Katniss drew in a deep breath, holding it in her chest and narrowing her pale gray gaze. The only sound in her ears was the stretching of the bow in her hands, the string quietly whimpering in resistance. The air was finally free of humidity and a slight northwesterly breeze floated in between the trees and in between Katniss and her bow. It ruffled the edges of her t-shirt but had no effect on the trajectory of her arrow.
Calculating for the breeze she lifted her fingers and allowed the arrow to whiz through the air, piercing the breeze and nestling itself in the makeshift bullseye painted on the side of the tree. Calmly she withdrew another arrow from her quiver, setting up another shot. Archery was a two-fold exercise for Katniss: It reminded her of her father, and it somehow wiped her brain of the clutter that life seemed to toss inside her skull. After her father's death, archery had been one of the few ways she had been able to process it. Life could be deceptively simple when boiled down to a girl, a bow, and a target. She and Gale had painted the well-worn red and white bullseye on this big oak tree when they were little and often returned to it when they needed a break from their lives.
It had been five days since she had last seen Johanna on the stormy night she had gone back to her house. The following morning Johanna spoke with a terrible cough; "getting the flu" is what she claimed but something in her voice sounded off. There wasn't the hoarse scratch of someone sick, there was the empty void of someone haunted. Katniss recognized it from the voice her mother had for months after her father's death. Johanna had a warmth about her that Katniss had pinpointed not in any sort of generosity (though she was faultlessly generous to those close to her), but the raging inferno that seemed to power Johanna like a steam engine. She lived and loved fiercely, acted impulsively, and had a dormant temper Katniss had only seen on a few occasions. Those licks of the flame were what drew Katniss in like a mindless insect. But that warmth seemed to had vanished in a few short hours.
Satisfied with her archery work for the day, Katniss retrieved her lodged arrows and wiped off the tips as she made her way back toward her house. The woods behind Twelfth Street had always proved calming and cathartic for her, but today her heart was still restless. Katniss felt her heart had perhaps always been restless and only felt stillness when with Johanna. Her mother warned on several occasions not to plunge so deeply, but she knew just as well as Katniss that the pull of one's heart is stronger than any resistance one can offer. The heart will always win over the head in the end. That's why people end up with their soulmates despite terrible obstacles and the reason why people end up with their abusers despite the one thousand reasons not to. The confusing delirium love provides can lead you to strange places.
It led Katniss into the arms of a woman who seemed to love her to the depths of her soul. When Johanna looked into her eyes it was like being more than naked, it was like being stripped of everything you try to be. Every part of you that you dress yourself in during the mornings, every facet of you that you try to be and present to others, Johanna peeled it away with a penetrating glance. Katniss trusted this stripped version of herself inside Johanna.
She pushed open the storm door in the back of the house, hanging up her bow and quiver near the back door on their respective hooks. The usual clunky piano playing that filled their home was vacant since Prim had taken an interest in the brother of her best friend Rue on Eleventh Street and was outside playing with him. However, two female voices bounced down the hallway toward Katniss and she furrowed her eyebrows. Who could her mother be talking to? As she stepped nearer, footsteps silent like they were in the woods, she could hear the tail end of a conversation.
"I'm not sure of what you're implying, but I can assure you Katniss had no part in that."
"I don't know who else could have done this. It's not as if my daughter's bedroom is some revolving door. Only one person has been seeing her, and that's Katniss. But if this is the type of perversion she enjoys then they cannot see each other."
Gray eyes enlarged quadruple their size as she heard those words. Her pace quickened as she emerged into the kitchen to find Johanna's mother sitting at their dinner table with her mother, two untouched, cold mugs of coffee sitting in front of them. While their voices were soft, there was a hardness behind them that was unmistakeable. Katniss felt as if she had just walked in on a wild west duel.
"Katniss," her mother greeted, seeming genuinely surprised to see her. "I thought you were out in the woods."
"I was," she confirmed, stepping into the kitchen warily. Terror spread inside Katniss's ribcage like a disease, tingling to her fingertips and constricting her voice. "What are you talking about? Why can't Jo and I see each other?"
Polly looked down at her coffee, then over to Clara. The topic was indelicate but much like her daughter, Polly was prone to forthrightness. "Katniss, Johanna has some ...suspicious bruising around her wrists and neck." Katniss felt her body swoon backward until she hit the sink, just a step or two behind her. Her palms against the corner, her fingers gripping the boards tightly. "I have asked her how it happened but she's refusing to speak to me. I wanted to come here before I went to the police."
Katniss's brain seemed to be working ten minutes behind everyone else. Suspicious bruising. Wrists and neck. Police. "Bruising?" The one word question felt stupid leaving her lips, loud and clumsy.
Polly nodded curtly, a flash of familiar impatience in her eyes. "Yes, bruising. It looks to me like something she would have gotten being held against her will." Katniss's cheeks flared with embarrassment for a scenario that never even occurred. Her mind wandered momentarily to the short games of denying pleasure that she and Johanna played, but nothing that would bruise other than a few possessive hickeys. The best part of resisting Johanna was the giving in. She'd never hold her against her will.
Seeing Katniss's dazed look her mother rose to her feet and walked toward her daughter. She wrapped a protective arm around around her back. "And I explained to Mrs. Mason that you would take no part in some kind of twisted," her gaze went downcast with her voice; she did not possess the disregard for tact that Polly had, "sexually deviant game."
Katniss's expression went totally blank. Johanna was hurt. Someone had hurt her. Someone had hurt her Johanna. Numbness was the first thing she felt in the pit of her stomach. "I didn't. I ...I wouldn't." Her eyes went to Johanna's mother. For the first time since entering the room she saw the redness in her eyes, the darkened bags underneath her mascara-free eyelashes, the overall tiredness of her face. "I haven't seen Johanna since I left a few days ago." She looked at her mother. "She told me she had the flu."
Katniss watched the slow realization reveal itself in Polly's eyes. She must have been sure Katniss was the culprit because given that new information, she looked totally lost. The dread that had begun uncoiling itself in Katniss's stomach quickly shot out in all directions, rushing a wave of nausea over her and she quickly whipped around and threw up into the sink behind her.
Clara moved toward Polly, sitting down in the seat across from her. The pain of a mother whose child is hurt reverberated off Polly and Clara caught it full-force, placing a gentle, worn hand on top of another hard-worked palm. Katniss could not content herself with commiserating. As quickly as the sickness had over taken her, anger had followed in rapid pursuit. Whoever had done this to Johanna would pay. She left without a word, grabbing a set of keys from the hook by the door and rushing out into the open.
There was no time for a leisurely walk to Seventh. Katniss got into her mother's car and floored it in reverse, tires screeching against pavement as she took off toward the Mason household. Johanna had been keeping her at bay with convoluted lies about being sick and practicing music when really she had been suffering in silence. It had been five whole days since she had left Johanna's house. Why did she leave? She could have stayed and read more of her book, enjoying the nearness of Johanna and the silence of her loft. Protected Johanna from whatever happened to her.
Regret pounded on the door of her anger but she ignored its call. She could rue her actions any other day, but today, she needed answers. Half-cocked and boiling over Katniss stormed up the Mason walkway and jiggled the door handle, finding it uncharacteristically locked. Her fingers balled into a fist and she pounded on the door.
The most startling thing about what Katniss experienced when Johanna opened the door wasn't the lack of a smile or the vacant look in her eyes. It wasn't the evident bruises around her neck or the dampness of her hair. It was the lack of music. Johanna and music were kinetically entwined. Where there was one, there was the other. But as the door swung open no raucous rock or gentle classical emerged there was silence. Deafening, horrifying silence.
The hot air that had blown Katniss to Johanna's door was sucked back up into the atmosphere as she took in her girlfriend's appearance. Her lip was slightly swollen, a clear red crack down the bottom. A bruise near her cheek by her jawline where Katniss used to lay kisses. Round red marks around her neck with two nearly purple marks right below her jugular. The hand that was poised on the door sat on a wrist that bore the same marks Polly was talking about.
"Katniss." Johanna had intended some malice in her tone but any emotion was an effort. Instead it came out like a tired resignation. She firmed her stance as she watched Katniss's eyes roam all over her injuries. Her mother's reaction had been instantaneous horror. A million questions had spewed from her mouth but Johanna offered no response. She hadn't said anything since the last time she begged Cashmere to stop. She wasn't even sure her voice worked until she used it in that moment.
Katniss wanted badly to be angry. They were partners! They were lovers! She had every right to know why her calls and texts had been ignored, why she had been lied to, who the hell had done this. However, all she could see as she looked at Johanna was someone broken. It was like coming home to your house been burglarized. She had been vicariously violated as well, the trust she had built swept away with one person's actions.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Katniss asked, finding her voice somewhere in the loud din of her mind. The pity in her tone was unintentional but had made Johanna's already brown eyes darken. She entered the room without waiting for permission, walking into their front room. Everything looked different now. Had the attacker gotten her downstairs? Forced himself on her on this couch? Katniss was suddenly overcome with the urge to set the couch on fire.
"There's nothing to tell," Johanna replied, shutting the door behind Katniss. She locked it quickly, double checking the door handle. Katniss observed the action but didn't offer anything. "I don't know what you want me to stay."
Katniss stepped forward hesitantly. "Jo, I know something happened to you. Someone did something to you. You need to tell the police. That person needs to be punished."
Johanna's wild gaze became narrowed and pointed. Katniss felt like she was staring straight into an oncoming bullet train. "Like I said, there's nothing to say. I don't want to talk about it. Something really shitty happened and I don't want to hash it out, okay?"
Katniss tried not to be frustrated but Johanna's pride was like a mountain and could not be bargained with most of the time. "There most certainly is something to say! You were attacked! It's not healthy to act like it never happened." She paused as more terrible thoughts poured into her brain. "Johanna, you could be pregnant. Or-or an STD or -"
Johanna winced as Katniss called her by her full name. Cashmere called her that. "I'm not fucking pregnant. Trust me." The outright certainty in Johanna's voice made Katniss pause. "And what the fuck would you know about it, huh? Nothing, that's what. Just leave me alone." The hardness in Johanna's voice vanished with her last sentence, her angry gaze dissipating and turning toward the stairs. She took the bannister in her hand and pulled herself up the flight of stairs, walking back into her room.
It had been her sanctuary before. The place she ran away to as a child to deal with whatever small time problem little kids have and the place she hid from the world as a teenager. But now, it was a constant reminder of that night. Her eyes staring at the ceiling, unblinking as Cashmere taunted and attacked her. The bed she had made love to Katniss on was tainted with the memory of a few nights prior.
She heard Katniss's footsteps behind her and she turned around. Katniss took in the state of the room. Johanna's bed was completely dismantled, a heap of wood on the floor next to her bedside table and the headboard was on the floor, leaning against the wall. The mattress was gone and in its stead just a small twin bed with a thin fitted sheet stretched across.
It all looked hauntingly vacant. This is where it was. The person had not only gotten into their home but was in Johanna's room, in her bed, forcing himself on her. Raping her. Katniss battled the nausea that rumbled up from inside her stomach. The other girl whirled around on her heel, holding herself across her midsection. Her tight tank top hugged her as tightly as she was hugging herself.
"Katniss, please," Johanna said finally, her voice a pathetic whisper. Even from several feet away Katniss could see her body trembling. "Don't make me do this." In those five words, Katniss felt like she was imploding like a neutron star. Had Johanna said those words to her attacker? She was brimming with the question of who. Who had done this? Who was going to be on the end of Katniss's impotent rage? But the way Johanna was carrying herself, like she was two steps from throwing herself off a cliff, made Katniss stop.
"Okay," she answered with a nod of her head. Johanna looked up with a sliver of hope, casting a glance over her shoulder. She had not expected to be able to keep Katniss from demanding answers from her. Her mother did not want to push her, but Katniss saw through her too easily. She hadn't even meant for her mother to see her bruises at all, she was coming out of her bathroom after her third consecutive shower when her mother was standing in her room, arms folded. A lifetime of being blunt had rendered Johanna an awful liar. In place of lying, she shut her mother out. Evidently her mother thought it wise to tell Katniss. Maybe it was.
The showering had become an obsession of hers and she imagined that's what had gotten her mother's attention. Her skin was rubbed red and raw and her hair wet at almost all times. The showers had been excruciatingly hot but Johanna felt only coldness. It was almost like when you have the flu and no matter how many blankets you pile on there's a chill in your spine. It spreads to your bones and you think warmth will never come to you again. Johanna had become very familiar with her goosebumps.
"Can I stay here with you?" Katniss asked in the smallest voice she could, trying to toe the fine line between pity and respect. Johanna was the strongest person she knew, but some things permeate even the sturdiest of armor. "Would that be okay?"
Johanna nodded and went to her new bed, crawling beneath the giant blanket she had dug out from their attic. The blanket that had been on her bed that night was a memory now, burned in a bonfire she set up in her backyard that had also consumed her clothes and bedsheets. She wanted no reminder of the event that was in the forefront of her brain every waking moment. And in her nightmares.
Katniss got in beside her, tentatively placing an arm over Johanna's stomach. She wanted her touch to be comforting and familiar. She didn't want to remind Johanna of her attack. The other girl tensed beneath her touch but ultimately relaxed. They laid there in silence, listening to the wind move through the trees outside. Katniss missed the melodies that followed Johanna wherever she was.
If Johanna couldn't provide the music, maybe she could. She never considered herself a particularly good singer, especially considering Johanna's voice, but she could carry a tune. She thought of the lullabies she would sing Prim after their father died to quiet her nightmares. The same ones he would sing to them before he died.
"Deep in the meadow, under the willow. A bed of grass, a soft green pillow. Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes. And when you awake, the sun will rise." Katniss looked over at Johanna and saw the wetness leaking from the corners of her eyes and her heart squeezed hard. Her eyes were closed but Katniss could feel the pain coming from her. "Here it's safe, here it's warm. Here the daisies guard you from harm. Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true. Here is the place where I love you."
Katniss imagined the light plucking of her father's ukelele that he would play when he sang that song to them, the one that was always absent when she sang it to Prim. She'd hum in the meantime but it wasn't the same. In another time she would've asked Johanna to play it for her, but not today. Today was about giving her strength to Johanna. Filling Johanna with music and she had done to Katniss many, many times.
"Deep in the meadow, hidden far away. A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray. Forget your woes and let your troubles lay. And when again it's morning, they'll wash away." She stroked Johanna's stomach gently, listening to the gentle thumping of her girlfriend's heart. Johanna curled into her, burying her face into Katniss's shoulder and grabbing the front of her shirt into a fist and pulling them closer.
Katniss stopped her tune, placing a gentle, soft kiss on Johanna's forehead. "Don't stop singing," Johanna pleaded sleepily into her neck, sniffling and rubbing her salty eyes on the edge of Katniss's t-shirt. Her tempo slowed down as her father's would because the last stanza was usually the time when she and Prim fell asleep. If not he'd start it up again from the top, but typically they would be out cold. "Here it's safe, here it's warm. Here the daisies guard you from every harm. Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true. Here is the place where I love you."
Now I'm naked, nothing but an animal.
Johanna didn't want to be treated like a victim. Her father's demise when she was younger piled sympathies she never wanted or asked for and she felt burdened with them. What do you do with people's sympathy when you don't want to internalize it? She didn't want to wear their pity for others to see. Her father would not have tolerated it. Instead she had a stiff upper lip, cruising through life without really acknowledging his death. She justified it as a part of life, as an inevitable end to a man who lived always on the edge of death. The child psychologist her mother sent her to had said she was in denial. That she never truly accepted her father's death and until she did, there'd be an emotional void.
Johanna thought he was full of shit, even as a kid. You can't grieve a man who was barely in your life; no one misses ghosts. Her mother had been more than enough parent for them both anyhow. Like that event, her own rape felt like a similar situation. If she just soldiered through it, it couldn't destroy her like Cashmere had intended.
Katniss had been wonderful, spending the last few days before they went back to school encouraging her to get back into music, taking her out to green meadows and the beach near the lake, or simply holding her and letting her cry. But never, ever did they speak about what happened. Johanna felt like giving the attack words gave it life again. Giving it anything but a hard beating with a shovel seemed to make it fresh and new. However, she knew it was only a matter of time before Katniss insisted on a name.
The name didn't matter anymore anyway. Cashmere was on the East Coast of the country at school, probably terrorizing someone poor co-ed. Johanna had changed her cell phone number in hopes of ending all contact with the blonde. She was far, far away but somehow still omnipresent. When Johanna closed her eyes she saw the flashes of Cashmere's green gaze boring into her. Voices in her head were the abusive whispers of her taunts, her threats. An itch on her skin was Cashmere's fingertips trailing her skin in deceptively gentle movements while she caught her breath.
But can you fake it for just one more show?
The bruising had become a light yellow discoloration by the time they went back to school. In spite of the Indian summer giving the air a heat that was unusual for September, Johanna wore her shirts with long sleeves, suffering the heat instead of suffering the stares. A new school year, their last school year, was upon them and she didn't want to start it with a bunch of questions. Johanna's school schedule was sparse. A mandatory gym class, mandatory English, an advanced music class with Haymitch, a Calculus course she regretted letting Ms. Trinket cajole her into, and a creative writing class she thought she might enjoy. The teacher was new this year, fresh-faced from graduate school, so Johanna figured it would be a breeze. New teachers were usually pushovers.
Johanna waited on her corner for Katniss and Prim, relieved to be getting back into a comfortable rhythm. Everything else about her life was still puttering but school and schedule were much the same. Prim rattled incessantly as they made their way toward the school, stopping every so often to make sure her sister and Johanna were listening.
They were, hands clasped together tightly, with Katniss's eyes on her sister. Johanna's gaze was faraway in the blue sky before them. She felt like she was at a heavy metal concert, her head pounded with noise but her hearing was muted. Her own thoughts were drowned out by the constant din of her memories. The physical pain had subsided but the emotional scars were open and bleeding.
Johanna was abruptly greeted by Finnick upon her arrival inside the building, brought into a crushing hug that made her breathing come in ragged gasps. "Jo! It's been like weeks, girl," he greeted with a warm smile, gnawing on a minty piece of gum in his mouth. Annie stood behind him, waving timidly. Her mess of red hair fell to the side as she canted her head to look in Johanna's eyes. She recognized that panic. She tugged on Finnick's shirt and he detached himself from his best friend.
And what do you want? I want to change.
"You've been keeping my girl busy huh Everdeen?" Finnick asked jovially, nudging Katniss in the shoulder. The horrified look on her face wiped the smirk right off Finnick's visage. He looked quickly from Johanna, who had braced herself against the door, her teeth clamped on her bottom lip and back to Katniss. Annie began mumbling to herself and broke Finnick from his concentration and he went to her side.
"Are you okay?" Katniss asked, stepping toward Johanna. Her girlfriend waved her off with her hand and nodded. Her reaction had been not at all what she was hoping. No one had held her that tightly since she had been pinned down. Katniss had only recently started giving her light, quick hugs that Johanna could tolerate on occasion.
"I'm fine. I'm just gonna go use the bathroom. I'll see you at lunch." Johanna took off down the hallway, passed the inquisitive and dismayed look of her blond friend. Finnick wrapped his arm around Annie's back and guided her toward Katniss.
"What the hell happened? Was I not supposed to give her a hug?" Finnick was lost. His friendship with Johanna had weathered just about everything. Johanna's father's death, her coming out, his defending Annie to bullies nearly all their lives, his drug-addled mother, everything. They told each other everything, always. She was his only confidant even though he was always surrounded by friends. Most of the swim team were stupid jocks and the drama club were a bunch of queens. Johanna was the only one to keep them grounded and not fall into the pointless high school popularity contest.
While hitting puberty had graced them both with good looks, Johanna used hers as a weapon to keep people away, while Finnick used his to deflect attention off Annie and survive his tumultuous mother. Since she starting dating Katniss, Johanna had been around less but they still talked via text or saw each other when Johanna worked at the general store. But her reaction then had been almost revulsion.
Katniss shook her head. "No. It's ..it's a long story that I don't have the right to tell you. She'll tell you when she's ready. Just don't, um... don't touch her." Katniss walked around Finnick sadly, making the familiar trip down toward her locker.
And what have you got when you feel the same?
Johanna gripped the seat of the toilet, staring into the murky beige color inside the water. She reached up and pulled down the chrome handle and the mess swirled away from her as she backed away to avoid getting hit with the spray. The disoriented girl pulled herself up and slowly unlocked the stall, stumbling out toward the sinks. Sweaty palms were placed against the light pink porcelain sink and she stared into the blurry mirror. Stupid tears fought their way out of her eyes and she squeezed her eyelids to force them out quickly.
The door swung open and someone entered, causing Johanna to whip around and quickly wipe her eyes with her sleeves. She didn't recognize the woman but she knew she wasn't a student. She was dressed in a tight fitting button-down navy blue blouse with pearl buttons that was tucked neatly into a knee-length pencil skirt. She looked just as startled to see Johanna, her blue eyes wide and apologetic.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't think anyone would be in here. It's early yet," she explained in a calm voice. Johanna's eyes finally met her hair, which she couldn't help but look surprised at. Her long blonde locks are all parted to the side, with the left side of her head completely shaven. Crawling up her temple were green vines tattooed onto pale skin, curling around the shaved part of her head and disappearing behind her ear.
Johanna busied herself washing her hands, pumping an extreme amount of soap into her palm. She turned only the hot faucet on and winced as she placed her hands beneath the water. She scrubbed vigorously until she felt the stare of the other woman on her back. Feeling a bit self-conscious she finally went to the side of the room near the frosted windows and grabbed a handful of paper towels. "Did you come in here to watch me wash my hands?"
The woman's mouth moved into a smirk that made her cheeks almost concave. It relaxed into a pretty smile as Johanna tossed the paper towels into the nearby wastebasket. "Had I not been in a bathroom I'd have thought you were doing a Lady Macbeth monologue in here." Johanna's dark eyebrow moved upward and the woman crossed her arms neatly, holding her elbows. "Have you not read Macbeth? 'Out damned spot?'" Johanna was sure somewhere in the last four years Macbeth had snuck into her reading material. She could vaguely remember something about being king and three witches. "Lady Macbeth feels guilty and rubs a spot on her hand for like days. Spoiler alert, she gets tired of it and chops the whole damn thing off. Guilt consumes her."
"Like the Tell-Tale Heart?" Johanna asked, resting her backside against the sink. This random conversation with this older, attractive woman was keeping her mind off the reason she was in there to begin with. It was nice. It was easy.
The woman's burgundy-stained lower lip protruded in an impressed expression. "Good to know at least not all literary references are lost on you. And, now that I know your hands are clean, I can introduce myself." She walked forward slowly, holding her hand out. "Cressida. I'm the new teacher in the English department."
Johanna pieced the information as she shook the woman's hand. Her new teacher for creative writing's first name had been abbreviated with a single C so this must be her. She was startlingly attractive in an unconventional way. Ears just a tad too big for her head but kept tightly against her skull, accented with about six silver and diamond-encrusted piercings that went up her earlobe and toward the outer shell of her ear. Eyes a shade of pale blue that rivaled even the sunniest of summer skies. A nose that was a bit pointy, a bit too wide, but somehow all these features combined to make her beautiful.
"Johanna Mason," she replied, as she pulled her hand away as unobtrusively as possible.
Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage.
Bright blue eyes went clear with realization. "Mason. You've got my class in your last period, is that right?" Johanna nodded her head in silent confirmation. "Mr. Abernathy, or Haymitch," she corrected with an eye-roll, "told me a lot about you. I was actually present one of the nights you played down at Bogie's."
"You were?" Johanna prided herself on having a good eye for people. If someone as blatantly attractive had watched her play, she would remember.
Cressida nodded, a knowing and mischievous look in her eyes. "Imagine my surprise when a phenomenally talented young girl arches her back completely over my lap, encouraging me to tap out a rhythm on her stomach." Johanna looked away from her to try and file back to a night when she might have done something so showy. Her brain clicked and her eyes were brought down to Cressida's. "I had no idea you were in high school. The way you cavorted around that stage. It was impressive, mesmerizing. Like watching Nora do the Tarantella in A Doll's House."
Another literary reference. Johanna smirked, feeling a bit of her old self creeping back inside her. "Well thanks. That was an interesting night."
Cressida let out a quiet chuckle. "I bet. That other young girl you fed the champagne, I would hope that she's your girlfriend? Or at the very least, she is now."
Johanna laughed, the first real laugh she had expended since before ...that night. Her eyes turned appreciative. This woman didn't know it, but she was distracting her from very violent, consuming thoughts. "Yeah, she is. Her name is Katniss. Katniss Everdeen."
"Katniss Everdeen," Cressida repeated as if to commit the name to memory. Her gaze settled on the young girl in front of her, relieved at the change in demeanor. Walking in a crying girl in the public restroom had caught her off-guard, but she was delighted to see she remembered the girl. There was torment behind her eyes that Cressida knew she was helping push away, at least for a moment. She didn't possess a lot of skills in her estimation, but she had a solid intuition. "I'll keep my eyes peeled." The warning bell rang above their heads and Cressida's eyes darted to the ceiling. "You might wanna hurry up."
Johanna shrugged. "It's my senior year. I'm not in any rush to get to homeroom."
Cressida laughed, her heels clicking against the worn tile beneath her as she crossed toward Johanna. "That better not apply to my class, Mason. I might appreciate your talent as a singer but that won't buy you any preferential treatment."
Johanna took the bait and ran her tongue along the tops of her teeth. "I have all year to get under your skin, Cressida," Johanna mocked, moving toward the door. "And I will."
The taunting, the friendliness, the distraction. Johanna felt like a small piece of the tremendous weight on her chest slowly lift. Just a few ounces but it felt like freedom. Her every interaction since that night had felt so forced, so laden with guilt and unanswered questions. Katniss was so supportive but even her constant, unwavering steadfastness came with a price: They didn't touch. She could barely kiss her without grimacing. Her rape hung like a heavy metal chain around their relationship. Her mother, forget it. Polly was beside herself nearly every day, alternating between coddling Johanna and treating her like nothing had happened. It gave Johanna emotional whiplash that made her want to avoid her mother all together.
Finally, someone didn't know what happened but somehow... she did. She kept space, she kept talking, she seemed to understand that she had come upon a delicate situation but she didn't handle it like Johanna was a Faberge egg. She treated her like a normal person. A normal person who didn't want to be touched or asked questions or demeaned. It was her first bonafide normal interaction. It felt wonderful.
And I still believe I cannot be saved.
Music - "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" by the Smashing Pumpkins, as well as "Down in The Meadow" from the Hunger Games.