"The place where you made your stand never mattered. Only that you were there… and still on your feet"
~Stephen King, The Stand
It's mostly the same every day. I sleep a lot, the morphling dulling my senses and my pain to let me float blissfully in a state between consciousness and unconsciousness. I think back to the addicts from 6, who lived almost permanently on this stuff. I'd scorned them then, but they may have had it right. Getting drunk only does so much, and it doesn't always work. Alcohol, sex, and whatever it may be, still leaves me feeling like I'm at the bottom of a pit, but this doesn't let me feel a single goddamn thing and I love it.
Finnick visits me, but he never stays too long. He's worried about Annie. I try not to let him feel guilty, but I see the remorse each time he slinks back through the door, leaving me alone once again. It's lonely, sure, but I ignore it.
Haymitch even comes once, with a sheepish apology. I can't bother to give him more than a grumble and some choice words. But I know what happened wasn't his fault. I knew what I signed up for, and Katniss was always the goal, not me.
The doctor is more patient the next time they try to get me to eat or drink anything. It's slow, but I manage some solid food without puking. Drinking is another problem all together. My body still seems to think that any liquid means death and suffocation, but if I close my eyes and focus hard enough, I can take a few sips without panicking. It's exhausting, but I'm alive.
Miles, the head doctor comes every day as well. It's definitely my least favorite part of my new routine. He tries to get me to talk to him, but I refuse. My emotions, my thoughts, my experiences… they're mine, and no one else's. I'm not sharing anything with a stranger, and some of his questions… I don't think I could say any of it to anyone, especially not him. He threatens to keep me here if I don't cooperate, but I don't care because here I'm not being electrocuted, and I have a supply of morphling. Besides, where else would I go?
And, as Miles says every few minutes, I'm totally safe. It's laughable, but comparatively, this is the closest to it I've been in a long time.
"You can't go back, Johanna, only forward. I'm not telling you to forget, I'm telling you to let go"
"Yeah, well, I'd rather just forget" I growl.
Finnick is the one to tell me about District 2. It's five days into my being here. Apparently, a rebellion has been initiated in the Capitol's last standing loyal District, but in the process, a lot of people died and Katniss Everdeen, the mockingjay, the girl for whom I spent weeks getting the life beaten out of me, got shot in the process. I snort and roll my eyes only after Finnick tells me that she'll be fine and is on her way back here.
True to his word, she appears the next day. There's commotion once again upon her arrival. Of all the places, she's put in the bed beside my own. I get a chance to eavesdrop, to learn about her spleen being removed and Cinna's expert bulletproof design. I even get a chance to see the footage of her getting shot. It's ridiculous, the fuss over her when the bullet never even touched her.
But the absolutely worst thing that happens in the few days, is the morphling. The doctors cut off most of my supply, leaving me to sit, curled into a ball, trying to swallow back the pain and tears and terror of remembering what they did to me. It's unbearable. When the decreasing doses start to wear off, I can't sleep, my arms and legs throb. It's when I'm left without the drugs to dull my senses, do I finally feel the extent of my injuries.
For the first time since the Quell was announced, I lose control.
I sob into my pillow, choking down the sounds against the coarse fabric. Everything hurts, everything aches where once there was nothing but numbness. I keep my arms wrapped against myself, forcing my ribs to stay together and my heart to stay inside. I can't so much as blink without Lucius's leering face looking down at me, taunting me, telling me how worthless and disgusting and pathetic I am. I know it's impossible, but I keep expecting water to come flooding over me at any second, sending shudders of agony up and down my spine. It excruciating. But more than anything, it's exhausting.
It takes all of my energy and focus to keep from screaming, something I'm sure will bring the doctors and Miles running. I ball my fist, pressing it against my mouth to muffle the sounds of my breakdown. Despite the pain, my chest heaves for air it cannot get. If anyone were to come now, I would beg them. Give me the morphling. Make the pain stop.
I lie there, pillow damp beneath my face, praying for anything to make me feel better. All I can do is stare at the white curtain that separates Katniss from me. Maybe if the doctors come back, they'll realize their mistake. I just hope it isn't Finnick; he's guilty enough as it is, spending most of his time with Annie. But I can't deny how he, my best and only friend, can calm me down and care for me better than anyone else. Maybe with him it would be bearable, but that's not something I can ask for.
Starring at the curtain, I notice that its pulled open on its tracks just enough that there's a gap between the edge and the wall. My sobs are slowing, leaving me with a silent stream of tears dripping down my face; but the pain is hot.
Lifting my head, I stare at the gap where, just barely visible, an IV bag of morphling is hanging. I sit up slowly, gritting my teeth tightly against the nauseating wave of pain. I have to clutch the edge of the mattress until the room stops spinning enough for me to put my feet on the floor.
It startles me when my knees threaten to buckle. I haven't stood or walked almost at all since the arena blew up. I've gotten so weak. With enough effort, I manage to stand still, without any support. There's no one around, which means no one hears the sound of me pulling the curtain back.
On the bed in front of me lies Katniss, eyes closed and breaths coming slowly and softly. A grimace takes over my features. Here she is, the Mockingjay, the wonder girl, the one. Sure, she can give a moving speech, and instigate a whole district into rebellion, but lying here, pale and defenseless… she's human too – just like the rest of us. It's not fair, her getting all this, getting to keep her family when everyone else had to sacrifice everything. In the end, she still has Peeta, even if he's brainwashed and psychotic. She doesn't know what it's like to lose; not like us, not like me.
I take a few shaky steps towards her, touching her arm gently, bracing myself for a reaction. When one doesn't come, I press harder, finally gripping her arm in mine. I've seen the doctors manipulate the IV in my own arm, so detaching Katniss's isn't hard. I lean against her bed, sighing with relief when I plug in the morphling and finally go back to a delirious twilight.
Out of fear of getting caught, I head back to my own bed after something close to a half hour. It isn't Katniss that worries me – she's too weak to do anything, and besides, she owes me; but if the doctors notice that I siphoned off a bit of her morphling, they might take away the ever decreasing amount I have left, and I need everything I can get.
Without my mind racing so fast, I drift into an uneasy sleep, one filled with shadow figures and monsters watching from the corners. It's easy to lose track of time here, though it's not being held from me like it was in the Capitol. All I know is that when I wake up, the doctors give me my actual morphling. Miles comes after that – without the drugs. I argue with him, refusing to say a single damn word about what I'm feeling.
"You're totally safe, Johanna. You can talk to me."
Safe, my ass.
When he's gone and I'm left to think over every single thing he brought up does my pain start to grow again. I grit my teeth for a while and try to bear it, but I can feel the tears and the panic creeping up on me. So, before I lose it, I sneak back to Katniss, getting myself good and drugged before climbing into bed. Finnick shows up later, but I'm so delirious that I barely notice him.
It quickly becomes routine, stealing from Katniss when my own morphling supply gets low. They don't even seem concerned about her's. I suppose they can't let the Mockingjay suffer. It's bullshit. She never even got shot, only had her spleen taken out and she's been on morphling nearly as long as I was before they began cutting it down. I spent weeks in the Capitol being tortured for hours at a time. Even now, everything hurts, and even thinking about it makes me want to vomit.
If I had to admit it, the pain does get better after some time. It hurts less each time I stand up or try eating something. Finnick even makes a comment about my hair starting to grow back which, even though it's meaningless, makes me feel better. I can get away from this.
I find myself sitting cross-legged on my bed, picking at a scab on my knuckles when I hear a quiet sound. I pause, raising my eyes just a tad. Katniss. I sigh, throwing my legs off my bed just as she lets out a moan. So she's awake. It's about damn time. I grab the curtain, throwing it back to reveal her lying there, eyes open halfway. I look down at her, waiting for the recognition to settle it.
"I'm alive" she moans.
"No kidding, brainless" I scoff, rolling my eyes. Each time I stole her morphling I told myself I was going to stop, but now, standing here, it's too hard to resist. I cross the small space, sitting down at my spot on the edge of her bed. The motion makes her wince and a smile plays across my lips. Sucks, doesn't it?
"Still a little sore?" I ask, laughing slightly at her discomfort as I detach her morphling and twist it into the socket on my own arm. "They started cutting back my supply a few days ago. Afraid I'm going to turn into one of those freaks from 6" I explain. "I've had to borrow from you when the coast was clear. Didn't think you'd mind" I look at her face, daring her to argue.
After everything, I deserve at least this. I almost died – more than once – because of her. If I want her damn drugs I'm sure as hell going to take them. The cool sensation that hits each time the morphling gets into my blood, washes over me. The results are immediate, blurring all lines and leeching away my emotions and pain with it. I can't help but sigh, letting my eyes flutter closed for just a moment, relief flowing with the drugs.
"Maybe they were onto something in 6" I say, opening my eyes again to look at Katniss. "Drug yourself out and paint flowers on your body. Not such a bad life" I mumble, tracing a pattern against my thin skin. Katniss seems pale, but already she's looking more alive than she has the last day or so. "Seemed happier than the rest of us, anyway."
I look away from her, staring down at my hands. My fingers are so thin, hardly more than bone. Where I know I should be feeling that pressure on my chest, the one that makes it so I can't do anything more but curl into a ball and cry, I only feel numb.
"They've got this head doctor who comes around every day" I say if only to snap myself out of the sinking feeling. "Supposed to help me recover. Like some guy who's spent his life in this rabbit warren's going to fix me up. Complete idiot. At least twenty times a session he reminds me that I'm totally safe" I notice Katniss smirk. The edges of my lips almost flicker into a matching expression, but I don't have the feeling to go with it. "How about you, Mockingjay? You feel totally safe?" I ask, laughing silently. She's probably number one on the short list of people that feel less safe than me.
"Oh, yeah. Right up until I got shot" she says.
I let out a single, barking laugh, one that would normally make me wince. "Please. That bullet never even touched you. Cinna saw to that" I mumble, turning so that I can see her once again.
She makes a face, her eyes furrowed slightly. Clearly she still has no idea about anything that's going on. "Broken ribs?" she asks.
"Not even. Bruised pretty good. The impact ruptured your spleen. They couldn't repair it." I wave my hand at her before she can ask anything about it. If anything, my eavesdropping has given me more information than her – which isn't saying much. "Don't worry, you don't need one. And if you did, they'd find you one, wouldn't they? It's everybody's job to keep you alive."
I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice. No matter what, she's the reason I ended up getting caught and taken to the Capitol. Blight's dead because of her. Derek is probably dead because of her. It all comes back to her and those damn berries and her damn sister and how the whole world fucking adores her.
"Is that why you hate me?" she croaks, taking me by surprise.
I sigh, nodding to myself. "Partly. Jealousy is certainly involved" I admit, surprised at my honesty. Maybe the morphling dulls my logic, but what harm can it really do? "I also think you're a little hard to swallow. With your tacky romantic drama and your defender-of-the-helpless act. Only it isn't an act, which makes you more unbearable. Please feel free to take this personally." I raise my eyebrows, curious to see what she'll say. It's my unspoken truth; if I had the chance to switch lives with her, I would.
"You should have been the Mockingjay. No one would've had to feed you lines" she says, reading my mind.
I scoff "True. But no one likes me."
"They trusted you, though. To get me out." I bite back a retort. Beetee didn't, and I'm still not sure he does. "And they're afraid of you."
I smile downward, shaking my head slightly. "Here, maybe. In the Capitol, you're the one they're scared of now." Movement in the doorway catches both of our attention. It's… her cousin. It takes me too long to figure it out with the morphling swimming around in my brain. I sigh, pulling the morphling from my arm and reattaching it to Katniss. I guess this is my cue to go. They don't have to say a word but I know I'm not welcome.
"Your cousin's not afraid of me" I laugh, breaking the tension and jumping off the bed with surprising agility. Passing him, I nudge him slightly with my hip. "Are you, gorgeous?" I laugh, maybe the first genuine once I've made since getting here, and disappear through the curtains. Immediately the smile falls from my face. I don't even have the energy to pretend anymore.
I walk some ways down the hall, my feet bare against the floor. For now, I still have morphling in my system, so I can ignore the ache in my legs. I don't know exactly where I'm going, other that I can't leave the hospital ward. Sitting and listening to the two of them talk and have a "moment" sounds far from appealing.
I find a quiet hall, where the sound of machines and ventilation and people is far off. I lean my back against the wall, sliding down so that I'm sitting, my knees against my chest. Why can't I get over this? Already my chest is heaving, desperate for more air after such a short walk. I've taken so much, survived weeks in an arena and endured everything over the last four years, but this is what breaks me?
It's pathetic. Lucius was right; I'm pathetic.