8/10/20
(tw: drug abuse)
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The Manipulation Games 3: Rebellion
Chapter Sixteen: Withdrawal
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Three weeks.
Three weeks are all I have to get my crap together and kiss up to the Assignment Board. Three weeks is all the time Coin has given me to prove that I'm not some unstable mess who can't fight in the war. I don't know what I'll do if I can't. Kill a crew and fly myself to the Capitol, maybe. This war is all I have.
All I have.
All I have.
All I have.
I grimace, turning over on my side to scowl at Katniss. It's nearly dawn. It's nearly dawn, and I haven't slept a wink. Not since they took away the morphling drip, that is. Everdeen apologized, as if it were her fault or some bull crap, but it had to happen eventually. Not that it hasn't spared her from the vast array of colorful insults I've thrown her way, the kind that would make my mother faint.
What kind of mess have I turned into? I used to turn up my nose at the Morphlings from Six, and here I am turning into them.
I stretch my arm out to the stainless steel cart beside my hospital bed, grabbing a tissue with my cold, clammy hand. My hand stops twitching long enough for me to wipe my nose, and I soon take another tissue to wipe the sweat off my forehead. I lift my eyes to the clock, squinting to make out the numbers in the dark. A pathetic whimper threatens to escape my throat, but I force myself to my feet before it gets the chance.
"Come on, Brainless," I rasp. "Time for training."
Katniss looks up wearily, blinking slowly. It's not like she slept much better than I did. Although our first day of training should have worn us out, Everdeen's consequent surgery had the opposite effect. Morphling withdrawals for me, and the feeling of being burned alive in the rib-cage for her.
"I don't think I can do it," she admits, making no effort to move.
I scowl, making the scariest face I can manage while feeling like death itself.
"You can do it," I snarl. "We both can. We're victors, remember? We're the ones who can survive anything they throw at us."
And survive it we will, I add to myself, turning away from her to get dressed.
Fifteen minutes later, we're marching through the maze that is District 13 with stupidly unshakable confidence. Something about my impromptu speech has managed to motivate Katniss, and somehow it's done even more for me than it has for her. As absurdly difficult as this is going to be, there's nothing standing in our-
Oh.
Rain splatters down from above, drenching the soil until it turns into a muddy sludge. It pours down, covering everything in sight, drenching every inch of my body as Nero glowers down at me, jolts of electricity zapping my skin and taking my breath away. My arms tremble, my legs threaten to give out. I can't breath, I can't breath, I can't b-
"It's just water. It won't kill us."
The statement snaps me out of my thoughts. Of course it won't kill us. It's just water, and Nero isn't even here. I know it's stupid. I know I'm being a moron. It's just…
I clench my jaw, stomping through the mud without another word to Katniss. Stupid water. Stupid rain. Stupid Mockingjay and her naivety. I take a deep breath as I reach the running course, forcing myself to run laps like a dog chasing its tail. My legs ache and it hurts to run, but the pain is a good distraction from the water splattering down all around me.
Ever since my last hit of morphling, I haven't felt like eating. Usually my rations don't feel like enough and meal times pass with me still feeling hungry, but as lunch approaches the thought of food only manages to repulse me. When I see my rations, any appetite I did have vanishes forever. A bowl of watered down stew sits in front of me, as well as a small portion of fish that has turned soggy in the rain.
I try not to gag as I force myself to eat. I almost succeed, but end up throwing up halfway through my soup. After that, I don't bother. My hands shake from lack of both morphling and food. I can feel the teenagers we've been grouped with staring.
Lunch ends as soon as it begins. Soldier York teaches us how to put our guns together, but I can't focus enough to retain anything she says. Even if I could focus, my hands are shaking too much to be of any use. My brain goes into panic mode, scrambling for excuses that won't immediately ruin my only chance to exact revenge on Snow, when Katniss leans over and begins assembling my gun for me.
I stare at her, wide eyed. York's back is turned. She sees none of this. Katniss hands me the gun without comment.
I sigh, running a shaking hand along the gun. When did I become this vulnerable? I was always the protector (albeit not a very good one), never the one who needed protection. And now look at me. I'm useless. I can't even eat lunch or go outside without it turning into an over-exaggerated drama-fest. I close my eyes and exhale. This ends now. I'm done being vulnerable. From now on, I'm focusing on my promise to Lumi. I have to be the one to kill Snow.
And step one is going to be getting out of that stupid hospital room.
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Hi again, readers! It's been a while, hasn't it? I had a bad case of writer's block for this story for a while, but with life being the way it is right now I needed to write a familiar character (and honestly who better than the character I've been writing for since I was 13?). College is starting back soon, so no promises on frequent updates, but I am going to try. The current plan is to finish this story up before I get back to my other fics, but we'll see what happens.
Since morphling is based on morphine, I tried to base some of Johanna's withdrawal symptoms on the symptoms for morphine withdrawals (anxiety attacks, runny nose, trembling, etc.), which pretty much lines up with what we see in Mockingjay anyways. As a disclaimer I did gloss over the worst of it to avoid writing myself into an anxiety attack, because I almost did at first. And as another disclaimer, Johanna's view of herself during this chapter doesn't reflect on my view of anyone struggling with addiction or other trauma, it's just how Panem is as a society and Johanna is as an individual (I feel like I've had to say this before, haven't I?).
Quote of the day!
"There are over 180,000 words! All of them are typos!" -Pizza Game (trailer)
May the odds be ever in your favor,
Spectrobes Princess