Hey! I don't know guys. Argh, this story. It feels so good and easy, to write it. I just hope it's the same with reading it.

3.

Johanna's pov

When I see her sorrounded by her flames, I gasp.

She's almost more stunning than the first time I saw her. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm not watching her from my TV anymore, this time I get to see her in person. This time I'm a witness and, dear God forgive me, but what a show.

The thing I appreciate the most about this second parade, is the way she chooses to handle it.
I'm not an idiot, of course. I've done it before -hell, I am doing it right now, trapped in this mess of a dress- and I know that her staff has previously told her how to act, that this is all fake, all part of a bigger strategy. Every detail is prepared, every expression, nothing is casual, not even eye-blinking.

But the first time I saw her in the chariot, with all the kissing and waving and loving the crowd...I remember she didn't fool me. I knew from the start she wasn't her real self. And I could see through her immediately, and I sensed the fear underneath. She was almost radiating it, and I remember thinking she was too young and too...innocent for this madness. Strong, of course: I could see her determination, because it was a feature we had in common. But human. So very human. And in that moment I remember I silently cried over the humanity and the naivity the games would have stolen away from her. Just like they did with me. And with every single poor soul that survived the slaughter.

Now, she's still the girl on fire, but she seems more authentic, more like her true self would behave in a moment like this.
She simply stays in her chariot, still as a greek statue, looking straight ahead, not addressing the shouting crowd in any way. It's like she doesn't even see them. And the more she ignores them, the more they want her. People are weird.
It's like she's saying: I'm above this, I don't care.
Sassy, I like it.
It suits her better than that sweet-girl-madly-in-love façade she tried to pull off during the victory tour. She was as believable as my grandma in high heels.

But, just like the first time, I can see through the act. She's changed, that's for sure. She's not the scared but strong girl from Twelve anymore. Under the fire, there's a cold resignation. It's like she knows there's no way to survive, this time. She's too much of a target to make it out alive. A target for both the other tributes and the gamemakers. She's too much of a danger, too, for the Capitol, for Snow.

It's moving, nonetheless, the way she seems to accept the notion she'll be dead in a matter of days, weeks if she's lucky. Or unlucky, it depends on how you see it. She must be very well grounded if she manages to still remain sane. I would have lost it completely. Hell, I had, after what Snow did to me and to my family.
Under the layers of dark make up, I'm able to spot some self hate, too. That's pretty common among us victors. I wonder If she sleeps at night. If she sees the faces of those she had to kill. If there's still something, in this miserable, stinking excuse for a world, that makes her smile. It's sad, really, because I can picture it in my head: I'm sure she would have the most beautiful, sincere, stupid smile, if only there was still a reason to indulge in such luxury.
I know for me there isn't. I'm all grins and snarky comebacks. I gave up the smiling thing since Snow killed everybody I cared for. But enough with the sadness.

My favourite part of the evening is by far when she passes in front of President Snow just like he isn't there, not even acknowledging his presence, chin high and hard cheek bones glowing with pride. For a split second, I buy it, and she manages to convince me she doesn't see him as a threat. Just as an old, mad man who happened to watch too many reality-shows. Well played, Everdeen.
I have to admit it, since I know what he's capable of and since I consider him one of the most terrifying persons I've ever laid eyes on (and I'm not easily terrified), seeing her while she gives him the silent treatment...it's a big turn on.

It's not like the thought bothers me. I've never been so preoccupied with labels. Truth be told, I've never been so preoccupied with anything. I feel what I feel , and that's it. I may not show it, but that's another thing.
I mean she's hot, that's very easy to notice, you just have to have eyes. There's no harm in admitting it, man.
I see her in every screen, it's so obvious the cameras are all for her, it's like they want to eat her or something, and we -the other victors- just have to stare. Tonight, with lover boy at her side, there's no competition at all. Cinna is the best. She looks from another world entirely. A goddess.
I wonder if this should bother me. Her, getting all the attention. It doesn't, really. It's not like it's supposed to be my night anyway. The only thing I'm really good at, it's being a bitch. And I'm awesome with my axe. It would be a waste of time, being upset over her being so hot and winning all the sponsors. I didn't need sponsors last time, I won't need them now, I have other charms, and I'd much prefere to enjoy the view.
That's exactly what I do, as balantly as possible. I watch her and I smirk. Smirking: one of the other things I'm good at. I excell. The cameras, they must notice. Leave it to them to understand what's the meaning behind my behaviour.

The thing that really bothers me is that, when the show is finally over, I am not over her.

I'm left with a strange desire to know more. To see more, taste more.

Like someone who's just been at a feast but has not managed to satisfy the hunger.

I've been trying to feel numb and look indifferent for such a long time that, for a moment, the honesty of my desire surprises me. My skin tingles. I'm alive. I don't care why it happens, it's too good to over-think it. The only suggestion my mind has for me is: act on it.
And so I do.
Driven by my instinct only, I catch them in the elevator, and I step in. In the back of my head I know that -by playing with the girl on fire- I'll eventually get burnt.
But it's been so long since I felt something this powerful, it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Or so I tell myself.

She's adorable, all flustered and made uneasy by my verbal violence and my total lack of filters. Maybe I should worry about the fact that I just described her as adorable and that's just a word I don't use, but I am having too much fun to mind.
I want to play with her head a little, so I still look at her while I talk to lover boy. It seems to work, she's overwhelmed enough.
And then I'm naked. Not that it was never a problem, I've always been confident with my body.

At first, she doesn't even have the courage to look. I can see how she's making the effort not to make her eyes go under my neck. I am taken aback by her behaviour. I find it strangely respectful, almost child-like.

Then, I don't know what crosses her mind, but something in her eyes changes, it's like a fire that begins to burn in the darkness of the woods, and she's not so scared and innocent now. She decides to take what I offered, and she looks.

But when I see how she looks at me...that's when it's not just a game anymore.
She doesn't look at me like I'm a body you'd want to own.
She admires me. Takes her time to study me. Every single detail. For the first time, I really feel naked. Almost embarassed by the intensity of her stares, but above all fluttered. Her attention is like honey on my tongue and in my nostrils. It's almost too much, I am not used at being looked at like she does.

Like I'm beautiful.

Like I deserve the world.

Like I'm a good person.

Like I can be saved.

Her eyes are the cover of my soul, and I am suddendly so warm...when we arrive at the 7th floor, I don't want this journey to end. I am not ready to say goodbye.
I think of something ironic to say, and I come up with "That was fun, let's do it again sometimes".
I hope she understands these words are not for her. After all, even though I've completely ignored the pair, we both know we're not alone in the elevator. I am not free to say what I really want to.

But I hope...god, I really hope she understands.