Disclaimer: I did not create the characters from the Hunger Games. This is a fan fiction that I've included some of those characters in.
Warning : this contains sexual content and explores the psychology of abuse victims and how it affects their sexuality
Plot Summary: Katniss is locked in an apartment with a seemingly friendly stranger with good looks and quite the charisma. However he turns out to be someone much more sinister and the simple mishap of her "accidentally" being given the wrong apartment number turns out to be not such an accident after all. Only once they are locked in together does Katniss find out what a freak this dude really is.
The nightmares still come. I've gone to countless therapists trying to figure out everything that really happened in that apartment building. But the answers only come to me in snippets every now and then. In my sleep, mostly. When I come thrashing about, it disrupts any attempt to gather the missing pieces and despite the trauma they bring, I find myself almost disappointed. I want to understand myself. Sometimes I find myself ashamed for wanting to know. Even my boyfriend Gale, is not always the most understanding. He'd never say so, but sometimes I think he suspects I enjoyed the dark things that happened in Room 112.
I can't say I blame him. His thoughts are the same as what every one else suspects. Even the paid professionals in my life suggest this as I lay on my back in their extravagant couches talking about my feelings as they write notes. Even I wonder these things myself. I'm not sure what my friend Madge thinks as she sips on her venti iced black tea. "Slurp on that any harder and you'll get a brain freeze." She rolls her eyes. "Not from iced tea." I roll my eyes back. "Oh right, how dare I suggest such a thing would happen from your precious Starbucks." I'm convinced Dunkin Donuts has better to offer, but this probably has more to do with my dislike of coffee and obsession with sugar.
"So any update on the court case?" I look down. Oh. So we"re talking about that again. "Not that I know of. Not anything my lawyer has bothered to tell me." I'm not sure why I say it this way, I've got a damn good lawyer. But maybe not damn good enough. "Well I hope he rots in jail kitty." I flinch. She used my old nickname. The one I used to find endearing and now brings a sour taste in my mouth. Him. "Hey cheer up babe. What do you say we swing by Dunkin?" I smirk a little. "Yeah that sounds good." I say pushing my chair in. I still don't look up though. I'm not sure why.
. . .
After a good and cozy girls night in, Madge goes home to leave me to my own devices. I'm glad she doesn't suggest a sleep over like old times. Madge was always good at understanding when someone just needs space. Even though my therapists suggests otherwise, as isolation leads to depression and yada yada ya. Every once in a while it's nice to be by myself. So I can resume my old guilty pleasure.
Digging up repressed memories.
ive learned the best way to do so is to relax. Put yourself in a state of relaxation. At the moment this consists of me soaking in the tub with lavender scented bath salts and tobacco pipe scented candles lit all around me. The lights dimmed. And then my brain fades into nothingness. Until I'm back into Room 112.