"I assign myself no rank or any limit, and such an attitude is very much against the trends of the times. But my world has become one of infinite possibilities"
~Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man
The night is suffocating. I lie curled up on my side, my limbs aching to move but exhaustion simultaneously keeping them still. My eyes feel heavy but my mind is racing too fast to allow me to sleep. I try to push the thoughts away but they keep coming back.
Somewhere, outside the Capitol, away from the Districts, there's a rebellion in the works. For years' people have been working secretly and I've been none the wiser. To be fair, nothing seems to have changed. Finnick is involved. A lot of Victors are involved; and they want me to help. If they caught me or anyone else, it would be death. It would be safer to say no, to pretend I never heard anything and hope no one comes to arrest me, but I don't want safety. I'm not afraid to die. Now at least, there's a goal. I won't be content until they're all gone and Snow is dead.
Hours pass without sleep. Twice I almost climb out of bed to go demand Finnick explain it all again, just to verify the truth, to make sure it wasn't all a dream. But I know I can't do that. Don't do anything suspicious – that's what Finnick told me.
Finally, the sun rises enough for me to get out of bed. I sigh, stretching out my arms as I kick off the blankets and get to my feet. I dress simply and stand in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror as I brush through my hair. Looking into the glass I have the sudden thought that there could be cameras in the mirror. I blink slowly, letting my eyes wander the shiny surface, looking for anything abnormal. Of course I don't find anything, but even as I leave the room there's a nagging suspicion in my gut that I'm being watched.
I force myself to sit quietly through breakfast with Derek and the tributes. Jillian peers at me over a steaming mug. Something about her look bothers me. It's like the way my mother used to look at me when she knew I did something wrong and wanted me to confess to it. It makes me feel anxious, and each time I look up at her she ducks her head down, pretending not to have ever looked to me.
"What?" I hiss finally.
She jumps like I shouted at her. Her hands clutch at her mug like a lifeline, "W-what?"
"What's wrong?" Ivan asks, his voice sounding sturdier than I'd imagine for a thirteen-year-old on death row.
"I'm not talking to you" I growl at him. He makes a face and looks down at his lap. The two of them exchange a quick glance, making me clench my jaw in irritation. "Do you two have something to say?"
Karina makes a clucking sound, clearly upset by my behavior. "Johanna, please" she sighs.
I shoot her an icy glare, "problem?"
"You don't need to take out your problems on these two" she gestures at Jillian and Ivan. "They haven't done anything to warrant this behavior."
The room is silent. Derek is watching me cautiously, but his mouth is pressed shut. Jillian and Ivan both stare down, silent as the grave, like they'd prefer to disappear. I stare at Karina, various insults racing through my mind that would send her away shaking. Something catches at my tongue, though. She meets my stare and I notice that the blue in her eyes is the exact shade of her wig.
I let out a long breath and prop my elbows on the table. "Why are you here?" I ask calmly, despite the anger I feel whenever I look at her. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion and her mouth opens but no sound comes out. "Why would you come eat breakfast here when Derek and I" I glance over at him "obviously don't want you. And they" I look pointedly at the tributes "will be dead within the week. Is it fun for you? Do you get some sick enjoyment out of it?" I'm surprised to her my voice turning squeaky by the end.
Between every bad thought I've ever had about Karina, this is one question I genuinely want an answer to. What would motivate someone to be an escort? Does she even care about us at all?
"It-It's my job" she stammers.
I press my lips together, scowling violently. "Well, fucking fantastic job you're doing at it." I push up from the table but instead of going to my room, I push the button for the elevator.
Finnick is seemingly waiting for me, sitting at the matching table on the fourth floor instead of the seventh. His grin upon seeing me is enough to make me forget my anger and smile back at him.
"Good morning" he nearly purrs, his eyes alive and shining.
Across from him, an old woman turns around. Mags. I've only spoken to her once and I'm not currently in the mood for pleasantries. Especially not for someone Finnick cares so much about.
"You ready?" I snap, crossing my arms.
After a long sigh, Finnick gets to his feet, silently joining me in the elevator to the control room. "Sweet dreams?" he asks, smirking, as I push past him once the doors open.
I nod in return, my gaze sweeping around the room. I assumed no one would be down here – why would anyone want to spend more time here? But there's a few other Victors milling around, talking quietly and looking at numbers on their screens. At District 2, Enobaria snaps her head up just as I'm looking at her. She sneers wickedly, flashing those ridiculous sharpened teeth. I roll my eyes dramatically and look back at Finnick.
He seems amused by the silent exchange but he doesn't comment on it. "Come on" he jerks his head, "I want to introduce you to someone."
I keep my lips pressed firmly together as I follow him to the left, down a row of computers. There's only two people sitting on this side of the room, so it's no question who he's bringing me to. District 3 – technology; that's no surprise. They'd be quite the little masterminds. But as for their names… I have nothing.
"Beetee" Finnick calls as he steps up behind the short, dark haired man. Beetee I repeat to myself but it doesn't ring any bells. He turns in his chair, his glasses falling down his nose, and receding hair a mess. He looks like someone who's too smart, which, I guess, is a good thing in this instance. "Have you met Johanna yet?"
He meets my eyes, his face quizzical as he studies me for a long moment before looking towards Finnick, "no, I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
He smiles, an expression that doesn't look natural on his wide, compact face. I nod but keep my mouth still. The sound of murmuring pulls my attention away from both of them and focuses it on the woman at Beetee's side, her back still towards us and her face glued to the screens. She's singing? Or muttering to herself? I can see her lips twitching with the words, though I can't make out any of them.
"Wiress" Beetee calls, catching her attention. Wiress. Still nothing. She turns to look between me and Finnick, her eyes dancing wildly as her muttering increases in tempo. "This is Johanna Mason."
At my name she flicks her head up to look me in the eyes. She cocks her head to one side, then to the other, speaking quietly all the while. I look between Beetee and Finnick, but neither of them seem particularly concerned by her behavior. Is she insane?
"She doesn't speak much" Beetee says finally, and Wiress immediately turns back in her chair to whatever she was doing. "The Games messed with her head but she's still incredibly smart. Smarter than the rest of us, I think."
I knit my eyebrows and nod. I sincerely hope that isn't true or else we're all in trouble.
"So," Finnick sighs, sounding particularly bored. "What've you been working on lately?"
That makes his eyes light up and he whirls around the rummage around in a small bag. I press my lips together tightly, trying to remember his name, which I've already forgotten. Beetle? Boris? It definitely started with a B. I keep my face straight and hope I won't need it when he turns back towards me with a small silver device in his hands. Immediately I notice how both he and Finnick shift so that they're standing between it and the computers. No privacy down here either I suppose.
"It's meant to look like jewelry – a necklace, bracelet, even a watch if you'd like," he turns it around as he speaks "but in the edge here is a camera, almost invisible." I look where he points but I don't see anything. "It's meant to help keep you from getting lost or out of a bad situation; you take a picture of your path, or anyone who may be nearby, and suddenly you have a memory, and evidence." His eyes narrow ever so slightly when he says the last bit, as if I might not understand what he's insinuating. I give him a mildly annoyed glare in response. "It's simple, but it's useful" he murmurs, "you can have it, if you want it. They're really very easy to make."
It's cold when he drops it into my hand, but I take it without a word.
I sleep, but fretfully. Finnick and I spend the day together, talking idly and pretending we didn't commit an act of treason that would certainly get us both killed. I can't bear to go back up to my floor for dinner. Already I see Jillian and Ivan's dead faces each time I blink. So, as has become apparently custom, Finnick and I hide together and end up falling asleep in his bed.
I lie on my back, watching the shadows dancing on the ceiling as the sun rises. Finally, I force myself out of the warmth and comfort of the blankets. I have to untangle myself a bit, making Finnick stir. I look over at him as I stand, sleeping peacefully. I can only imagine what it looks like to anyone paying attention. But there's nothing like that – no romance, no lust, and definitely no sex. Finnick has Annie and until a few weeks ago, I had Vinny. It's comfort and safety. It's hard to sleep when you know that dreams will come to haunt you.
As much as I try to leave quietly, as soon as I reach the door, Finnick raises his head. "Morning" he murmurs, running his hand over his face. "Leaving already?" he asks. I nod quickly, not staying any longer for fear that I won't leave at all. As much as it hurts to see them, they're my tributes and it's my job to be there.
It doesn't take my long to get upstairs, shower and change my clothes before heading to breakfast. I even make it out before the tributes do, though when they see me they both drop their gazes and fall silent. Derek gets them talking about training, and apparently they aren't completely useless – only mostly. They loosen up over breakfast, but as soon as Karina declares it time to go, they fall back into terrified silence.
"I won't be here tonight" I say before they stand. They look at me with wide eyes. "No one else can get you sponsors like I can" I mutter. Little do they know that I likely won't be convincing anyone of their superiority, but winning their money by losing my clothes. The little metal bracelet burns on my wrist as I mention it. It better fucking work.
Both of them mutter a thanks, almost looking revived by my words. I bite back the words to crush their spirits with a sip of coffee. There's worse things than hope.