My brain can't process, and that's what's making my head pound. I have no points of reference, plus I'm furious, exhausted, confused, humiliated, and miserable. I went out on a limb for you! I think, I trusted you! I feel betrayed, too. As though Peeta treated my willingness as something that came easily and would come again any time he felt like it. Not ready? Why didn't he say that before? Peeta, not ready? I thought I was the one who was supposed to pull back. Why did I let things get so far?

Only the fact that I have a responsibility to Johanna keeps me from going to Haymitch's tonight, borrowing his stock, and drinking myself into oblivion. And oh, I'm sure high-and-mighty Peeta would love that. Let him try to get in my way. I could go up in flames, I'm so furious. But the curious thing is, I'm mostly furious with myself. I feel like I've been set back ages now, just by this one act. I feel closed, and more, I feel like I can't help it; like the automatic doors in the Capitol elevators, my heart is mine alone again. I don't even attempt to sleep. I do something my doctor tried to teach me the first time he came to visit me here, saw me hollow-eyed with exhaustion from the nightmares, from the anxiety. Exercise. I curl my feet under the bureau in my bedroom and do sit-ups. I do arm curls with the small sacks of flour Peeta's left in the kitchen. I do push-ups with my feet on a chair…a respectable amount of them, actually. I exercise until my body hurts, and then I lie on my bed, face-up, staring at the ceiling. I'm even more aggravated by the fact that I'm still turned on! How could we get so close? I wasn't lying to Peeta…I felt ready, in the moment. We've already been so intimate with each other anyways; knowing every place to kiss, everywhere to draw sighs and moans and pleas. Peeta knows my body and my mind. I thought I knew his. I guess I was wrong. I have no idea where to go from here. How can you avoid someone who lives next door, cooks half your sustenance, and is one of maybe fifty people total that lives in your town? This is the riddle now for me.

I stare at the ceiling, noting all the little chinks and imperfections in the paint, until the sun begins to rise. I do not cry, even though I want to. My eyes will be red enough for the lack of sleep. I am not going to spend the night having nightmares about both things that happened months ago and things that happened hours ago. Instead, I wait for Johanna, alone. But I leave for the station early, maybe 7 AM. The Peacekeepers that guard it let me respectfully through, and I sit on a bench, alone in the chilly air, my breath drawing clouds of steam. When I reach into my coat pocket, there it is: the length of rope that came from Finnick. I can't let myself think too deeply about this right now: about anything that will make me feel more anxious, more unstable. I make knots, untie them, make knots, untie them. I wonder if anyone else will show their face. As angry as I am at Peeta, it's not fair for Johanna to be greeted by only me, after so many months. I know how lonely she feels already, most of the time. Sure enough, Peeta and Haymitch show up around quarter to nine…apparently they've hedged their bets on time. This, I know without asking, is because Peeta's been up too, and went over there. His eyes are redder than mine, and Haymitch has a grim set to his mouth that lets me know that now is not the time, but when he gets alone with me, he has words for me. I don't care. The way I feel now I could pin him to the wall with arrows by his shirtsleeves and leave him there. Figures, I think bitterly, he would take Peeta's side. This is childish. Haymitch doesn't really take sides, in the colloquial sense. He quietly scopes out the evidence and makes judgment calls based on the facts as well as his own understanding of Peeta's and my personalities. It's just me who happens to be rude, abrasive, stubborn, moody, demanding. People think I don't know these things about myself, but I do. I've never had the impetus to change them, however, and some of these traits have keep me alive. This shell has kept me alive.

Peeta is hedging sideways glances at me and I'm pretending not to notice. When I stand, I stand straight and tall, and look straight ahead. I project onto myself more calm and confidence than I actually have. I will not let myself think about how just yesterday, we would've been hand-in-hand, waiting here together for our friend. Then, blessedly, the train pulls in, and I stop thinking about it. For now. My last fleeting thought is that maybe Johanna will have some kind of answer for what the hell to do now. Johanna lacks the innocence of say, Madge, who would have looked thunderstruck if I even got to our second adventure. The train slows, and slows, and then stops. A door to a compartment slides open, and all of a sudden, a giant, yellow dog leaps out, trailing a leash that clearly is not doing its job. The dog, joyful tongue lolling out of its mouth, leaps.

He lands on me and knocks me back into the bench. I see Peeta make a movement out of the corner of my eye as if to help me. Don't you dare, I think immaturely. He stops himself. I'm laughing. The dog is licking my face, its paws on my chest, its tail wagging madly. It's hard to associate this elated, good-humored creature with the dangerous girl I remember. This dog must weigh as much as I do. I'm trying to get him under some kind of control, but he's sniffing me everywhere. I remember that I probably smell of cat and grin. Oh, Buttercup, what an excellent opportunity to traumatize you for life.

All of a sudden, there she is. Her hair is in a boy's cut, brushed forward, but it's shiny, and her skin is clear. She's gained muscle and I wonder fleetingly if her doctor offered up the same suggestion. She's wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, a black leather jacket over that, and pants made of some rough material, tucked into boots. She looks the closest to an individual human being, out of the Capitol's Games uniforms and 13's drab grey coveralls, than I've ever seen her. And more, she's smiling. A knife is still stuck in her belt, and I notice she eyes the grey clouds…clouds that match my mood…with anxiety, which means she probably still has an issue with water, but she looks like Johanna Mason to me. I shove her dog off my lap just as she yells, "Get down, you dumb furball!" When I rise to greet her, she's already moving toward me first. We hug, and I hold on to her fiercely. She's another that I have left, one who was there with us, and our animosity towards each other has dissipated in the wake of so much respect and the loyalty that comes with not being with the Capitol, but against it wholeheartedly. She whispers in my ear, "What's up, Girl on Fire? How're you healing up?" and flicks the scar tissue on the side of my neck with her fingernail. From anyone else this would be annoying, but from Johanna, it makes me grin.

"I'm okay," I tell her, "How are you?" …and I realize that I mostly am, despite everything. I'm here, aren't I? She's here. Peeta and Haymitch are here. We're a tough bunch.

"Oh, you know," she says ambiguously, and leans down to roughly scruff and pet the dog. "D'ya like him? Sorry. He's a little disobedient and unruly." Like Johanna, I figure. I do like the dog. It's nice to have a dog around. I haven't even SEEN a dog since 12 blew up. I tell her so. Then she turns and spots Peeta and Haymitch. Peeta is smiling, despite his red eyes and the circles under them. For just a second, I feel foolish, selfish, looking at those eyes, which deliberately avoid my own. For just a second I feel like maybe I got it wrong. But then Johanna's throwing her arms around him, and he picks her up easily and swings her around like Finnick used to.

"Good to see you, Johanna," he says, and his voice is full of emotion. I know it's the same emotion I feel seeing her, the relief of knowing that she managed to overcome all she did and get out, get to a better life. But for just a second, an uncommon flash of jealousy bubbles up as I watch him hug her with those strong arms. Haymitch even looks sober as she turns to him, which is amazing, since I had figured he probably wouldn't even remember to show up without Effie around to ferry him to his deadlines.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says to her genuinely when Peeta lets go. She smiles to him and he reaches out to hug her briefly. Even the Peacekeepers watching this exchange look pleased. They're smiling. Everyone enjoys all the little joys they can get after the war, even the joys of others. One has followed her off the train and is holding a battered valise. It appears to be all she brought, besides the dog. She snatches it and hoists it over her shoulder easily.

"C'mon, Mutt," she calls as we turn to head back home towards the Village. I begin snickering when I hear this.

"His name is Mutt?" I ask. I'm not sure whether to be affronted by this, but it is indeed very Johanna. She smiles that wicked grin of hers, a glint in her eyes.

"My therapist says it's good to form new positive associations with things."

I'm still laughing. Peeta looks a little more taken aback. Haymitch, like me, guffaws. "Johanna, it's never as much fun without you," he grunts. She hauls off her bag without asking for help, the dog immediately coming to her side when she calls. We all pass through the station and turn towards home. Johanna has her arm slung casually around my shoulders. I'm making sure to be on the outside, as far as I can get from Peeta. Johanna doesn't miss much—this is a side effect of being a Victor, that you're hyperaware—and I see her eyes skate quizzically between Peeta and I, back and forth. She holds her tongue though, for which I'm grateful. I've kind of held off on the details in our letters. They can still be intercepted, since the new government is trying to ferret out traitors. My name would be the easiest one to use as a cover. I accept this, though. We'll have time to catch up later. And boy, do I need it.

"I'm staying with Katniss," she announces, as though she's picked up on my mental wavelengths. It's the obvious choice anyways, since staying with Peeta would garner some strange talk around town, and she's closer to me anyways. Haymitch offers to have her join us for dinner tonight, which makes me smirk, because he's never the one that cooks any of it. Peeta and I have accepted the fact that that's our job. But I don't mind. I just resent the potential awkwardness of the situation after last night. I could try to find time to talk to him about it, I know, but truthfully, I don't even want to look at him. If I'm only admitting to myself, it's mostly out of humiliation and disappointment, but my nose is in the air around the others, like I'm too good for him. If I don't look at his face, I don't have to face the misery that sits upon it or trouble myself with his motivations or emotions. This is cold, but cold is my style, I think bitterly. This is self-protection, and I know it well.

The others wave to her with a promise to see her later, and as soon as they turn…I note that they're both heading towards Haymitch's again. More time for Peeta to wail about how rotten I am. As soon as they turn, Johanna grabs me by the scruff of the neck and whirls me with surprisingly speed and strength. I forgot that she can keep up, especially if she catches me off guard. Johanna's not a Victor coincidentally.

"What's going on?" she demands. "Something's off."

"Tell you later," I mutter.

"Is it juicy?" she teases.

"Was," I answer, "Until I got smoked."

She laughs. "Katniss Everdeen got smoked? Oooo, your ego!" This immediately aggravates me, because she's the one pinning me to the wall now. It is ego. Not only ego, but definitely ego, somewhere. "Shut up," I say, good-naturedly, though. Before she lets the dog in, I go upstairs and throw Buttercup into a spare bedroom. He's spitting at me, trying to catch me with his claws, and I swear at him in response.

"Yeah, I should just leave you out. You'd love that, you shithead." I slam the door.

Johanna bangs into the house with the dog in hot pursuit. He leaves muddy pawprints everywhere, and I could not care about this in the slightest. The three of us pound up to my room to drop off her things. She can have my bed if she wants. There are other bedrooms. I won't be sleeping anyways so it doesn't matter much. The dog is sniffing everything. She looks around at the spare décor and nods.

"It's hard building everything all over again," she says, looking out the window.

"It's hard saying anything is hard," I reply. She nods. This is what I need. Communication that makes sense without having to explain every little thing. Sometimes I feel like I'll only ever really be able to talk to the five or so people in the world that can do this with me, because everything else feels shallow and exhausting. I'm not the celebrity type. I cross and stand next to her.

"Want to hunt?" I ask. I have no idea if Johanna is interested in this or not, but I know she's good with weaponry and a fair shot, and not afraid of the woods, and I know that it'll be both easier and more fun with two of us.

"Hell yes," she says without hesitation. "My doctor completely forbid my going near weapons under any circumstances. Which means I'm thrilled for you to finally offer me some." I'm smiling.

"What would you need them for, now, Johanna?" I ask.

"What would you need them for, now, Katniss?" she mimicks. This is another spot-on observation. I could buy all my food for the rest of my life if I wanted to.

"I have a stop to make first," I tell her, and sling my game bag over my shoulder. Johanna belatedly realizes that there's no way for her to bring her dog without him chasing off everything within a fifty mile radius. On our way out, she yells, in a voice that could break my eardrums, "OY! PEETA!"

Peeta's head emerges from Haymitch's kitchen window. "What?" he yells back.

"Can you take him?" Johanna indicates the dog, "For awhile?"

Peeta looks back over his shoulder and I can tell he's wondering what's going to happen when this monster barrels into Haymitch's. But he can always take Mutt back to his own place, should it come to that. "Sure!" he calls.

"Go, Mutt," says Johanna, and she points. He licks her hand and goes obediently over to Peeta. "Sometimes he decides to listen to me," she confides. "I think mostly when he wants to do whatever I ask him to, anyways. Not unlike you."

We walk down the path to town. I need to visit the Hob. When we open the door, I remember that Johanna's never been in here, though she must have heard me speak about it. She looks around with interest.

"This whole thing used to be a black market? Wow, they let you guys get away with an awful lot. We couldn't have managed this for a week without everyone in here getting shot point-blank in the square as an example to the rest of us." This reminds me of the stories Rue would tell me about her own district. Being the furthest outlying district had its perks, I guess. Johanna and I find Ripper. She greets me cheerfully and I introduce Johanna.

"Shopping for Haymitch?" she asks wryly.

"Nope. Me today," I say. I'm 18 now so she can't make noises about it, but again, I forget how much privilege just being me lends me now. No one will tell me no on anything anymore. I wonder to what extent I've become comfortable exploiting this. It makes my conscience a little uneasy. She sells me a bottle of white liquor. Johanna is grinning wickedly by now. She thanks Ripper obsequiously and I'm glad the old woman doesn't know she's making fun of me. And her.

That's all I need and Johanna won't need supplies, since I have plenty, so we head out. As soon as we're a good distance away, she headlocks me. I squawk indignantly.

"Aww, our little Katniss, are you a Haymitch prodigy now?" she teases.

"No," I say, "I just had the worst night in awhile last night and I was hoping you could help me either figure it out, drink it out, or both."

"SLEEPOVER!" Johanna yells. She keeps making me laugh despite my bad mood, and I realize with another wave of gratitude how happy I am to see her, and that the timing of her visit is perfect. Sleepover? Have either of us even had an actual sleepover in our lives, with girlfriends and fun things? I try to picture Johanna and I with our hair in pigtails, painting each other's nails. It's not an image I can pull up. She ducks under the border fence with me and drawls, "I feel like I'm in a real life movie, visiting the actual district where Katniss Everdeen lives! Take the tour! Shoot a deer! Trade in the black market! We have authentic coal dust! Our meals here are a great dieting opportunity if you're trying to lose weight!"

"Johanna!" I say exasperatedly. She's going to scare all the game away. But I remember the girl on the morphling, all alone and pale as a sheet, her head shaved, in a hospital bed, spitting at me. This girl is the girl that existed before the Games, or as close as I'll ever get to meeting her. This thought is so comforting, I cling to it. Johanna may have proven to be the most resilient of all of us. The girl just flat-out refuses to give up. She's boisterous and sarcastic and athletic and fun. I'm sure she has her spells of depression like all of us…she writes about them in her letters sometimes…but this girl is healing, for sure.

Once we're in the woods, she quiets. She's stealthy, like me, and small. Unlike Peeta, she can move through the woods with hardly a sound. I feel a pang as I slide free the bow and arrows that used to be Gale's from a hollow tree. Gale took his new high-tech weapons with him when he left. These live with mine now, and they're never used. I haven't even touched them, not even to move them into shelter with my own once I was able. They're painful to look at. I know them almost as well as I know my own. I hand them over to Johanna. "Any good with a bow?" I ask her, trying to remember if I ever saw her shoot one.

She shrugs. "I'm okay, but I have no problem with blood and I can gut and clean things if you want. I'll bring up the rear."

She's good backup, and I'm coveting her presence by the time I take down two rabbits and three guinea fowl, which she plucks and cleans like she's been doing it her whole life. She's also managed to take down a badger with a bad leg on her own, and when I look over again, I see her popping handfuls of a grey-green berry into her mouth. These are not berries I've ever tried, being wary of them in general and unsure of the nature of these, but clearly she knows them, since she appears to be fine. A pile of them are gathering on a cloth near her feet; she's skinning, gathering and eating simultaneously.

"You'd have done just fine out here," I remark. But just then she spots some kind of bird of prey perched on a branch not too far above us. I just have time to admire its beauty before Johanna has drawn her knife and thrown it with impressive force even as she yodels a warrior's yell. The bird drops in seconds. When I look at her, her teeth are bared. I'm reminded again that this girl is as much a survivor as I am, every bit as lethal. She gathers it up and smiles at me, "Doing good, huh, Girl on Fire?"

"Better than good," I admit. "What are those berries?"

"Trapper's berries. I don't know what they're really called. They have them at home. They're good." She offers me a handful. They taste a bit like elderberries.

When we have a haul so big we can hardly carry it back in, we quit for the afternoon. Bent over with game, we head back into town. I trade generous quantities of it at the dairy for our eggs, milk, butter, cheese, and more at the makeshift butchery they've set up on the outskirts of the square. The stores are not usually large, since we don't get those kinds of animals—domesticated—very often. Ten is still scrambling to rebuild their herds. So the meat is expensive. But I can afford it, so I trade some of Johanna's kills for a side of beef and some bacon. My mouth waters at the thought of the dinner that awaits us. "Can you cook?" I ask Johanna.

"Sure," she says. This is good. This means she and Peeta can team up while I make some kind of excuse to escape. She'll want time alone to catch up with him anyways. We trudge back to my house and I bury the game I haven't sold in the ice outside the steps. The rest we drag into the kitchen. Greens for salad, Peeta's bread, beef. I think we have potatoes. Not the Capitol's food, but far better than we used to have. Once we lay out what we have, Johanna goes to fetch both her dog and Peeta, while I make an excuse to go shower. I offer it to her first, but she shrugs. I can tell from her clothes that she doesn't even much care about them. Still the water hang-up, probably. "I'll get around to it," she says, and disappears. I go upstairs and I do run a hot shower, but then I just sit in the bottom of it, head down, letting the water pour over my hair, slowly filling in again. It's good to be somewhere where my guard can come down. I bow my head over my knees and cry. I cry for a long time, counting on the hot water to cover my tears, even from myself. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I've never done this and I hate trying to pretend I know what I'm doing when I don't. Clearly. I don't know what to do now. Doesn't Peeta want me? He kept telling me he did, but now I feel small inside, weak. I try to remember what he said in the moment, but I was so disoriented, I don't even remember his sputtered explanations.

I hear the activity from downstairs, but it'll be awhile before dinner, so here I sit, waiting for the salt to drain from my eyes and the water to soothe them. When I turn off the shower, I lie back on the floor of it, naked, my hands behind my head, air-drying as I try not to replay my humiliation over and over again. Time passes, but I don't know how much. I might even have drifted off for a little while. There are no dreams. Maybe I'm finally too tired for them. When I hear an earthshaking bang on my door, I jump up.

"KATNISSDINNER!" She says this like it's all one word and then I hear her pounding down the stairs. It occurs to me that she's probably lonely most of the time at home, without close friends. At least, she never refers to any in her letters or our phone conversations. I dress in fresh clothes and braid my hair. When I descend the stairs, the smell that hits me is delicious. Johanna and Peeta have truly worked miracles. They're sitting with Haymitch around the table, and the spread of food is marvelous. Johanna's tearing into one of Peeta's loaves with her teeth, not bothering to wait for me. They're chatting animatedly about the rebuilding of district 7. Much of the forests were burned, but Johanna is explaining how they're using the charred remnants to enrich the soil and grow new things. They're waiting for spring to see if it's effective, but it looks hopeful. They're shipping the small amounts they have around to the other districts, but luckily, many of us have access to wood anyways, now that the perimeter fences have been shut off and the forests around us are open. Guards are stationed to deter predators, but the forests are still an invaluable resource.

I don't eat as much as I might otherwise have, despite the fact that the meal is delicious. I'm also quieter than usual, but from Peeta's end, you could never tell he's perturbed by anything. He appears to have recovered: smiling, engaging, his usual genial self. Haymitch is talking with his mouth full as he compares notes with Johanna over who's around lately. He knows a lot more people than we do. They have some shared friends, it turns out. Haymitch is civil to me, but I know him well enough to know he's disapproving of my performance last night. Well, I think, wait until you see my performance tonight. I'm immensely looking forward to blacking out my straining thoughts for awhile. If Johanna has answers, maybe tomorrow will improve. If not, then at least I can bury myself for awhile. I haven't touched a drop of anything intoxicating since the announcement of the Quarter Quell, unless you count my prescribed sedatives, which I refuse to take when I'm on my own. I feel a little entitled to just get out of my own head for a time.

At the end of the meal, Haymitch and I agree quickly to do the dishes, since the others cooked. They retire to the fire in the living room, where I can hear Peeta telling Johanna about the bakery they're building now and his impending career. They're barely out of earshot in that room, so at least when Haymitch turns on me, he can't yell at me. And turn on me he does, instantaneously, although I'm studiously scrubbing dishes and ignoring him.

"Why does everything have to be your way, or else you throw a temper tantrum about it until someone gives you what you want?" he hisses at me.

"It's…none…of…your…business," I say through gritted teeth.

"Could you maybe try, hmm," …here he's both sarcastic and mocking, blinking his eyelashes and looking clueless, "…waiting around to communicate and compromise with people? Or is it Katniss' way or no way? Because that's a lonely life, sweetheart," he snarls. But he doesn't get to the last word, which infuriates me even more, before I've drawn one of the steak knives from the sink and stabbed it directly through the fabric over his left shoulder, pinning him to the wall. Ahh, fantasies realized.

Haymitch, instead of going for my throat, just stands there. His eyes look reproachful. He shakes his head at me, and then says, wearily, "You can't fix everything by killing it, Katniss."

"Leave me alone," I snap, but all the bite has gone out of it and it sounds merely lifeless. "Think you can remember that, Haymitch? Just leave me alone."

I stalk from the kitchen, but what I remember is that reproachful look in his eyes.
When the dishes are done, the others excuse themselves and say goodnight to Johanna. I miss this part. I'm brooding in the living room staring into the fire, my arms curled around my knees like a stone. Johanna shuts the door and joins me. I pull the bottle of white liquor from my otherwise empty game bag, hung on the sofa, and thump it down on the floor in front of us. Johanna pulls the cork with her teeth and spits it out.

"Sure you're good for this stuff, Girl on Fire?"

In response, I tip up the bottle and take a draw. It burns and I immediately begin coughing, as before. My eyes water everywhere. I can hear Johanna snickering. But it has the desired effect. My tense shoulders begin to lower from their perch around my ears. I pass it to Johanna and, neat as you please, she takes a swallow and hands it back.

"How do you do that?" I ask her, coming up for air.

She gives me a look that says, Really?

I decide that's adequate.

We settle back against the couch and I chance another swallow. The dog wanders in, stuffed with food like us, and settles at our feet. It's a little easier this time, though I still cough. Johanna's throat must be made of slate. It settles easily into my slight build and the lack of food in my stomach. Oh, yeeaaah, I think, that's an improvement.

"What the hell happened?" asks Johanna as I pass it back. It feels in that moment just like having an older sister. I grimace.

"I tried to have sex with Peeta and he said no." When she immediately hands the bottle back I laugh but take a third swig.

"He said no?" I consider this to be an appropriate reaction.

"Yep," I confirm.

"Wait, back up. I need more information."

I tell her the story from the beginning, putting the bottle down for now. Things are starting to seem too bright. My hands waver when I hold them out, like they're underwater. I feel calm all over. Johanna listens, wide eyes even wider in anticipation, because I don't leave out the juicy parts, although, inexplicably…maybe because I'm embarrassed…I laugh telling some of them.

"You never did that stuff before?" Johanna interrupts.

"No," I say, "We just slept…like really slept…together, and I guess we made out a couple of times. Until the past few months."

"Jesus," she snorts, "You're too old to only be figuring this out now."

"Whatever," I interject, giving her a thanks a bunch face, and continue. I include my own mixed feelings about the state of things but let her use her own deductions to factor my personality into the mix. My flaws are not a secret, since I'm not capable of faking things, even on camera. I don't try to speculate on Peeta's feelings, since doing that makes me feel woozy and anxious. I try to explain my own state of mind, that final night, but I find it difficult. I remember the heat between us, so much heat, and feeling so in love after sitting down to create the passage for the book, and thinking about Peeta and all that he is. I felt so beautiful with his gaze on me, and so turned on by those gentle hands. I had convinced myself Peeta wouldn't hurt me again, that I needed to surrender some of my tight grasp on things, decide them as they came. I was curious. So many reasons intertwining together. I don't even know if it was the right decision or not. It was rash, like a lot of other things I do. It was made in the heat of the moment.

Johanna's tapping her nails on the half-empty bottle thoughtfully as she answers. I notice now that she's slurring the tiniest bit, and I wonder if I am.

"Maybe Peeta doesn't make his decisions in the heat of the moment," she says thoughtfully. I think about this.

"He did with all the other stuff!"

"Maybe he didn't, on his end. Maybe he'd already decided for then how far he'd go, and that was it."

"Whose side are you on?" I demand.

"Katniss, do you have any idea what men are like?" Johanna looks thoroughly amused asking me this. Her brown eyes are twinkling over to me and I'm confused, not getting the joke. "Men want to take what they can get and move on to the next opportunity. Whether it's women, money or power. Do you have any idea of how rare it is for a guy to say no to sex with a girl he's chased all his life?"

Ironically, because this advice comes out of someone's mouth who isn't Haymitch, someone I consider a personal confidant, I stop and consider it.

"Really?" I'm uncertain if this is true or false. Johanna's been hanging around the Capitol longer than I have, though, and she's familiar with its morays, the height of sophistication.

"Um. Yeah. Katniss, he didn't say he wouldn't have sex with you. He said he wasn't ready yet. Probably, like every other boring goddamn thing he does," …she enunciates this part clearly… "…it was out of some misguided attempt to protect you."

I haven't thought about this. I hadn't thought I'd needed protection. I take another sip from the bottle. It's really not bad at all now.

"How'd you react when he said no? Did you get really pissed off, totally shut down, grab your stuff and leave, and now your official plan is to totally ignore him and pretend it never happened?"

"Yeah," I say guiltily, and of course she laughs.

"We need to divide and conquer," she declares. "Let's brainstorm. Oh, by the way, according to your sordid details, you could rival me in technique." She says this with a wink and I blush.

She adds, "But you have to try to stop judging him so much. Not everyone in the entire world is out to hurt you." Her face softens when she says this. It's because she knows how easy it is for us to think so. I must look dubious, because she says, "Really, Katniss. I don't see that in him, and I see it in about everyone, too."

Johanna Mason and I begin to brainstorm. As we brainstorm, we drink. I remember getting the great idea to let Buttercup out of the bedroom to see what would happen and fur and dishes flying everywhere. I remember singing an old patriotic song really, really loudly as we hooked arms and swung around the living room. I remember lying on the lawn in front of the house, staring up at all the swirling colors, with Johanna next to me. I think she might have been holding my hand. I remember laughing harder than I ever remember laughing before, and then nothing. Then the world fades blissfully to black, and there are no dreams at all in waiting for me tonight.