I wake up the next morning to see Dr Aurelius pushing through the curtain.
'What?' I grumble, too exhausted to muster much aggression.
'It's time for your appointment, Johanna,' he says calmly.
'Hooray. The highlight of my day,' I say sarcastically.
He disregards this and sits down by my bed.
'Are you going to try to do this properly today, or should I come back tomorrow?' he asks patiently.
I open my mouth to make a caustic diatribe, but then remember that my deal with Prim involved talking to the psychiatrists. She's not exactly going to find out if I skip this appointment, but I'd feel guilty all the same. The thought brings me up short. After all the things I've done, this is what I feel guilty about?
'Fine, whatever,' I say nonchalantly.
I see Dr Aurelius try to disguise his surprise. To be fair, I've rejected every offer so far.
'Now. How do you feel that you are recovering from your ordeal?'
'Which one?' I ask dryly.
'All of them.'
'I dunno, not that well.'
'And why is that?'
'Because…I'm pretty messed up.'
'What do you mean by that?'
'Well…I get nightmares every night,' I confess.
'I see. Do the nightmares ever trigger event flashbacks or panic attacks?'
'Sometimes,' I mumble.
'How often?'
'I dunno, maybe once a month.'
'Do you know why we get nightmares?'
'Yeah, because bad stuff has happened.'
'But do you know why that results in bad dreams?'
'No,' I admit reluctantly.
'When we suppress painful memories, the brain tries to make sense of them by itself, often combining all of your worst fears and memories into one scene. So can you think how to stop bad dreams?'
I shrug.
'Avoid painful situations?'
He smiles gently.
'How about not suppressing the memories? If you can consciously accept what has happened, then your brain doesn't need to on its own.'
He lets me absorb this for a while.
'What do you think about that?'
'Sounds horrible.'
'Why is that?'
'Do you think I want to drag up all those memories?' I shake my head. 'No, some things are best left alone.'
'Certainly with many traumatic memories, bringing them all to your primary consciousness is not a wise idea. But if done gradually, it would greatly aid your mental recovery.'
'Right, and where do I start? With being forced to kill children, or my family's murder? Or how about being tortured for a few months?'
'Johanna, I certainly understand that this is difficult for you, so I suggest that we start by looking at the dreams themselves. Do remember what you dreamt about last night?'
I shudder in response.
'I see. I won't ask you to relive the dream, but could you recount some of the major themes of it?'
'I was running in a maze.'
'And why were you running?'
'Because I was being chased.'
'By whom?'
'By people who were hurt because of me. And Snow.'
'Can I correctly deduce that you are plagued by debilitating feelings of guilt?'
I look away.
'None of your business,' I whisper.
'Alright, Johanna. I have one last question, then I'll leave you. Who were you running from in the dream? Apart from Snow, I mean.'
'A girl I killed to win the Games.'
He nods, and packs up his clipboard.
'And my sister,' I say after a while.
He pauses, and turns to look at me.
'I see,' he says, and leaves.
When Prim comes in on her afternoon shift, she smiles at me, and I automatically smile back. Then I catch myself and scowl at her.
'How did your session go?'
'Alright,' I shrug.
She seems to take this as meaning that it went well.
'That's good! How's your pain?'
'Horrendous,' I lie.
'Really?'
I scowl at her, thinking that she's sceptical. But she looks worried.
'The pain should be getting at least a bit better by now with that dose of morphling,' she frets.
She scribbles in her clipboard, and I feel a bit bad for lying.
A lie may take care of the present, but it has no future. I feel a jolt as my mother's favourite proverb hits me hard. Oh well. It's not like I have much of a future either. I squash memories of my mother down with the rest of my past.
'Where hurts?' she asks.
'My head. My chest. My legs. And I feel sick.'
'Are you stiff from lying down?'
'Probably,' I yawn.
'Do you want to have a walk?'
'Alright,' I say finally. It might distract me from my memories.
'Ok. We can go round the ward a few times.'
She offers me her arm.
'Can't we just walk in here?'
'It's not very far around here. It'll be quick.'
She looks at me expectantly. I don't want to walk through the ward and have everyone see me so weak and vulnerable, but I can't say that to Prim.
'Can we do it later?' I ask, acting like I'm tired.
She looks at me shrewdly.
'We can just walk in here if you want,' she says, relenting.
'Fine, whatever.'
I heave myself upright irritably. I feel fuzzy-headed and dizzy, so I cling tightly to Prim's arm while my vision rights itself. My walking is stiff and awkward. I can't get my legs to work properly. I'm used to having full control over my body, and being self-assured that I am strong and lithe. I don't like this heaviness. As we approach the bed again, my knees buckle. Prim staggers under my weight, but manages to hold me up. She's surprisingly strong for her size. Or maybe I'm just skeletal and malnourished.
Tears of frustration leak from my eyes at this lack of control over my body. Prim manages to drag me back to my bed, panting with effort. I feel irrationally angry at everything.
'I can't even walk across a f*cking room,' I fume.
'You've only been back a week,' she says consolingly. 'It's pretty amazing that you can do even that.'
'Don't patronise me,' I spit at her. 'I know I'm a lost cause ok?'
'Don't say that,' she whispers, eyes wide. 'Don't give up on yourself.'
'I gave up a long time ago, kid. And so did everybody else. They wouldn't have bothered rescuing me from the f*cking Capitol if it hadn't been convenient. They needed Peeta for Katniss, and Annie for Finnick. No one needed me.'
I look away bitterly. A small hand touches my shoulder. I shrug it off.
'I know I probably don't count, and that you hate me, but I haven't given up on you.'
She thinks I hate her. The thought makes me sad. And her comment touches me. She turns to leave.
'Prim.'
She stops and looks at me questioningly.
'I don't hate you,' I blurt.
She gives me a tiny sweet smile, and then she's gone.
