I lay down on my bed in the middle of the night, the events of the day still stalking me. Stupid Enobaria. Stupid Whiskey. Stupid Hunger Games.

Stupid Capitol.

I click on the television only to find footage of the Hunger Games everywhere. For some reason, I don't turn it off, despite wanting to. And as I slump down in the bed, all I can hear is some rule change.

Rules? I'm pretty sure the only rules are don't step off your plate before sixty seconds and kill. But as I listen, not intently, I hear Claudius Templesmith tell the few remaining tributes that two tributes can win if they are the last ones standing. And they have to be from the same District.

"What?" I say to only myself . I push myself up quickly and stare at the screen, but all that happens in some footage of Haymitch's chick calling out for some guy named Peeta. District partner, probably. It cuts to the District Two tributes celebrating by making out.

And Peeta, in the mud. And some girl from District Five, who has a dead district patner. She looks slightly dissapointed.

I fall back down into the bed, but all I can think about is those tributes who might come out and might not. I'm thinking the District 2 tributes would overpower 12, but 12 could outsmart them.

However, the one thing I'm stuck on is how the boy from District 12 is...

Zzzzzzzzz. Zzzzzzz. Zzzzzzzzzz.

When I awake again, I realize I don't have a hangover. My hands fly into the air and I jump off the bed.

"Hell yes! Improvement!"

I see my whiskey bottles in the corner, and get hit with the realization that it's like a collection of them, thats how addicted I am.

Damn, I'm messed up. I should do something about it, but I don't know what. That night I toss and turn in bed, wondering what I should do, and when. Here, in the Capitol? Back in District Seven? Well, those are actually my only two options.

I hate the Capitol, but what if they're able to help me better than those back in District 7? Because they've had training, or went to better schools. I don't know. I'm no doctor, and I need to stop thinking about this right now.

It's important to get sleep, so I lay back down.

And I drift into a world where everything is okay.

I take a deep breathe and look down at the pen. Closing my eyes, I think about how much this will help me. I need to do this. I need to. It's my only choice.

Okay, maybe not my only choice, but I know I'll be able to if I can just reach up and freakin' do it!

It's not that hard, Johanna!

I don't want to.

Do it!

No! I don't want to!

There's those voices again, the ones that happened before my Games many years ago. One told me I would win, while the other was all 'Don't be so sure!' Like a sneaky little snake, when, in reality, I won.

This is making it worse.

I reach up, shakily press the pen to the paper, and scribble 'Johanna Mason' onto the wrinkled piece of paper.

I just signed up for rehab.

And I've never been so damn proud of myself in my entire life.