Bruises covered her flesh like paint splattered on a canvas, blotchy and smeared all over her starving frame. As Johanna ran her fingers over the discolored skin, she was reintroduced to the pain that the pressurized water was responsible for. Her mind kept replaying the assault on her body; the sharp, burning liquid had hit her with such a tremendous and agonizing force. She remembered the feeling of it beating against her, pushing her to the floor and following when she tried to crawl away, the spray persistent and seemingly never-ending. The new aches were fresh on her body, covering every inch of her, and it left her in shambles as she tried to push the memories out of her head. She'd been shaking like a leaf for as long as she could remember, curled up in a ball on the floor of the lonely prison. Her unbound limbs did not steady, could not steady, in spite of her greatest efforts to still herself.

Solitary confinement. That was what the guards called it as they sauntered by her cell, confidentially whispering to each other in hushed voices. Every time she heard someone pass by her room, she felt a churning in her stomach comparable to none she'd ever experienced before. Their efforts to instill fear in her had, unfortunately, done the job quite effectively. Before her Capitol torture, Johanna wasn't sure if she'd ever been so afraid in her life. At this point, she hadn't a single clue as to what she would do with herself. Prior, no one had ever mentioned solitary confinement, and frankly, she wasn't sure what to expect. Then again, with the Capitol being what it was, she wasn't all too hopeful, nor was she surprised that it existed in the first place. The city was, after all, filled with savages.

With the stream of unpleasant thoughts whirling around in Johanna's head, replaying over and over again, she was quite motivated to escape her cage. Every part of her wanted to break free, to leave the cramped place she was confined to. Unfortunately, due to the heavy metal reinforcements of the cell, physically escaping was not an option. This didn't mean she couldn't at least attempt to run from the recent, nightmarish memories, of course. Perhaps, if she tried hard enough not to focus on the bruises, the torture, and the abuse, her mind could take her elsewhere. Somewhere… better than where she was presently.

For example, at home with her family.

She felt cold in the cell she was locked up in, though her mind was eager to steer her in an entirely different direction. Cold had not always been a bad thing, in her eyes. In fact, the Northernmost parts of Panem were known to get awfully chilly during the winter months. Having lived in the Northwestern part of Panem, exactly in District Seven, Johanna was no stranger to snow flurries and low temperatures. So clearly could she recall watching the frothy whiteness cover the treetops and the rooftops of her home town. She remembered gazing out the windows of her family's log cabin, watching the Winter with hope-filled, youthful eyes. As a child, she always took enjoyment in the cold; it meant the possibility of her getting dismissed from school, and on especially frigid days, the possibility of her parents getting days off to spend at home. The latter wasn't too often, considering the intensive labor that the working-class citizens had to endure, but before Johanna was old enough to question the government, she saw it as an opportunity to spend time with her parents. Even when she was rather small, Johanna was eager to help them out in starting up the fireplace, carrying appropriately child-sized logs and feeding them to the crackling warmth. Before fire had become a matter of life or death to her, and before it was what swallowed her family in the first place, it had been something that fascinated and comforted her. It was a sort of protection, safety, so to speak, almost akin to the way her parents had made her feel safe. On blizzard-filled nights when the weather conditions were far too harsh to work out in the forest, Johanna's mother and father would gather around the fire with her, telling all sorts of stories about family history and Seven's heroic workers. It was a safe place for her, even if all that remained were figments of this past.

As she grew older, Johanna eventually lost the status of an only child, and with a younger sibling in the house, cold seasons became even colder. Her parents took up more drudgery in order to support the family, which meant working even when the risk of frostbite was higher than ever. Though certain memories had become fuzzy, no thanks to them being, well… shocked from her brain, she still recollected the times when she had to bundle both herself and her younger sister in an array of blankets. When she was around twelve years of age, there was even a time when her and her toddler sister got snowed in. Jo was terrified, calling her parents to no answers, to no avail, not sure if they'd even found shelter in such awful conditions. When she saw the fear in her sister's eyes, however, Johanna knew that she had to be strong for her. At the very least, she had to feign strength as not to frighten the poor kid. So, she started a fire with the remaining kindling they had left. It was just enough for her sister and her, in that same fireplace her parents had gathered around many times before. She spent the rest of that time caring for her sister, ensuring that the two of them didn't freeze to death. To her relief, her parents did end up returning the following afternoon, after the snowstorm had calmed.

Now that she really thought about it, Johanna had been a rather reckless and silly child before the birth of her younger sibling. Initially, she hadn't even liked babies, much less considered the possibility of being related to one. Yet, it was tolerating, loving, and taking care of her sister that truly taught her something she needed to learn: responsibility. That was something that stayed with her, throughout the years.

It was funny, really, to think about someone who had once played such a massive role in her life. The love one could share with a sibling was incomparable to any other sort of love, and seeing her sister reduced to nothing but ashes was still the most upsetting thing to Johanna. If only she could've saved her sister, as a certain someone was somehow fortunate enough to do. Perhaps things would've been different. Honestly, she missed seeing the changes in weather, and she missed feeling warmth against her body, and she missed… she… oh, god, her sister burned because of her. She'd never feel the embrace of her sibling, or her parents, ever again. She could hear them in her dreams, and in the screams of Jabberjays in the arena, but as far as she reached, as hard as she tried to reach out for them, they were… gone.

…and, just like that, Johanna was pulled from the glittery world of escapism and tossed back into the ugliness of reality.

Johanna felt wetness again, however, no torture devices were at fault for this. This time around, it was all on her. It was all her fault. Who the fuck was she trying to kid? She was exhausted, and she was terrified, and she still couldn't let go of the past, with even the most obscure of things reminding her of it. She was so cold, and there was nothing to keep her warm, no one left to be strong for, no one to hold. Even her fellow prisoners were far from her reach. She was terribly alone, weeping into her bruised hands and feeling her already-sore throat swell from the sobs that went through her. Everything, everyone she'd once held dear to was gone, unreachable, and even her memories of them were becoming hazier every day, from all of the electric shocks she'd been given. She couldn't remember her mother's birthday, or how tall her sister had grown before passing away, or what her father's voice ever sounded like. With the damage that had already been done, she'd eventually be unable to rely on any positive associations. Everything was fading, and with Peeta and Annie far away from the solitary confinement Johanna was locked deep within, she truly did have no one. Any self control she had before her torture was practically nullified, now. The sound of guards passing by had ceased, and with little to no souls around to hear her, she hadn't a reason not to hold back her tears. Who would care, anyway? The fame she once gained from wining the Games meant absolutely nothing now. The person she had been in the past didn't mean a thing to anyone anymore.

Her bodysuit-type garment was still damp from the water, and her face was now covered in the warm remnants of her crying. This was all so fucked, and the worst part was that Johanna could've very likely died, right there, in the Capitol. Her gathering with Annie and Peeta could've been her last interaction with anyone remotely familiar with her. They could've been the last decent people she ever saw. It had become obvious very early on that her captors weren't going to feed her. With all of the privilege the gluttonous city had, it was a wonder that they didn't bother to feed prisoners. Part of the torture, perhaps–a reminder that they were in control of downgrading her from a worshipped celebrity to a worthless, slowly dying nobody. She didn't even have anything to leave behind.

Eventually, after some time, her tears dried, and her consciousness slowly drained. She was tired - and, incredibly disappointed by the lack of a mere bed in the room. So, Johanna slept on the floor, like the subhuman that the Capitol considered her to be, laying on the uncomfortable concrete floor that she was given. Then, she drifted off into an unconsciousness vaguely akin to sleep. It was a dreamless, empty place, with nothing but a silence that still somehow managed to be unsettling. Throughout this, she had a sneaking suspicion in the back of her head that someone would come along, ready to terrorize her at any given moment. Even sleep didn't work out too well.

It was with a cold sweat that she awoke, and she was greeted with the unpleasantness of her cell. Nothing had changed; this was real, and as nightmarish as it was, she wouldn't wake up in her bed at home. Such a depressing feeling this whole place gave her; even though she'd been released from all tight physical bindings, she was still deprived of any sense of freedom. It wouldn't be wrong to say that she missed having someone to talk to, however. By now, she would've started a conversation with Peeta, could've listened to his opinions and thoughts on the situation, or checked how he was feeling. She wondered what would happen to him during the time she was gone. No doubt, the Capitol would continue their brainwashing routine on him. There was no telling how far he'd gone from being the kid he was before being held int the Capitol. It was sad, really, and it was a shame that Johanna could do absolutely nothing to help him, or anyone.

Maybe she could help herself, though, by moving around, and not laying, uselessly, on the floor.

Johanna was hesitant to get herself off of the ground, to be quite honest. She hadn't exactly walked on her own for a while… well, not without being pushed around without Peacekeepers, but that hardly counted as walking on her own. She'd managed to curl herself into a ball at some point prior to this moment, and though it was tempting to stay in that position forever until she eventually (inevitably) died, it seemed like a better idea to move a little. Unwrapping her arms' tight grip around her knees, she unsteadily pushed herself up into a sitting position, taking a deep inhale of the musky air. What a repugnant smell it had to it. Using her muscles was harder now than it had ever been in the past, and the former Victor got the feeling that moving around would take some working up to. Made sense. With no food, her stomach was probably trying to eat up all of her muscles. Being tied down for days hadn't done her any favors.

Her legs were wobbly at the first attempt to stand, and she just barely caught herself before she tumbled to the cement floor. "Fucking pathetic," was her self-deprecating mutter, just barely above a breath as she rubbed the stinging sensation from her scraped hands. "Y-you won the Games, for god's sake," Johanna told herself, lifting her heavy-feeling body up again, in spite of the ache in her hands, "you can manage this. If no one's going to take care you, you'll just have to…" thud. With the first step, she was down. Again. The floor itself was getting in her way of moving. Couldn't there have at least been a carpet, or something soft to fall on?

Still, she hadn't the slightest intention of giving up. There was absolutely no point in laying around all day when she could walk. She was capable of doing it, and she could do this. "You'll just have to take care of yourself." It would be no different than before, right? When she had no one else to take care of, and no one to care for her, it was up to her to set things in motion.

The third time was the charm. With great effort, Johanna was able to stand herself up, her gait was unstable and wavering, but she was still capable of walking. Dizzily, she scrambled to the sink, and upon reaching her destination, she immediately clung to the old, rusting metal. It creaked as she grasped it, attempting to maintain her balance. It wasn't very sturdy, but it worked well enough.

Johanna wasn't surprised to see how grimy the old sink was. It looked as if no one had used it in a while, though there did happen to be some sort of dried residue near its drain. She couldn't tell what it was, and she had no interest in playing detective to find out. Taking a look at the area around the sink, she found that there was no mirror. This was actually sort of a relief, considering how much of a mess Johanna had to be. Her reflection was just unlike her; she didn't want to see the undernourished, hairless, water-fearing, colorfully bruised thing that they had made her into. The person she was now was nothing like her past self, even from a week or so ago. Current Johanna was simply… different. Not right. She longed to become her old self once again: the strong, fearless lumberjack's daughter with toned muscles and a readiness to take on the world. The old Johanna wouldn't have had any issues standing up. She wouldn't have cried over something so common as water. Water. That wasn't even supposed to be scary, and yet, now, she was absolutely terrified of being wet. Even the idea of turning on the sink repulsed her. Such a shame that she'd become something so weak, and at the hands of the people she despised, of all the ways it could've happened.

Johanna left her place at the sink, wobbly pacing around the room. There wasn't exactly anything to do; she could mess around with the sink and see if the old thing had any use, but she wasn't particularly tempted to deal with any more water than she had to. She could go full-on crazy, as many of her kind were expected to go, and strike a conversation with herself. Though, that would not have been remotely as fulfilling as talking to, well, another actual person. There wasn't anything she could use to write or draw with. Now, that was a shame. She could have used such an opportunity to draw a gigantic middle finger on the wall, specialized for anyone who visited the room to see. Doing something like that would have likely resulted in extra torture, anyhow. Probably wouldn't have been worth it, in the end, though it would have been something to make of her time. Time seemed to be all she had now, and that wasn't a good thing. It just gave her an opportunity to let her mind wander to places she did not want it to go to.

Eventually, she wandered to the toilet, sitting herself down in the same respect she would give a chair. She wouldn't call it gratitude, as the Capitol didn't ever deserve an ounce of gratefulness, but she would say that the plumbing was a minor upgrade. Having a toilet around was better than, well… having any humiliating loss of bodily control, as she may have had before. (That was something she preferred not to go in depth to think about, though. Too gross. Too embarrassing.) It was nothing compared to an actual toilet that an actual human being with freedom would use, but it was something. It also doubled as a place to sit, as was its purpose currently.

Hell, with the improvement of mobility and plumbing, solitary confinement might've been a better setup than her previous torture-specific cell. She still wouldn't call it that, though; that would've been like a starving person calling a few grimy table scraps a privilege. Being able to wander around in a tiny, confined, dirty room was just like getting slightly less disgusting shit thrown at her. It was still shit, no matter what way she looked at it. No amount of optimistic disguising would ever change that.

Johanna lightly traced her fingers over her chest, feeling the bones that were gradually beginning to protrude. Wondered if her stomach had already shriveled up or withered to dust after not being fed for so long. She didn't even want to know what was going on with the rest of her organs. The last meal she had was… what, something in the arena? Bread, seafood, or whatever? Even in the arena, she remembered being hungry for the most part. Definitely not enough to hold her over for the rest of her life, and even with the water that she had accidentally swallowed, she could tell just by looking at her hands that dehydration was a very real issue. So, that could be added to the list of issues she was having. Starvation, probably some internal bleeding, and… dehydration. In the real world, these would all be red flags for a trip to the hospital. If she were a regular Capitol citizen and not a rebellious Victor being punished, maybe the Capitol would've given a damn about treating her. Again, hypocrisy.

Oh, well. It just brought her back to the thought that she'd probably die, anyhow. On the bright side, if she did end up dying, Snow would be left with little to no information on the rebellion. Katniss would still have a fighting chance to lead everyone to victory, or whatever it was that Coin had planned. Things could potentially work out, even without Johanna's influence.

That was to say, if she wasn't totally torn up about Peeta. It was hard to tell how Katniss felt about him; she had looked fairly uncomfortable around him, from what Johanna had seen in Katniss' first games. Finnick was quick to speculate that the whole thing was an act, Johanna could recall. He was thinking it was Katniss' way of preserving herself, of getting sponsors and thriving. Johanna had agreed, at the time. It seemed logical enough to fake a romance in order to survive; it was the Hunger Games, after all, and people were desperate, would do anything to live through a night. Though, it seemed different when meeting them in person. The two star-crossed lovers of Twelve seemed pretty intent on macking on each other every minute during the Quell. Maybe it wasn't fake. Maybe Katniss wasn't doing well, and she was presently losing her shit with the awareness of Peeta's torture. Or detainment. Johanna had no way of telling how much Katniss new, or what Katniss was doing.

Not that Johanna would've really blamed her. She would've been upset, too, if someone she loved was still around to be tortured.

It was a shame she couldn't try to contact Katniss in some way. 'Send a postcard, or something. Say, "Hey, how are you doing? Me and Peeta are having a GREAT time getting brutally tortured and deprived every day!"

Well, hopefully things weren't going too awful there. Though, it was hard for Johanna not to hope that the people of Thirteen were feeling at least a little guilty about leaving three people behind, and letting another one get taken from District Four. Real great job they were doing, not bothering to rescue everyone they threw under the bus. Maybe they were just taking their time. Waiting for the right opportunity, or whatever. They were taking way too much time.

Even so, she did wonder what would happen first, out of all of the possible outcomes. Sure, she'd already been over the idea of her own slow demise, but what else could happen? Johanna could end up staying in solitary confinement for the rest of her short-lived life, and Peeta, Annie, and whoever else was there could end up getting rescued and taken to safety. She could survive, but be presumed dead and forgotten about in the end. One could call her selfish, but she really didn't like to entertain that idea. Alternatively, in a more positive turn of events, she could end up getting out of there, eventually, and she could get rescued with the rest of them.

Maybe that wouldn't happen, though. Maybe they would all die, because Thirteen was more than capable of dropping one of their fancy nuclear weapons right onto the Capitol. That was what they supposedly manufactured, right? Graphite and nukes? They could just decimate everything and call it a day, leave the whole place a pile of melted death like things had apparently been before the Games. They could erase the Capitol. That would have been anticlimactic, but at least it would have stopped Snow from killing anyone else, and it would've put an end to the Games altogether. Well, possibly.

All in all, Johanna favored the idea of surviving this and being able to escape somehow, be it by her own means or the means of a rescue. She was not sure how she would deal with the aftermath of torture; probably just nurse herself back to health, and move on with life, trauma or not. Damn, though, she really did miss eating. By now, she would be delighted to eat half her weight in anything edible. Food had never been a major issue for her, like it was in some of the poorer Districts. Before she won her games, Johanna had grown up in the lower middle class. While getting enough to eat was occasionally a concern for her family, it had never particularly been a major struggle. She used to be relatively healthy before all of this. Now, it was an entirely different story. Dinner was a luxury she could not afford. Maybe this was how people in places like Twelve felt all the time. Empty. Worrying about their next meal. Johanna wasn't sure if she would even get a next meal.

It seemed that all she could do was fantasize. About food, about socialization, about warmth, about being healthy and living to see the world outside of this hell. She could let her mind take her in any place she could… well, remember, and she could fantasize, and wait for something to happen.

So, she sat alone, in the cold, musky-smelling, quiet cell. Wondering if she would ever make it out of solitary confinement, if she would ever make it out of the Capitol alive. Wondering what would become of her in the following weeks, months, years.

Wondering how the world around her was doing, wondering what would become of the rebellion she fought for.

Wondering if her torture would ever be worth it all.

and she wondered.

and she waited.

and waited.

and waited.

...and waited.


Author's Note: This chapter was a bit of a slow one, as you may have noticed. I wanted to add to Johanna's backstory a bit, as well as update on the status of her deteriorating health. Worry not, though; the upcoming chapters will have a lot more action in them. ;) Thanks for reading, and thank you so much for the reviews and follows!