I hear the doors of the elevator closing just behind me and I must admit I panick a little, because it makes me realize there's no turning back now.

That's the thing about choices, I suppose.

They're a risky businnes. And often hard to take back. Once you've made one, you gotta stick to it. Accept the consequences.

Maybe I made the wrong one?

Maybe I misjudged the whole situation?

Johanna is still walking in front of me, naked and free from her itching dress that covered her natural beauty, but she's not bothering to wait for me, or turn, or give me some sort of sign, and that makes me uncomfortable. Also, I can't see her eyes anymore, and that leaves me in a pull of doubts.

Well, part of me is too enchanted by the movements of her hips to really feel any discomfort at all. But there's another part of me - the rational one I suppose, the one's still not completely engulfed and addicted to the simple act of watching her- that is doubtful.

What if she isn't even aware of me following her? No, it can't be.

She's a fighter, an expert one: my bet is her senses are acute and working full time, even when she's not completely focused.

The arena does that to you.

It takes you aways the possibility to just shut down. I know this because I'm a victor too, and I am aware of my sorroundings even when I'm sleeping. It's sad, really, the idea that we both can't loose control and forget about where we are.
That's how I know she knows there's someone behind her.
Of course, out of habit, my footsteps are light as feathers falling on the ground, but my breath is shaky. She must hear me breathing, I am as loud as a wounded animal.
She must know someone's following her, but does she know it's me?
Suddendly, a particularly bitter thought crosses my mind. Does she think I'm Peeta? Or worst, Haymitch? Does she even care in the first place?
I acted on impulse, I thought there was some kind of silent dialogue between us, but maybe it was just a monologue and she didn't mean all the things I supposed she meant. The stares, the smile, all the things she said with her eyes...what if I made it all up?
This thought alone should be enough to make me turn around and go back to my room, not before finding some stupid excuse for the way I acted. It should be easy, anyway, since Peeta believes to everything that falls from my mouth and Haymitch doesn't really care. I'm not even sure he noticed me stepping out of the elevator.
But I don't stop, I keep walking.
Because the thrill of the chase wins over the fear of being rejected. It's exilarating, really: as I follow her to her room, keeping a safe distance, I feel like I'm in the woods again. The world around me comes to life, the colours are brighter and I swear I can smell pines in the air.
I am hunting her, and I will not stop because that's just...not who I am. I'll either win or loose, and then start again. In this case, since I'm not in a typical District twelve situation, loosing won't mean having nothing to bring home to eat. It'll probably mean I'll make a fool of myself. The way I see it, there's no difference.
Maybe the fact that no matter what happens, I'll be dead in a few days, is what makes me so careless. But I don't really think that my future and certain death fully explains my behaviour.
It' something less philosopic than that carpe diem bullshit.
It can be the fact that she is, undoubtly, sexy as hell. And I am surprised by my very own thoughts, but I know they speak the truth. Yes, she is beautiful, and tempting. And I am not blind. But it's not just a physical thing.
It's about heart, and home, and longing.
I know what it is, the force that crushes all my good judgment and destroys any worry of being totally out of line. The force that pulls me towards her. It's not a force in the scientific sense.
It's a smell.
That smell of pines and mud and cold winter breeze, the one I smelled before...I realize it's her.
She smells like my woods. Suddenly my heart is so full it might as well explode.
I feel sad and happy at the same time. And that -as confusing as it is- it's more than enough to destroy all the walls I carefully builded. There's no reason for me to turn back when her smell gently invites me in.
I surrender to it like you surrender to the most pure form of affection.
I surrender.
When did the roles reversed? I'm not a hunter anymore...
But then we're at her door and there's no more time left to think, since there's barely a step between us and the smell is so strong it clouds my judgement. I feel every control I had left slip away. I feel like I'm floating. Like a forgotten Katniss before my first games.
We are both still and silent. I wonder if she feels the same. I hope she does, it's such a new feeling. Like finding yourself again after ages of darkness.
When she speaks, my last doubts about having misjudged the meaning of her stares vanish. She says the only thing that is able to make the situation more perfect, if that is even possible. She says my name.
"Katniss".
It's soft, not at all like the Johanna I know. She doesn't adress me as the girl on fire? She doesn't call me sweetheart like Haymitch does. Or Catnip.
It's just Katniss.
And that's how I know. That's how I know she felt it to. No hint of doubt in her voice. It's not a question, she's not asking "Katniss? Is it you?".
She is letting me know she wanted it to be me. She hoped it was.
So I take a step forward and open the door for her.
She steps in.
I follow, closing the physical gap between us by adjusting one of my hands on her bare left shoulder.
I don't even have time to see her room because, in a smooth movement of strong arms, I am pinned to the door. I've never felt more okay with being trapped my whole life.
Because finally, I see her eyes. Now that we are alone, she lets them glow without restraint.
"Is it real?" I ask, and I want to bite my tongue so bad, because that's just not the right thing to say. It slips out of my mouth before I can do anything about it.
She chuckles. Of course she does.
But she doesn't respond. Not with words, anyway. She just kisses me full on the lips like she wants to do it for years. It's her way of saying that yes, it is all real. Her lips are so real it hurts.
And maybe it was the right thing to say, after all.
She's careful, though. Not like I expected her to be.
She kisses me lightly one more time, making my head spin like crazy, then watches me. She seems scared. Her question surprises me.
"Are you here because you want to, or are you here because you'll be dead in a few days anyway?".
I smile, she frowns. Little does she know we are on the exact same page.
"I don't feel like dying anymore", I manage to say.
And then the smell hits me at full force and I kiss her like I want to do it for years.