There's a brief moment, after I walk out of the elevator, during which a sad realization hits me like a wave.

"Well, this is it", I think. It's finished. I wasn't quick or brave enough to say something to her, something that would have made her understand my real intentions. My heart's been switched off for years, covered by a thick layer of dust, no wonder I'm so slow with feelings and words to express them.

What did I say instead?

"Let's do it again sometimes".

Did I fall from a tree when I was a child? Am I so stupid I coudn't possibly find something better to say? I've never been to good with words, so I wasn't expecting for something impossibly poetic to casually slip from my lips. Even a simple "see you at training" would have been less shitty, though. Sometimes I think it would be best if I didn't have a tongue. I'd have to communicate with body language, but it would certainly spare me a lot of trouble.
I'm an idiot, now it's over, and the warmness of her eyes will be forever missed. Because, before today, I didn't know it existed, and you can't miss something you don't know. But now that I know it does exist and it's not mine, I'm more lonely than ever, trapped and useless, forever trying to catch smoke with my hands and repeatedly failing.
It's like the remorse you feel when you meet someone you don't really know, but for whatever reason you are intrigued, and you would like to stop them and talk to them about everything and nothing at the same time, from their favourite ice cream flavor to their biggest fear, but then they're gone and you don't even have their name to cherish.
It's that feeling you get when you spot in the crowd a beautiful stranger and you don't have the guts to introduce yourself.
Only, with Katniss as the beautiful stranger, it's one hundred times more heartbreaking. Because, from tomorrow on, she won't be a stranger anymore, just another enemy to fight.

It's a brief moment, but it's so intense and painful I don't have air in my lungs anymore. It's a punch that leaves me defeated and crushed. I taste blood in my mouth and I realize I can't stop biting my tongue. Should have done that earlier, Johanna. Brilliant.

"Maybe I can speak to her in training tomorrow", I think, in a flicker of hope...but really, I know I lost my chance. And with girls like Katniss Everdeen, you are lucky if you even get one.

I'll have to spend the night dealing with it.

Then the wave that hit me passes, and I regain my lucidity, and my ability to hear noises - lost in my momentary despair - comes back as well.

I can feel her behind me as I walk, and that's when I breath again.

I feel like doing some kind of lame victory-dance, screaming and throwing my fists in the air. Except I doubt it would be appropriate. After all, I'm still naked.

So she did follow me. Thank God she'smarter than me, and better at making quick decisions.

We're in this together...whatever it is.
It will not remain something in my head, some sort of story I made up. It's concrete, like that breath I hear she's struggling to control.
I try to keep walking at a steady pace, without showing how I am crumbling internally, how she's inlfuencing my body's ability to function even from afar, and I think I'm doing a good job. I'm good at hiding emotions, keeping them to myself. It took me years of training and hidden tears and utter solitude, yeah. But now I can. My face is unreadable, most of the time, and my movements never rushed.
That's why, on the outside, I am the living image of calmness.
She might even think I don't know she's there. Of course I know she is. I am aware of every little noise around me, my ears are as precious as my eyes. I came to learn this truth in the arena.

Inside, though, I'm freaking out. A lot. And I don't like it, it makes me feel weak and vulnerable.
I want to wait for her, turn around, see if she's really following me, like Orpheus did with Euridyce, but something tells me I shouldn't.
I know it's not rational, but I am afraid that if I turn, something bad's gonna happen, and our little, peaceful bubble is going to explode, causing damages that can't be fixed. After all, Orpheus looked back to see if his lover was following him and this was the very cause of Eurydice's death. And I wouldn't wish that kind of burden to my worst enemy. So I don't look.

Still, it's hard not to. I want to hold her hand, let my mask fall down, and ask her: "What now?". I want her to know I'm scared, just like everybody else, and I'm so tired of pretending I'm not.
But I'm not Orpheus, I'm Johanna, and I am stronger than that. I wonder if I'll be that strong once we arrive to my room. That confident. I wonder if being strong is always an advantage or there are times when I could use a little weakness.

I wish this short distance currently separating us from my room was never ending. I wish time would stop and leave us freezed into this moment. And at the same time, since I seem to have lost any logical sense, I wish I could make us move faster so that we could finally reach that freaking door. Not there's a risk someone sees us. They know I don't like to have people around, they learned i to leave me alone. It'd be different if we were in Katniss' apartments. With Peeta, Haymitch and Effie...I bet they never leave her alone. Me, I fought for my privacy, so we are pretty safe here.

Still, I want to hide her in my room and never leave her again. Make that room our world because the one we live in is such a mess it makes my head ache. That's my most pressing wish right now.

I wonder if she'd be okay with my little plan?

I am not so sure of myself anymore. And, obviously, that's precisely when I'm forced to stop. The universe must hate me.
We're here, and I had all the time to plan my next move, but now my head feels like a white blank page and I don't know what to do. I don't know what she wants from me. Sex? A distraction? As surprising as it sounds to my own ears, it's not enough for me.
I begin to question her true motives...

She's so close I can feel her body heat. It comes in waves like a balm on my naked back. And I wish she'd take the lead now. Because I can't decide on my next move. So I do the only thing I can do. I search for her reassurance. I say her name.

"Katniss".

It feels so good to acknowledge her presence. My voice is raw with emotion. But it doesn't break, and I'm glad.

I see her hand moving, she opens the door for me. It's an invitation. I still don't know what's her point of view, but I am determinated to find out.

When I feel her palm on my shoulder, though, I loose it. I explode in goosebumps, tiny little circles of them on my skin, like my shoulder was I lake and her hand a stone.
My body takes control over my mind and I pin her to the wall.
She's completely dressed, while my nakedeness turns out to be a painful sweetness, because without clothes every touch ignites a fire. Everything is amplified.

"Is this real?".

I laugh, nervously but open-heartedly.

And then I kiss her.

I may still don't know her reasons, but I do know mine.

I kiss her because the closeness is too much and you could cook an egg on my skin - that's how much I'm burning. Because maybe this will be the only chance I get and I don't want to condemn myself to a life of what ifs. So I accept the risk that the kiss could hold for me a whole different meaning. Because I have no words left, she stole them all. Because it's the best way to make her understand.

I'm gentle, shy even. But this doesn't mean I don't put all myself in it. I am tempted by her neck, but I stop myself. Because, before we take this any further, I need to know...

"Are you here because you want to, or are you here because you'll be dead in a few days anyway?".

I let my fear show. If this is just a thing she plans on using as a distraction, some kind of last moment of lightness before the inevitable will happen...my heart breaks at the thought. It would be sadly ironic, really. For the first time in years it's not about sex for me, I've finally found the courage to surrender to a deeper connection, even though the timing couldn't be more wrong...and maybe all she wants is sex. It's a possibility. A good time before the madness begins. A warm body to forget for an hour or so that she might as well be dead.
I don't want it to be about bodies. I want it to be about souls.
I have to know this is not her reason. I have to know. It can't be.
If she's driven by despair only, then I don't want this. I don't want our time together to be a fruit of desperation. When for me, on the contrary, it would mean nothing but salvation.

She smiles and I'd really like to slap her (doesn't she understand how serious this is for me?) but then comes her simple reply.

"I don't feel like dying anymore". And it's enough to know relief it's not her only purpose.

So we begin...slow dancing in a burning room.

At first, my kisses are still careful and clean. Almost chast. I am trying not to lose control because I know I am almost animalistic when I do, and, given her lack of experience, I don't want to scare her away with my eagerness. I want us to start by building a slow, safe flame, not by carelessly igniting a raging fire that would burn the place down.

But then her hands...oh, her hands are being bolder. They seem to have a different project in mind. And there's nothing safe about it. I feel them everywhere. On my stomach, on my back, tracing the curve of my hipbones. I am surprised by their steadiness.
This is an unfair battle...I'm naked, she's got her clothes on as protection. I feel her fingertips on my left breast as she moves her mouth to my neck.
Yes, this is such an unfair battle and I can't decide if I'm loosing or winning...or both.
She wants me to react. She can sense I'm holding back and she looks...hurt by my behavior? Does she think I don't want her?
In this case...I am happy to oblige.
I take her in my arms, she gulps in surprise and puts her legs around my waist as I move her to the bed. I undress her, taking away the flames from her, because I want us to be on the same level. She's way too dressed to be on mine.

When I finish, I watch her under me.

Her body is a sculpture. Defined but soft muscles, perfect, rounded breasts. Even her ankles are magnificent, I swear.
She's breathing faster now, causing a million waves to shake the sea of her body. She'a storm, and I don't have a life belt, but I don't care. I'll swim until I have no energy left and then I'll happily drown.
I trap her under my body, collapsing into her. Skin on skin, it's a bliss.
That's when I hear it. A long, heavenly moan.
It brings me to the edge of madness.
I'm like Ulysses with the sirens, but I forgot to secure myself to the ship with my ropes. I doubt there's a rope strong enough to confine me in the limits of my body.
It all happens in a blur.
I touch her everywhere and the more I touch the more I want to. I realize I'm doomed and there will be no end to this exploration. Only other lands to discover. The islands that are her eyes, the cliff that is her chin, the beach that is her back. She's the only arena I wanna be in. She's an entire, unknown world and now that I have found it I want to live in her forever.
But then, I realize I'm getting too carried away.
She's moaning under me, but I can find a glimpse of fear in her eyes.
She's conflicted. She wants me to go on but she's afraid. I know the feeling, I respect it because I respect her. It's not right. It would feel like stealing something from her. Not the best way to begin our journey.
So I slow down. I remove my burning hands from her thighs. I lazily kiss her, I kiss every stupid little spot I find, I don't want anything to remain untouched. I claim her in her integrity. Her wrists. Her pulse point. The tip of her nose.
She giggles.
She's not afraid anymore. She knows I understand. She's so happy I don't mind. There's no rush in my mind. I mean, there should be, because we'll both be in the arena in a few days. But there's no such thing as time inside this room, inside this bed. We left it outside. And it's okay, for now.

Now that I'm more lucid, I can sense that something is bothering me.
It's her make up.
We haven't had the opportunity to wash our faces yet. Not that she isn't stunning, with heavy eye liner and eyelashes that go on forever.
But I'm taken by this sort of urgency to see her, truly and without filters, under those layers of fake beauty she doesn't need.
And since I can't see her dressed in everyday's clothes, hunting the woods of district twelve...
"Katniss?".
"Hmmm?" she hums, as I pepper her neck with kisses.
"Can we do something?".
"Aren't we doing something? I don't know about you but I'm pretty busy at the moment" she says, and to make her point she takes one of my nipples in her mouth.
I have keep my self from fainting.
I let her do this to me for about a minute, then I bring it up another time because I know I won't be able to, later.
"Come on, follow me" I say, and I jump from the bed to the floor in a single, swift movement.
She's startled by my sudden absence but then she lazily gets up and follows me to the bathroom.
When I begin ti splash my face with the water running from the sink, she doesn't hide her confusion. Her puzzled expression is priceless.
"You stopped what was going on in that comfy bed of yours to wash your face? Are you crazy, woman? Am I that bad?".
I laugh at her reaction, she's so sincere and it's a nice change from the fake atmosphere that reigns in the capitol. That just renforces my goal to see her without make up.
"Yes. And you are not bad at all. I stopped because you...stink!" I say, spashing cool water all over her face.
She takes a breath because of the unexpected cold, and then tries to seem offended. She doesn't do a very good job. I can see her trying to conceal her smile under that funny frown of hers.

She's beautiful and carefree, which causes my face to turn serious. Not the sad kind of serious, the "I have to do something important now" kind.
She knows it - she's very good at reading my expressions, I notice.
So she let me. She let me wash her face until she's free from make-up.
Until I can see every freckle. I kiss them and, in an embarassed whisper, I say: "Now you're you".
She's moved by my actions now that she discovered their hidden meaning.
And then, with a gentleness I had long forgotten, she wash my face just as I did.
When she's finished, she looks me in the eyes and says: "Now you are you, too".