside me and handed me this ridiculous pink drink. All solemn and serious like all the answers were hiding in this glass. He stuffed some pills into my hand and knocked back a handful of his own. 'Cheers' he said. I remember thinking he looked feral." She shook her head. "I remember thinking I didn't know him at all. I didn't know anything. We sat on the floor. His leg pressed against mine. He said 'We'll make him pay. I don't know how, but we'll find a way. I promise.' And you know what? I believed him. I don't know why, but I did. I held tight to that promise for years. When I stared up at the ceiling in hotel rooms, every time I woke up gasping, I remembered that promise." She stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray and pulls another from the pack.

"He loved Annie. He loved Annie so much that it hurt to look at them. I could never imagine loving someone like that. He's gone and Annie's all alone. Everything he did, all those years, to keep her safe. He was so close. He never got to meet his son. He would have been a fucking phenomenal father. They would have been a perfect little family." She swallows hard, "Haymitch and I would have bought the little sea monster his first drink. I was going to teach him how to swear. I could see it. You and Peeta. Finnick and Annie. Your kids playing together in the sand. I'd be brave enough to face the waves…Everything got so fucked up."

We changed the world and not a one of us has figured out how to live in it. "Maybe we can get it back." She arches a brow at me, "Not all of it. You told me to make him pay for it that night before my interview."

"I remember."

"But, we never did. Not really. Look at us. It's like he still has his hands around our necks."

She smiles wickedly. I could warm myself by the fire in her eyes, "Happy and whole. The biggest fuck you to Snow, to all of them."

I run my fingers across my scar. "We can make it up to them. To Annie…To Peeta." To ourselves.

"Yeah." She stubs out her cigarette and slips under her blankets. "Maybe you aren't brainless after all."

"Maybe not."

            I can't fall sleep. I hear Johanna's even breathing and the light sound of her snores. I stare up at the ceiling. I didn't know his son's name. I didn't even know Johanna went back to Four after the war. Finnick's death haunts me. We didn't even do anything. He died for nothing. It was just cold and cruel. And Prim. I like to imagine her tiny face scrunched in sleep on the pillow next to mine. Her death came so quickly after his. I lost both of them. Finnick's knots and Prim's duck tail.

        Johanna is writhing in her bed. The screams will follow soon. I can now confidently say that I am very familiar with Johanna Mason's screams. Night is something to be overcome. We're all so much better in the morning. I slip from my bed and pad across the room. Murmurs grow louder and turn to screams. I shake her until she wakes up. Her skinny arms wrap around my waist. She's slick with sweat. I press my face into her hair. She cries silently leaving wet patches on my shirt. We wait out the night pressed against one another until the sun rises and sets us free again.

EIGHT

"What's got you all excited?"

I thrust two fingers at him. "I'm two days incident free."

He peers at me over his glasses, "That you are." He taps at his tablet with a stylus. He flashes the screen at me. "There you go, officially updated. You now have outdoor privileges. So what do you say to meeting outside?"

I can already taste the sunshine. My skin itches for fresh air. "Really?"

"If you're up for it."

"I'm up for it. Can we go right now?"

He extends his arm. "Lead the way."

            The warmth of the sun takes the edge off the exhaustion that weighs heavy on my body. I sway in the sun and fight the urge to curl up like a cat in the grass. He smiles at me and I pay him a small smile in return.

"Let's take a walk around the grounds."

We head off towards the small lake that sits at the bottom of the campus. The trees are green and vibrant. The air smells of summer. I missed this. I needed this. I'm better outside. Things are clearer outside.

"Alright, Everdeen, what's the deal?"

I swipe a stick from the ground and swing it at the tall grass growing by the water. Happy and whole. "I'm not good at this."

"Have you ever tried? How would you even know?"

"Fine. I don't like this. Is that better?"

"What don't you like?"

"I don't like-" I don't like that it wasn't my choice. I don't like being told what to do. I don't like that I lost control. "It wasn't my choice."

"No, it wasn't. How does that make you feel?"

"Angry." My stick flies out of my hand and hits the water with a slap.

"Understandable. How do you feel, right now?"

"Tired."

"How are you sleeping?"

            A breeze stirs the trees. Blue birds flutter above us. I feel firm and sure-footed. The way my heels sink into the damp soil is comforting. I plant my feet and track the path of the birds flying away. Aim, pull, release.

"Not well."

"We can work on that, if you want. That's the choice I need you to make, Everdeen, because if you don't want to change I can't help you."

            I kick a clump of dirt into the water. The bugs dancing across the surface skitter away.

"Why do you act like you don't know me?"

"What do you mean?"

"When we first met, you acted like you had no idea who I was."

"I don't know you. You won't talk to me."

I turn to face him. "Everyone knows who I am."

"I know who the girl on fire is. I'm familiar with the Mockingjay. I know who The Capitol thinks you are and who they wanted you to be. I've seen the rebel's girl, the mouthpiece for a revolution. I am familiar with those girls: the pretty face, the star-crossed lover, the warrior. I don't know anything about Katniss Everdeen. I've never met that young woman."

            His words fall so innocently from his lips, but they collide with such a force against my skin. I was certain of myself once. I let other people tell their lies with my mouth. They painted me and pulled me. I tried to be their girl. I tried to be what Gale wanted, what Peeta needed, the powerless figurehead the revolution deserved. I was always at my best when I was myself, but I let them twist me and turn me around. I want to feel casual in my skin again, in my mind, in my life.

"I'm not sure who Katniss Everdeen is."

"We can work on that too."

I square my shoulders. We stare each other down, "Can you make the nightmares stop?"

"No. I wish I could, but there's no drug, no magic, no quick fix. We'll have to work at it. The nightmares will still come, but you can learn to bounce back. The flashbacks will come too, but you can learn what triggers you. You can learn better ways to fight an episode. Things we think we could never do can become second nature with work. A body can adapt, a brain can learn. It won't be easier, Everdeen. I don't want to mislead you, but if you're willing to work at it, I'm willing to help."

The sky is blue. It's always blue, but I think today is the bluest the sky has ever been. Happy and whole. "I want to try."

He beams and claps his hands together, "Alright then, let's go to work.

NINE

"Hey lady. Good class?" I ask as I slide into my seat at the long table.

"Yeah. It was alright."

I lean into her shoulder. "You smell like grass." I pick a piece of grass from her braid and twirl it between my fingers.

"I feel asleep outside during yoga." She laughs. Her nose wrinkles. "It wasn't even on purpose. I was honestly participating in class. I woke up and everyone was staring at me."

"Well, look at you participating and shit. Don't turn into too much of goody-two shoes. I won't be able to be seen with you. I have a reputation to protect, you know."

"It was never," she states with mock seriousness, "my intention to damage your glorious reputation. Please accept my sincerest apologies."

            The ceramics instructor enters the room and eyes us wearily. We've grabbed the seats tucked away in the corner of the room. I feel better with my back against a wall. Most of the teachers won't let us sit together. I try to throw her my most charming smile. Katniss snorts in amusement. The teacher rolls her eyes, but she lets me keep my seat. The rest of the table fills up. We're making our favorite animal or some shit. I wasn't listening, but I'm enjoying the grit of the clay under my nails. Katniss looks miserable. Her absolute hatred for any kind of artistic pursuit is delightful.

"What you going to make, girl on fire?" I ask with mock sweetness.

She glares, "I don't know. What are you going to make, Yo-Hannah?"

I'm convinced the craft instructor pronounces my name incorrectly in retaliation for my sexual explicit finger paintings. "Likely, there will be an undeniable phallic influence, Catless Smells like Cheese.

"Lady Johanna, I'm appalled at your crude sensibilities." She pokes at her pile of clay questioningly.

"My dearest Kat, you cannot begin to fathom the depravity I am forced to hide."

She smirks, "Josie-Jo, I know all about you."

"You don't know half, girl formerly known as Mockingjay."

"Oh yeah? Please enlighten me, O' Most Depraved One."

The bark of the instructor cuts me off, "Mason! Everdeen! Don't make me separate you two. No more penises, Mason. I'm not kidding."

Katniss laughs because she's a filthy traitor. I flatten out my current project with my palm. I smile innocently at the instructor. She glares and turns away to help another patient.

"Now I'm out of ideas." I sigh.

"You could make your animals in compromising positions."

Deviant, I knew it. "Katniss Everdeen, you dirty girl. I like the way you think."

I set to work on a menagerie of depravity. Katniss makes a snake. She's charmingly inept. At the end of class, Katniss and I aren't allowed to sit next to each other anymore, but on the bright side if I can find a market for pornographic figurines, I may have found my future career.

TEN

"Do you love Peeta?"

            Johanna Mason, queen of tact. We're hiding from the team building activities taking place on the lawn. It's too much touching for me. I think it's too much courteousness and cooperation for Johanna. I'm sitting against a tree enjoying the cool shade. Johanna lies sprawled on the grass baking in the sun. She rolled up her shirt and pants. I'm surprised she didn't just take her clothes off. She sits up.

"You don't have to answer. I just always wanted to know." She twists her arms above her head and cracks her back. She settles on her stomach with her chin propped in her hands.

"Not the way he loves me." I stretch my legs out in front of me. We haven't talked about Peeta yet in therapy, but when he comes up, I think I know what I'll say. "Haymitch always said I didn't deserve him."

"Haymitch is a bastard."  

"True, but he's right. I don't deserve Peeta and Peeta doesn't deserve me. He needs someone else, someone-I don't know, someone not me and I need someone not him."

"I was engaged once," She does this, I've noticed. When Johanna can't find the words, she offers up an experience instead. "to a boy from back home. I was 17. We'd been sleeping together for like a year. It was the night before the reaping. My name was in there like 40 times and so was his. He just blurted it out. Like in the throes of fucking, he asks me to marry him." She scoffs, "I said yes. I don't even think I loved him, but I said yes. I was high on fear and hormones. We stayed out all night. We strolled into that reaping hand in hand. All stained clothes and sex hair. I kissed him hard on the mouth, two peacekeepers pulled us apart." She runs her finger across her lips. "I felt powerful and safe. I felt untouchable and then they fucking pulled my name out of that bowl." She yanks a few pieces of grass and starts to braid them together.

"Why didn't you marry him?"

"He said he would wait for me and you know what? The kid did. But, when I got back he just wasn't what I wanted anymore."

"Do you know what you want?"

"No idea. Do you?" She leaps up and strolls over to join me in the shade.

"I have no idea."

She slips the grass bracelet she made around my wrist. "Maybe love ain't for the likes of you and me."

"Maybe not." That thought doesn't hurt me like I think it would hurt someone like Peeta. I think I could be all right if I never fell in love. I don't want to be alone, but I don't need to be in love.

"I think I've got sunburn." She presses a finger into her skin. It flashes white and turns back to pink.

"I'm shocked you still have clothes on."

"They do not take kindly to nudity here." She says this as though that stance is irrational.

"You're a high class lady, Johanna Mason."

"I'm a good time. You'd be so bored if I weren't here."

"I would probably get in less trouble."

"Exactly, boring." She draws out the word. She nudges me with her elbow. "I have to tell you something." Her tone is serious as she stares down at her hands gathered in her lap.

"What?" I choke down my panic.

"You can't laugh. Promise me you won't laugh."

"I promise, damn it, Johanna. What is it?"

She looks out across the grounds, "As part of my therapy." She starts and stops. She clears her throat and spits out in one breath, "As part of my stuff, I have to tell you're important to me. I'm glad you're here and it is important to me that even after this is all over, and even if we go our separate ways, that we stay in contact with one another. There. I said it. Don't let it go to your head."

            She won't look at me. She's staring straight ahead and there's a tightness in her jaw that betrays her feigned calm. We're bad at this, but it's a comfort that we can be bad at this together.

I throw my shoulder into her, "Well, duh. We're in this together." I hold my wrist up, "Jewelry has been exchanged. You're stuck with me."

            She visibly relaxes and her body presses warm against me. The pressure of Johanna next to me is a comfort. Sometimes I crave the contact of another person. Johanna is safe. Johanna is easy.

"Johanna!" A nurse finds us hiding in the shade. "You're late for your session with Dr. Cace. Come on, up! Everdeen find something productive to do."

            Johanna stands slowly. Irritating the nurses is almost as fun as trying to make craft lady cry or the doctor swear. Johanna doesn't walk away, she saunters. Cat-like and confident. She smiles at me over her shoulder. She is the very picture of careless precision. Shoulders back, head up, she stalks away. It's reassuring to know there are cracks in her foundation; it's a comfort to know she's pretending too. We're a mess, but at least we're a mess together.

ELEVEN

"I'm afraid I don't feel things they way other people do. I feel anesthetized. I feel empty. I can destroy a happy moment in an instant, but the awful things always seem to linger. I can ride the lows so much farther than the highs."

"It's all about how you frame it. You need to learn to think differently."

"That's not easy to do."

"It's not at all. You've got years of bad habits to rewrite, but you can do it. How's the journal coming?"

"I don't know if I'm doing it right. It's not orderly or anything. I just write everything in my brain."

"There's no right way to have feelings. Does it make you feel better?"

"It makes me feel…clearer."

"Keep doing what you're doing. It's going to take time." He changes tack, "How's the wrist?"

"It's fine." My fingers brush across the raised skin.

"Let's talk about the cutting. You indicated previously that it wasn't your intention to kill yourself. Do you still feel that this is true?"

"I wasn't trying to kill myself. I wasn't in my right mind, but I wasn't trying to kill myself." I'm sure about this.

"What were you trying to do?"

"Make it stop. The episodes, the flashbacks. The pain cuts through."

"What about the cuts on your thighs?"

They were easier to hide, "The same thing."

"Why on your thighs? The majority of the cuts are on your legs."

"It was easier to hide."

"Why did you have to hide it?"

"I think I knew it wasn't...right, but it worked. The drugs didn't always stop them."

"Do you still feel the desire to cut yourself?"

Miss Everdeen, we promised not to lie to one another. "…Yes."

"What is it?"

"What?" Snow is looming, his memory creeping in and twisting this conversation into something undesirable.

"What are you thinking?"

"Snow."

"What about him?"

"We promised not to lie to each other, Miss Everdeen. He said that to me. How do I stop things like that? The memories and words that just creep in and take over?" There's an edge to my voice. It scares me the way I can't always control my thoughts.

"Everdeen, look at me!" He hasn't moved closer, but his feet are planted solidly on the ground. "Where are you?"

Everywhere at once. I bite my lip and shake my head, "Your office."

"What's real?"

I had forgotten this game. "My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 18 years old. I'm in your office. Johanna Mason is my roommate. It's nice outside today. I'm in your office. Snow is dead. He's dead. He can't touch me now."

"Good. Good."

"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 18 years old. I'm in your office. Johanna Mason is waiting for me outside. There's macaroni and cheese for dinner tonight. I'm in your office." I look at him and his face is filled with pride.

"You did good, Everdeen. You did very well."

I fall back against the couch. "I hate it."

"I'm proud of you. That was very well done."

"Peeta and I used to do that. Real or not real. It stopped being enough." So did the drugs.

"There are other techniques we can try. The more tools you have the less likely you'll wear them out."

I'm tired. I rub my arms, but I can't seem to get warm. "I would like that."

"Okay. Are you alright?"

"Just tired."

"Let's wrap it up here for today. The doctor is going to continue checking for cuts. Keep up the journal. Next time we'll work on more ways to stop the flashbacks, sound good?"

"Sounds good." I make my way towards the door.

"One more thing, before you go, Everdeen. Speaking of Mr. Mellark, he's written you a letter. I have the letter if you would like to read it, but if not I'll hold on to them until you're ready. It's up to you."

I pause on the threshold. "I want to wait."

"Alright, let me know." He opens the door and ushers me outside, "Oh and Everdeen, try and keep Johanna from tormenting the new activities instructor tonight, if you could. I'm tired of the phone calls."

His exasperation is endearing. "Dr. Cace, I don't think anyone could keep Johanna from tormenting the fresh meat." It's something I've grown to love about her that tendency towards the indecent.

"Well give it your best shot."

"Yes, sir." I give a mock salute. He ushers me out the door with a tired wave of his hand.

TWELVE

            Katniss Everdeen likes to dance. She's good at it too. That hunter's grace extends to dancing it would seem. We meandered into the day room shoulder to shoulder and took up our customary spot away from everyone, up against the wall. The newest instructor strode into the room clad in some kind of atrocious active wear and directed us to line up. Begrudgingly, we settled into the back row. Her face lit up when the music started and the smile hasn't gone away since.

She grabs my hands and spins me around, "You are enjoying this way too much, brainless."

"I haven't danced since Finnick's wedding." She says breathlessly.

            Fucking Finnick spinning Annie. Beaming at the world. I haven't seen Annie since she dragged me out of her burning kitchen.

"Don't go away, Johanna." She's holding my hands tightly. "Stay here. Stay here with me. They were happy that day. We have to remember that."

"He's dead. He's still fucking dead." Guilt is washing over me. My skin crawls with regret. I shake her off and walk out of the room.

            I want to use. I scramble to pull the cigarettes from my drawer. One vice for another. The shot of nicotine doesn't compare to a hit of smack, but it takes the edge of off. My hands still shake and a chill runs up my spine. That red-hot urgency to hit, to destroy, to shoot up retreats painfully slowly. She's standing in the doorway of our room. I can feel her eyes on my back.

"I'm fine." I grit out.

"Fine?"

Accountability. Fine is not an answer. "I want to use."

"Your name is Johanna Mason. You're 23 years old. You're my roommate. You have a talent for pornographic pottery. I think your favorite color is green." She nods.

I take up the tally, "My name is Johanna Mason. I'm 23 years old. I want to shoot up. I want to forget." I wrap my hands around her forearms. "Finnick died, but Annie didn't. They have a son and he's beautiful."

"He was a great friend."

"He was happy before he died."

"He got to marry the girl he loved."

"He saved me."

"I want to use, but I don't need to."

"I want to use, but I don't need to."

The cigarette in my hand burns my finger, "Ow! Fuck." I pull away.

"You alright?"

"Burned myself." I say around the finger in my mouth. I stomp out the glowing ember on the ground.

"Where are you?"

"On edge."

"Do you want to go back?"

"No."

"Want to play cards?"

"Strip poker?"

"Not in this lifetime, Mason."

"Okay."

"Okay."

            We settle onto the floor. The night drags on and the game turns silly. The nurses checked in and we waved off their concerns. The harsh pull of need wanes into a quiet want. It's a familiar murmur that I can handle. Her shoulders are drooping and her tone is sleepy, but she's holding on.

"Thank you."

"Of course."

THIRTEEN

"You're hurting me. Ow! Johanna. You're hurting me."

"If you would stop fidgeting it would hurt less."

"Haircuts aren't supposed to hurt."

"Well, if you would brush your fucking hair every once and awhile." She untangles a knot with her fingers.

"I brushed my hair this morning, thank you."

She's picking at my scalp. "There's like food in here, girl who is dirty." She wipes something on my back.

"You're one to talk."

"I had a trauma." She pulls my hair, "You're just dirty."

My eyes water as she pulls the brush through again. "You just wait for my turn, Mason."

            We had to get special dispensation to use the scissors. Two nurses are watching us. I think they're less concerned about me hurting myself and more concerned I'm going to stab Johanna. I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind. Haircuts were her idea. She woke up this morning insisting she was brilliant. The nurses told us no, but Dr. Cace agreed that a change might be good. He might have just agreed so Johanna would go away. It's hard to say.

"There. Finished!" She bows with a ridiculous flourish.

            It's short, shorter than it's been in years. I look older. I feel lighter. It's nice. I try to fight the smile longing to break out across my face. She's already insufferable.

"I told you!" She passes me the scissors. "Do me." She leers.

It's not charming. I know she thinks it is, but it's not. "How short?"

"Chop it off."

            The scissors chomp and she closes her eyes. The hair falls like snow mixing on the floor with mine.

"Done. What do you think?"

She preens in the mirror, "Let me see the scissors."

            When she's done, her hair is short and spiky. It suits her. We hand back the scissors and sweep up the mess.

"Tell me that wasn't a great idea."

"It wasn't a great idea." I deadpan.

She smiles, "You're a terrible liar, girl on fire." She grabs my hand, "Come on let's go outside."

FOURTEEN

"What's there to say? What, you want to know how awful it was? You want to know all the terrible shit they did to us?"

"Do you want to tell me?"

"What do you want to know? What they did or the things they made us watch? I know the questions people ask and they never look at you the same when they know the answers."

"Why did you bring it up if you didn't want to talk about it?"

"I'm not cold because I want to be. I'm cold because I had to be."

"You did what you had to. To survive."

"What if I'm damaged beyond repair? What if I'm incapable of love?"

"Do you think you're incapable of love, Johanna?"

"Romantic love. I think I might be."

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't think I'm capable of the intimacy. That closeness terrifies me."

"Are we talking about intimacy or sex?"

"Both." I say quietly. "He ruined it."

"Who ruined what?"

"Snow. He didn't make me do it a lot, but it happened enough times to leave a mark."

"He forced you to sell your body to assert his power."

"I pretended that it didn't bother me. Finnick taught me that. He enjoys it less if he thinks you like it."

"You deserve to have a healthy sex life. If that's something you want."

"I don't even know if I want that. I just don't like that he took the option away."

"I'm not trained in this particular area, but if you would like to meet with someone, we can set that up. It's not fair what happened to you, Johanna."

"It's not. I know that. I've always known that it was his fault, but you know? It still sucks."

            We conclude. I have some things to think about. I drift outside after my session. She's waiting for me, tucked away in our spot. She's been making jewelry out of string. She likes the way it keeps her hands busy. It's the only craft I've ever seen her take to. My ankles and wrists are covered in braided and twisted brightly colored chains. She sticks her tongue out as a greeting. I roll my eyes in response. I take my half-finished bracelet from my pocket and drop down next to her.

FIFTEEN

"Her death was not your fault."

"Everything I did was to save her. It all starts with Prim. I volunteered to save her and she died anyway. How do you live in a world that doesn't make any sense?"

"War is random and war is mean. What happened to your sister wasn't fair. You can't explain some things. What you have to decide is how you're going to live in the world. You can drown it all out with drugs and alcohol, you can be miserable, or you can choose to live differently. That is what you can control."

            Aim, pull, release. I like control or the illusion of control, at the very least. I can't sleep. Johanna is awake as well. She smokes. I braid. No one speaks. My thoughts are filled with Prim. The good, the bad, the awful. I'd like to be a person she would be proud of. I'd like to be a person I can be proud of. I sacrificed so much for a world I didn't even give myself a chance to live in. I tie of the end of a gold and black chain and toss it to Johanna. She loops it around her ankle. I tie another knot and begin the process again.

SIXTEEN

"Mason, you have a visitor."

"I have a what?" I stammer, incredulous.

"A visitor." The nurse is irritated. I'm not even being intentionally difficult.

Katniss stares at me across the chessboard. I shrug, "Who is it?"

The nurse purses her lips and scans her clipboard. "Andelyn Odair." It must be the look on my face because the nurse asks quietly, "Do you want me to ask her to leave?"

Annie? Yes. Yes. Yes. "No. No. Just give me a minute, please."

"You don't have to see her." Katniss says.

"I haven't seen her since the fire. What do I say?"

"Sorry." She offers.

I could hit her. She's as useless as I am. "Sorry I almost killed you and your child."

"You know what to say, Johanna." Dr. Cace says confidently. The nurse must have called him. "If you're not ready we can ask her to leave."

I stand and steady myself, "No. I'm ready."

            The visiting room is cold and stark. The whitewashed room is small and smells faintly of paint. They're refurbishing. Annie is sitting in the armchair stuffed haphazardly into the room. I notice with relief that Adric isn't with her.

"Door stays open." The nurse advises. She smiles warmly as she leaves me.

            I take the seat set up across from Annie. She looks good. She looks strong. 'Mad' Annie Cresta is tougher than anyone ever gave her credit for.

"Hey Jo."

"Hey Annie."

Silence stretches its legs uncomfortably between us.

She starts suddenly, "You took care me and all that time you were falling apart." She rushes on. "Finnick was my anchor. After he died, you kept me standing and I never thanked you for that, Jo. I couldn't have the drugs around the baby. I was angry and I was scared. That's why I made you leave. I wanted you to know that, it's not that I didn't care." She pauses to catch her breath. "It took me a while to work up the, you know, to come out here, but I wanted to tell you in person."

            Annie always speaks in rushed declarations. I think sometimes she's afraid she'll lose her words mid-thought. Annie Cresta leaves her house on good days. On very good days, she wanders into town. Yet, here she is and she did it for me. The guilt runs hot down my spine.

"I'm sorry. Annie, I'm so sorry."

"You got help. You did something I never have. I'm sorry it took me so long to get out here. You took such good care of me, Jo. You didn't have to." Her green eyes well up once more. She hides behind a swathe of brown curls.

            I promised him. One night in a hotel, high as fuck. He smelled like sex and alcohol. His pupils were pinpoints when he made me swear I'd take care of her. She was too good. She was the only light in a dark room. He did everything so they wouldn't ruin her. I swore I'd do the same. She doesn't need to know that. Honesty isn't a weapon and it isn't always a balm. I did it for Finnick, but Annie wormed her way into my heart, the same way she did his.

I pat her hand lightly. "We're friends, Annie. That's what friends do."

She beams. "I brought you something." She rummages through her bag. She passes me an envelope.

            Pictures, it's full of pictures. Me and Finnick pulling faces. Finnick smiling on the beach. Finnick with his arm around Annie and Haymitch with his tongue out. Me and Haymitch passed out on a couch in the mentor's lounge. All of the mentors standing stiffly in a line. Me holding Adric in the hospital. Adric sleeping in Annie's arms. I can't stem the flow of tears running down my face.

"Can I hug you?" Annie Cresta knows to ask.

I wipe at the tears with my hand, "Yeah."

            We embrace. She's smells like the ocean and baby. She smells like a home that I didn't know I still had.

"He loved you so much, Jo. I love you too."

I pull away, "I'm sorry. I think I got snot in your hair." I wipe at my face again.

"That's the least repulsive thing I've had in my hair since I became a mother."

"He must be so big now."

"He's crawling. Little monster like his father. He's into everything."

"Really?" I sniffle. I'm missing so much.

"Yeah. He's all over the place. He'll be swimming before I know it. Haymitch wanted to take him swimming the other day and I said no."

"Haymitch?"

"He and Peeta have been visiting. I called them." She leans in close, "We should be together. All of us." Annie is a mother. Sometimes she can't take care of herself, but she'd like to take care of everyone else.

"You're all together." My voice breaks shamefully.

"Yeah. It's been nice. They've been staying in Finnick's old house. Peeta is a great cook."

"I didn't know that." They're all together.

"Your room is still there. That's what else I wanted to say. I wrote it down, in case, well you know." She shakes her head and pulls a face. "When you're ready, I want you to come back…if you want to, of course." She adds in a hurry.

            I haven't even thought about leaving. I'm 47 days into 90. There's still so much to fix, but if I can go back, they're the people I want to go back too. It's weird to have a home.

I tug on the bracelets around my wrist. "I would like that. Annie, I would like that very much."

She hugs me again with only a slight hesitation to ensure my compliance. "Tell Katniss, she's welcome too." She whispers into my neck. "When she's ready. We didn't forget about her."

"I'll tell her."

           Annie Cresta is beautiful, but that's not why he loved her. That's not why he sold himself to half the Capitol. That's not why Mags volunteered for her. That's not why I held her hair when she had morning sickness. Annie Cresta is the promise of this new world. She's goodness, forgiveness, kindness, and hope.

SEVENTEEN

            I watch Johanna exit the day room with the doctor close on her heels. Annie is here. I don't know what that means. I danced at Annie's wedding, but I don't know her like Johanna does. I only hope she doesn't hurt her. We've been doing so well. There are bad days. There are flashbacks and nightmares. Sometimes, my brain screams for drugs and I itch to take a pair of scissors to my wrist to make it stop. Some days, Dr. Cace pushes farther than I would like and the session ends with me stewing. Some sessions end with crying, but some with laughing. There are nights I sleep soundly and Johanna has to wait out the dark. There are nights when my screams wake the hall and Johanna shakes me awake. Sometime, we just play cards until morning. There are good days too. I am calm and even. I am sure-footed and steady. Sleep comes easy and memories don't consume me. Johanna finds an activities instructor who gives as good as she gets. The look on Johanna's face is worth a night spent building a birdhouse. The doctor won't let me have a bow, but he brought me in a fishing line. I build a lure and silently thank Mags for the knowledge. One night, they let us sleep outside. Johanna and I hustle cards, well, Johanna hustles cards. We've collected a substantial stock of food and nail polish. Sometimes no one will talk to us. I think I may not be irreparably damaged. I think I can be okay.

            The day room is empty now. I settle back in my chair. Peeta's letter is stashed in my back pocket. I can feel the weight of it. I've been carrying it for days. We're shielded from the outside world here, but as Johanna goes to face Annie, I think it's time I faced the people I hurt too. I can't read it here, though. This room is too exposed. The chair screeches as the feet drag across the floor. I push through the double doors and stride down the hall. I've decided to be brave.

            My finger slides easily breaking the seal. The folded paper is plain and thin. I know I'm imagining it, but I am enveloped in the familiar scent of him. I could pretend to love him, but I know it's cheating. Every lie that makes it easier robs us of growth. I know I hurt him. Peeta will always be important in the story of my life, but I don't have to love him because they said I should. We can change our story or we can end it. I owe it to him to tell him that and he owes it me to listen. Then we'll see where we end up. I spread the letter across my lap and start to read.

Dear Katniss,

I'm sorry if this letter is disjointed. They said I should speak my truth. This is my truth.

I remember the first time I saw you. You were singing and you were so happy. I wanted to know you. As we got older, you stopped singing and you stopped smiling, but I still wanted to know you. I wanted to make you happy. All I wanted was to be a part of your life. Then we were thrown together by something random and awful, but we survived. We survived so much together. I thought once we went back to Twelve, everything would come together. I thought we would heal together…

I know you didn't want to go, but I don't regret it. I'll never regret it. Even if you never forgive me, I won't be sorry. I couldn't pretend not to see the scars or the needles. I couldn't watch you kill yourself and you were too far gone for me to help you.

I should tell you how when you hurt yourself, you hurt other people too. I let you take advantage of my feelings for you. I didn't sleep for days because I was afraid I'd find you blue and cold on the bathroom floor again. I thought that I could fix you. I thought that with enough control and supervision I could save you. I'm sorry I let my selfishness cloud my better judgment. I was so afraid you would never forgive me and that I would lose you, so I gave in every time. I need to tell you that I won't do it again. It isn't fair to me. I won't be manipulated anymore. I'll walk away if I have to. I don't want that, but I will.

I think we could start fresh. It would be silly to think we could forget the past, but I think we can move forward from this. You have my forgiveness and I hope that I have yours.

I will always love you, Katniss. I hope that you are succeeding in your program. If anyone could come through this, it's you. I believe in your strength. I look forward to hearing from you and I hope to see you soon.

-Peeta

EIGHTEEN

"All right, last thing today, Everdeen. I'm glad to hear you've decided to extend your stay with us. Now that you are approaching the thirty-day mark, we'll need to talk about if you're ready for visitors. That's the assignment for the weekend. Keep journaling and start to think about if you would like to extend an invitation to anyone for visitation day."

"And keep Johanna in line?"

"Always. I'll see you on Monday, Everdeen. Make sure to mail that letter. I'm sure Mr. Mellark is looking forward to hearing from you."

"I will. Have a good weekend."

NINETEEN

"Johanna, sixty days clean. How does it feel?"

"I didn't have a bad night all week."

"That's great."

"It's fucking awesome. I feel good, genuinely good."

"You had a good week. I heard Annie stopped by on Saturday. She brought her son with her."

"She did. He's so big. I can't believe it and Annie looks great. We always worried about her. Look at her, she's the best off of all of us. He'd be so proud of her."

"He'd be proud of you too. Give yourself some credit. You've come very far from the girl who broke my window."

"I apologized for that."

"You did and I almost believed you."

I sit on my hands and lean forward, "Okay. I'm sincerely sorry that I threw that book and broke your window. I was angry and that wasn't an appropriate way to express my anger. Even if the look on your face was very funny."

He grins, "Thank you Johanna. I accept your apology." He claps his hands together, "All right, we still have a lot to work on. You ready to get started?"

"Absolutely."

TWENTY

"Johanna! Johanna." I shake her shoulders. "Hey. Wake up. Johanna!"

She jumps up with a gasp. "That was a bad one. Worst in a while." She rests her head against my chest. She's still breathing heavily. Her hair is plastered to her face.

I brush the hair back from her face, "Water?"

"Arena." She untangles her sheets from her legs.

"Which one?"

"The first one." She frowns and bites her lip. "Spiders."

"Flesh-eaters."

"Yeah. Nasty little fuckers. That girl from Five, they fucking ate her. They were eating her skin, and she was still alive. That shrieking and chewing." She shivers. "Fucking awful sounds."

"You think you'll go back to sleep?"

"If you stay." She doesn't look at me when she asks for things like this.

My hand runs down her hair. "One to a bed. No head to head." Dorm rules.

"It's just sleeping."

Some nights, it takes two people to fall asleep. "Okay. Lie down."

            She curls inward and I lie behind her. She entwines her fingers in mine. I can feel the shudder of her back as she fights back tears. She holds my hand tighter as the tears fight their way down her face. I sing a song into her hair.

Awful sweet to be a little butterfly

Just winging over things and nothing deep inside

Nothing going, going wild in you, you know

You're slowing by the riverside or floating high and blue

Or may be cool to be a little summer wind

Like once through everything and then away again

With the taste of dust in your mouth all day, but no need to know

Like sadness, you just sail away

Because you know, I don't do sadness

Not even a little bit

I just don't need it in my life

Don't want any part of it

I don't do sadness

Hey, I've done my time looking back on it all

It blows my mind

I don't do sadness

So been there

Don't do sadness

Just don't care.

TWENTY-ONE

            Prim is problematic. The memory of losing her is still razor sharp. We've talked in circles about my little sister, but the sound of her name leaves me reaching for a needle. How did anyone expect me to sleep, or read, or cook after everything that happened to us? The mundane back and forth of life scrapped me raw. Prim died. She died. Drugs are a warm blanket. The edge of life sanded smooth and easy. I could remember her life and not feel the bite of her death.

            I tried to find the meaning in it. Maybe the trees are still obscuring the forest. It could all make sense one day. Lines will snap and I'll see the message hiding in the mess. The pessimist inside thinks this will always be a black mark, a dark spot that no amount of time or antiseptic will every make clean.

            She used to bring home the most bedraggled, hopeless creatures. All skin, bones, and fight. My sister was a healer. She would have been a doctor.

"I think the best way I can honor her life is to let her memory heal me, not destroy me."

            I never imagined me without her. I was a sister. That was my purpose, my definition. In time, I know there will be more to me and possibly a little less. I won't be the girl she knew. I'll be alive. I'll be intact. Some days, I'll even thrive. She would like that. I've decided this is the one last thing I'll do for her. Happy and whole. I'll be okay. Come hell or high fucking water. I'll be okay.

He just nods as if he knew I'd get there all along, "I like the sound of that Katniss."

TWENTY-TWO

"Tomorrow's the big day, girl on fire. You ready?"

            We're squashed together in my tiny bed. She's smoking even though I asked her not to. The calming scent of rain surrounds us.

"No." Peeta's coming tomorrow.

"You'll be fine. If he's mean, I'll beat him up. It's been awhile, but I don't think the baker's boy will be any match for me." She flexes her arm.

            I laugh. She's gained weight. We both have, but she's still not fighting fit. If anyone could win a fight through sheer force of will though, it would be Johanna.

"You laugh, but I'd kick his ass." She smiles wistfully. "It's been awhile since I had a good fight."

"I'll let you know."

She digs her bony chin into my shoulder and sighs. "You know what to say."

"I do."

            She switches out her cigarette for a wad of string. Her fingers twist and pull rapidly in the dark. I know what to say. I've already said it in letters. It'll be different in person. The lightning flashes, illuminating the collage of pictures Johanna has tacked to the wall. Annie sent us new photos. Peeta and the baby in the sand. Haymitch sunburned and asleep. Domesticity suits them. There's a picture of Haymitch and Annie eating at the end of a long table, empty chairs on either side of them. There's room for us there.

            Room for us. The sharp edge of her elbow wedged between my ribs is a comfort. Her dark eyes are a reassurance. The bite of her words provides a strange balm on fraying nerves. We haven't talked about it, but Johanna's time here is ending. The prospect of facing this place alone is disconcerting. There's a tightness in my chest at the thought.

"What you thinking about, brainless?"

You. "That I'm tired, but someone's hogging my bed."

"You like it."

            I do. Her fingers find mine. We fall asleep to the sound of the rain.

TWENTY-THREE

"You've got two weeks left with us. We'll spend our next sessions summarizing what it is you've learned in your time here and preparing for the transition back into your life. Have you decided where you will be going?"

"I'm going back to Four." I say this with a confidence I don't feel.

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"That's where my people are."

"A support system is important, but there is some concern about returning to the place where your addiction was at its worst."

"I don't think it was the place that did it."

"There will be triggers there."

"There are triggers everywhere." He's waiting for me to take the next step. "But, now I know what they are." I settle. "I'm ready."

"I believe you are ready. It won't be easy, Johanna. Most relapses occur in the first few months, you'll need to be vigilant."

"I'm excited to leave." I run my hands through my hair, "I'm nervous too. I'd be lying if I didn't say I was worried about slipping, but there are things I want that I can't have if I'm high. I don't know if that will make it any easier, but it's something to hold on to."

TWENTY-FOUR

            He's healthy and tan. His hair is a mess. He's probably been running his hands through it all morning. He smiles. It's familiar. It's home. I think my hands shake less at the sight of it. I'm in his arms without a thought.

"Hey."

"Hey, Katniss."

            He smells the same. He pulls me in closer. He's crying. I can feel the wet, warmth on my skin. There are tears on my face too.

"You look good." He exclaims. We step apart and he shakes his head. His fingers track the skin under my eyes, no longer hollow and bruised. We embrace again.

"You're hair is short." We take our seats in the chairs set out.

"Johanna cut it. You should see hers."

            His eyes are wide and his palm is pressed against his mouth. He keeps shaking his head. There's a burst of laughter mixed with more tears. My tears, his tears, our laughter coalescing and retreating. My stomach aches and my throat is raw. Peeta is here and he doesn't hate me. Peeta is here and we're working towards forgiveness. This is the first time, in a long time, I've seen his face clearly, not through a synthetic daze.

"You look good too." Strong. Solid. Smiling. The Peeta I remember. Not that pale specter looming over me screaming words I couldn't comprehend or that hollow figure hugging himself in the hospital.

            There's so much to say. So many things he needs to know. So many things I need to hear.

"I'm very happy that you are here."

"I'm happy that you're here." He adds. My fingers press into the scars bisecting my wrist. He winces at the sight of it. "Can I see it?"

"Sure." I extend my arm and his fingertips graze the shiny, puckered skin.

"There was so much blood."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

            It's not an uncomfortable quiet that falls between us. It's contemplative. He keeps his eyes fixed on me.

"You look good." he says steadily. "It's okay. It is. Or it will be." I can hear the sadness in his voice. "You've outgrown…this. I don't want your obligation…We saved each other." He rests his hand on mine. "You have to take happiness where you can. I only ever wanted you to be okay."

"You too."

"Yeah. Me too."

            Trust is fragile, but it can be re-grown. We're at the advantage here. We've done it before.

TWENTY-FIVE

            I can see it now, the sad song hiding behind the raucous melody. Johanna Mason is a fighter. She's the wild girl with a curse on her lips and an ax in her hand. Sometimes she's quiet. Sometimes the hurt is too much. Every time she reaches for my hand, she secretly expects I'll pull away. I'm learning to reach for her too. I know the ways of the body. You need to drink, you need to eat, and you need to touch. It's not weakness to crave the warmth of another person. You have to be able to do it yourself, but it is okay to lean a little when the load is too heavy. We're dancing towards something here. It's something new. It's scary and possibly inappropriate. It's instinctual, mechanical. I didn't even notice it was happening.

"Too close, Johanna."

"Am I?" She presses in closer. Her grip is tight. "You like it." She whispers, harsh and hot against my skin.

            I do. I like the crush of her body on mine. I like the cut of her hands across my skin. I like the fire in her eyes.

"We can't do this."

"You want to. I want to. That's all it takes."

"What if it ruins us?"

"What if it makes us better?"

"Are you ready for this?"

"We'll go slow." Her lips brush mine. "I trust you, Katniss Everdeen.

            Slow means a chaste kiss. Her lips gentle and closed against mine. It's crossing a line that we aren't yet ready to breach. It's a confirmation that we're both heading in the same direction. It's a promise of what we can have together. It's nice. Her body goes stiff at my lack of reciprocation. Too many thoughts and I've almost missed the moment. I kiss her back. Arousal pools smooth and warm. I know my face is flushed when she pulls away. She smiles. I saw Johanna Mason naked a long time before I ever saw her exposed.

"I'm not good at this, Johanna."

"Don't worry. Me neither." She rests her head on my chest and I wrap my arms around her.

The rules say no relationships for a year. Sobriety is the job. You don't want to trade drugs for love, but I think that in a year we'll still find ourselves here.

TWENTY-SIX

            I'm leaving in the morning. Annie was coming, but now Peeta is. We'll take the train home. Today has been a quiet day. I met with Dr. Cace. I thanked him. We hugged. It was all very sentimental. There was congratulation cake after dinner. Katniss lingers at my side. We snap together like magnets. My favorite night nurse embraces me. Katniss sticks out her tongue. She's biting back tears, same as me.

            I'm equal parts exhilarated and fucking terrified. It's easy here. It's won't be easy out there. I came to the hospital on a gurney, alone and, for a moment, dead. They wheeled me into rehab in a chair, hopeless and angry. Now I'm leaving steady on my own two feet. I stumbled through life for so long with no structure. Just free standing, alone, against the wind and cold. Together with the doctor, we've built a firm foundation. I've got something to start from now. The rest of the house will come. I have the tools to build. It's still a fucking stomach-churning prospect. It's so easy to fall. You're treading water and then you're drowning. I'm hopeful, but I'm cautious. I'm excited, but I'm sad. She wrinkles her nose and tilts her head towards the door. I nod. Some goodbyes need to be made in private. My things are packed. I left the photos on the wall.

"Tomorrow is going to suck."

She frowns. "If it's a bad night, you have to tell Annie or Peeta. Or Haymitch, he'll probably be awake anyway…Maybe stay away from him. I'll kick your ass if you come back here…" She's rambling, throwing out instructions in a frenzied daze.

I grab her arms. "Hey. Girl on fire, chill the fuck out. It's going to be fine. I got this…Are you going to be all right?"

Her eyes are shiny. "What? Yeah, no. I'll be okay…"

"You will be and I will be. And in 27 days, we'll be okay together."

"Okay."

"Sleep?"

She steps back. "Way too much energy."

I curtsy and offer her my hand. "Dance it out?"

            We turn the radio on low. The first song is a fast and hard murmur in the background. I pull her in and she's spins away. Most days, I feel fucking ancient, but right here, twirling in my socks with a pretty girl, I'm 23 years young.

TWENTY-SEVEN

"Ready to go?" Peeta asks.

I shoulder my bag. "As ready as I'll ever be." I'm holding it together. I'm calm and cool. Peeta smiles warmly and then my smooth exit is ruined by an armful of Katniss Everdeen.

"27 days." I whisper into her ear.

"Happy and whole, remember? Make him pay for it."

            We separate and there are no tears today. We are fierce and we are determined. Peeta jams his hands into his pockets. He rocks on his heels and looks between us. He can see it. I know he can.

"Ready?" I nod. He embraces Katniss. "We'll be back for you soon."

"27 days."

            A car is waiting to take us to the train station. It's strange how much things have changed. I had never even been in a car before the games. Now you can call one to come and pick you up. The ride is quiet. Peeta stares out his window and I stare out mine.

"Annie is making your favorite for dinner."

I can't fight the flush of emotion that floods my body. I'm crying, but to his credit, Peeta doesn't bat an eye. He gives my hand a squeeze.

"I know. Annie's cooking upsets me too."

I sputter a strange mix of laugh and cry. Peeta Mellark is all right. "She tries so hard."

"She made us crunchy eggs. Haymitch wouldn't even eat them."

"Did she ever make you that stew?"

"Fish and stuff surprise?"

"Yes! Is that what you call it?" I rub at my eyes, "Finnick told her it was his favorite. She used to make it all the time for me. She'd always get this look on her face, all weepy and shit. Fucking Finnick, I'm sure he thinks it's funny.

"Even the kid knows. I can see it in his eyes. Sheer terror every time Annie goes near a frying pan."

"He's smart that one."

"He'll be walking soon."

"I can't believe it." He's eyeing me. "What?"

"You look good, Mason."

"You don't look so bad yourself, Mellark."

"You'll let me know if you need anything. Katniss will kick my ass if I don't take care of you."

"She is very scary. She threatened me too."

"Such a violent girl." He shakes his head. "But, seriously, you need anything you let me know. You aren't all alone in this."

"Thanks." And I mean it, so much more than I'll ever be able to say.

"No problem."

            Peeta's all easy smiles and cheap laughs. We make it home in one piece. Annie is waiting on the stairs wrapped in a green sweater and a long skirt. She's beautiful lit in the dying light of the sun. She's been crying. Her eyes are rubbed raw. I don't know why. It could be Finnick, me, or just all the monsters in Annie's head. Our embrace is tight and unforgiving. The smell of home, it's all there, tangled in her hair. Over her shoulder, I see Haymitch lingering in the doorway. He gives a belated nod. Uncertainty doesn't suit him. His embrace is hard and smells of liquor and sweat and spice.

"You had me scared there kiddo." He whispers.

            Dinner is equal parts burned and uncooked, but it doesn't matter. We're together and an empty chair sits beside Haymitch like a promise waiting to be filled.

TWENTY-EIGHT

"I wrote my mother."

"You're decided that you don't want to see her?"

"Not here. It'll only upset her. She's going to visit when I get out or I'll visit her." He gives me the eyebrow raise, I've come to recognize as elaborate. "I don't need to be close to my mother to know that I love her. That's not the way we work."

"What about Mr. Hawthorne?"

"He's-Gale is difficult."

"How so?"

"We were friends for so long. I always care for him, but-" Elaboration eyebrow. "We bring out the best in each other, but we bring out the worst too."

"You can care about someone, but that doesn't mean they work in your life."

"Yeah. He knows I'm okay and I know he's okay. That's enough for right now."

"That's good work, Katniss."

            We're making progress. I'm painting the lines of my life in broad strokes. The finer work will take time, but it's my hand painting the picture. Not poverty, not the Capitol, not Snow, not Coin, not drugs, not even Peeta. It's all me.

TWENTY-NINE

            Twenty-seven days dwindle down and I'm packing my bags to go home. Johanna and Peeta are waiting for me in the morning. I'm spinning in her arms and then I'm caught in some kind of three-way hug. We're laughing like the kids we never really were. I'm a flurry of excitement and fear, but my footing is solid when I exit out into the cold, autumn air.

Annie's home is warm and welcoming. Finnick's son has inherited his smile and his propensity for making me uncomfortable. Haymitch is his unfortunate charming self. We're combative, but we're caring. That's how we work. He calls me sweetheart. I call him old man. We hug. He messes up my hair. I pretend to be mad and not to notice the relief in his eyes when I don't punch him in the face.

It's cool outside, but the view is worth bearing the cold. I dig my feet into the sand. Johanna brings me tea.

"Hey."

"Hey."

I blow on my tea. "Does it get easier?"

"Parts of it." She answers confidently. "Transitions aren't our thing, I know, but this one's worth it."

"You been sleeping?" I take a sip of tea, wince, and then pour the remainder into the sand. Annie is a disaster.  

"I'm nightmare free, girl on fire. Which reminds me, I think I found my problem and apparently it was you." She sing-songs.

"You're the problem. My ceramics improved ten-fold without your bad influence."

"You are the most terribly un-artistic person I have ever met."

"I don't know why I missed you. You aren't even nice."

She pushes me into the sand with the full force of her body. "I'm a very nice person."

            She's straddling my thighs and rubbing sand into my hair. There's a collision of open hands on flesh. She beneath me now, spitting out sand and laughing. She kicks me off into the sand and takes off running down the beach. She stops short of the shoreline. I catch up to her and wrap my arms around her waist. We spin away from the water and I drop her into the sand.

"Truce." I offer breathlessly, my hand extended out to her.

            She drags me down onto the ground with a smirk. We collapse in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter. She kisses me lightly on the lips. We sit side-by-side, arm in arm, and watch the tide come in. Annie and Adric join us. Peeta and Haymitch too. The cold water laps at our toes while we watch the sun go down.

THIRTY

            Peeta bakes, Haymitch drinks, Johanna throws, Annie sings, I fish. We rise to the top and we sink to the bottom. Adric starts to walk. Johanna and Peeta face the waves. Peeta has a flashback in the water. Haymitch has to haul him out. Johanna takes him under her well-experienced-with-flashbacks wing. She wakes the house up with her screams that night. She laughs it off, but we share a bed until she can shake the memory of Peeta's screams.

            I blackout in the kitchen. I cut my hand and wake up on the floor. Annie wraps my hand up with a tender hand. Haymitch stops drinking and then starts again. Annie panics in the marketplace. She's quiet in the aftermath, but Peeta and I make it our goal to joke until she breaks and laughs. Adric says his first word. Johanna and Haymitch are both disappointed that his first word was 'ma' despite their best efforts. Annie and Peeta dance on the sand. Johanna and I join them.

            Annie plants, Johanna trains, Haymitch raises geese, Peeta paints, I start a scrapbook. We gather around the table and pour our stories into that book. The Games, the Rebellion. Finnick's smile, his strength, Annie's husband and Johanna's best friend. Rue and Prim, beloved little sisters. Cinna. Haymitch's memories of past victors. Peeta's paintings. Humorous sketches of the best of Effie Trinket. Johanna's family. Annie's, Haymitch's and Peeta's too. The good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly.

            I stumble into the bathroom one rainy day and there she is with a needle in her hand. I can hear my heart beating in my chest. Her eyes are wide and she's swearing it will just be once. One last hit. I want it. She wants it. That's all it takes.

"It won't be just once."

            She looks at me intently. If she plunges that needle into her skin, I'll do the same. We'll ride it out together on the bathroom floor.

"I found it. I must have stashed it. They didn't find it when they checked the room." She's breathless, "I was cleaning, of all things, and there it was."

            We're months out. I haven't been sleeping. She's been sleeping too much. It's so easy to fall apart. It's easy to climb back into the hole. I lick my lips in anticipation. The hot burn in your veins. That sweet high. The quick escape. Make you feel so good.

"Just one last time."

            The needle is poised in the crook of her elbow, ready to rip a new track. The words to dissuade her stick in my throat. Don't do it. Don't do it. Do it. Do it. Do it so it's okay for me. Do it for me.

"Take it from me."

I can't. I can't. I won't be able to put the needle down. "Johanna-I can't…"

"Just one more time." She offers.

            Don't. Don't do it. If you do it, I'll do it. Peeta's in the kitchen. It's okay to ask for help. Remove yourself from the situation or avoid the situation entirely.

"Peeta! Peeta!" The sound of feet flying up the stairs overwhelms the sound of blood pounding in my ears.

"Katniss, what is-" He pushes me into the hall. "Johanna. Let me have that."

"I need you to take it."

            He inches forward gingerly and pulls the needle from her grasp. I exhale. I'm lightheaded from holding my breath. She shoves past me without a word.

"Go." He says. "I'll take care of this."

            I'm down the stairs and out the door. I can see the back of her head. She's stalking down the beach. I stumble running in the wet sand. We're shoulder to shoulder. She's crying and she's angry. I can taste the fire.

"It's fucking hard. Everything's fucking hard."

"You didn't do it."

"I would have."

            So would I. We walk until the sun starts to set. We turn around and head back. Peeta is waiting in the kitchen with Annie. The tension is overwhelming. There's anger and betrayal. There's worry and concern.

"Are you clean?"

"Yes."

"Do you have anymore?"

"No."

"She found it. It was hidden in her room." I think that matters.

"Are you clean?" He asks me pointedly.

"Yes." Almost not. Almost doesn't count. It's fine. We're fine.

Peeta and Haymitch sack her room. Haymitch knows all the best spots. Her head rests on my shoulder as we sit like misbehaving children in the hall.

THIRTY-ONE

            Peeta opens a restaurant and Johanna is employed for exactly two days. She decides to teach self-defense to the kids in town and sell her pottery on weekends. It's better for everyone. Finnick's father helps me run my own boat. Haymitch finds a dog. He's a big yellow lab that will eat your face if you look at Adric funny and for some reason only eats Johanna's shoes. Haymitch refuses to dignify that accusation with a response. Johanna throws a handful of salad at him. Annie leans across a table to smack her, colorful bracelets slip down her thin arms. She volunteers at the library in town. Twice a week, she runs story time for the kids.

            Adric is six when Peeta and Annie decide to get hitched. They came together slow and sweet. They're all lightness and harmony. Their kids call us Aunt Jo and Aunt Kat. Johanna teaches them to swear. I teach them to shoot. Haymitch is a fun time and a cautionary tale. They ask us about the Games and we tell them.

"You're happy. Real or not real?" Peeta asks one warm summer night.

"Real." I answer without hesitation. "What about you?"

"Real." He beams.

            The threat of relapse is always there. Johanna and I fight it hand in hand. You'll never fathom the how or the why of all the shit that happens in a life and you can't just fill the empty space with other things. The holes are always going to be there, but you can find new spaces to fill and maybe the new things press in and those gaping holes shrink.

            She's in my arms tonight and we're moving together in the sweet ocean air. The swell of her breasts. The taste of her tongue. We're secondhand lovers. All fraying ends and cracked glass. We're rough around edges, but there is something firm in our experiences. The smell of her. The bite of her words. What we have is solid all the way through. It doesn't matter that some days we're both paper-thin.

"Happy and whole."

"Fuck yeah we are."

The End