I had been correct to note that this was going to be a long night. Shortly after Johanna made her confession, she settled back into bed and dozed off once the hiccups and sniffles finally subsided. I figured the emotional turmoil on her had finally tired her out enough to put her to sleep. Even I had managed to find a comfortable position and no longer needed the rubber tourniquet hose to chew on to pacify the flare-ups from the injections. For one hour, it was quiet and our level of content was passable.
Almost as if Johanna had a schedule tattooed on her arm, at 02:50 her leg resumed it's duty of bouncing again. The next item on the itinerary had her roll over and fix her pillow every three minutes. Eventually she ended up with her head at the foot of the bed; each movement making the bed creek in protest, making my already sensitive ears perk up, thus waking me up completely.
"Johanna, seriously," I complain from under my pillow.
"I'm itchy. I'm tired. I'm wired. I'm horny. I'm hungry. I'm nauseous," Johanna rambles with utter exasperation. "Don't bitch at me, the door is locked, remember?" She plops into a new position on her hospital bed making it creak painfully again.
Typically, a nurse comes by at least once every two or three hours. We hadn't seen a soul since lights out. Knowing Johanna's destructive nature, I wouldn't doubt it if the nurses kept the doors locked for their own safety while she dries out. I guess they figured that since I survived Johanna in the arena, one night of detox wouldn't get me killed.
"Go take a shower or something. That will relax you," I mumble the suggestion, turning over to my other side hoping this position will provide a tad bit more relief. My view from this angle is of a small wooden chair in the corner with a threadbare quilt draped over its arm. I've already counted the squares and stripes, so I start to count the pearled roses. Behind me, I hear Johanna get up from the creaking bed. Great, I think, she's finally listening to me.
I was wrong - again. My suggestion has only flipped a switch to yet another manic pacing episode. Her bare feet stomp across the cold tile floor.
"What's the matter now?" I ask, turning over just enough to peer over my shoulder to see Johanna scrubbing her fingers through her short hair, her eyebrows knitted hard, and her teeth clenched.
"God, you don't know anything do you?" she growls.
"I wish you'd stop telling me that. If I knew what the matter was, I would help you."
"I've got thirty people in this underground hellhole trying to help me. What makes you think you can do any better than they can? What makes you think you understand what I've gone through?" Johanna stops and lets her arms drop back at her sides. Her gown hangs limp over her tiny shoulders.
I turn back over onto my right side to face her, "Oh, I don't know, maybe I'm one of seven people down here that can say they have survived the arena; one of four who has done it twice. And I'm one of three people who Thread-" I stop short, snapping my mouth shut.
Johanna cocks her head slightly and looks at me questioningly, "Why did Coin have you down there yesterday?"
I clear my throat, "Probably because what happened to Gale. Thread almost killed him but Peeta, Haymitch and I stopped him before he could."
"No. I asked you what he did to you, not Gale. Not loverboy and not your cousin," her mouth becomes a thin line as she crosses her arms. "You."
"Thread was an asshole in our District. Pushed me around a bit before the Reaping. That's all."
"I don't know why you have to fuckin' lie all the time. That's why you don't know anything. You're just going to make more enemies."
"I'm not lying," I shoot back.
"Girl, stop right there. You're the worst liar I've ever met," Johanna says, then pauses for a moment before running her tongue over her teeth. "How many times have you boned Gale?
Johanna caught me in a corner and I can't come up with an answer fast enough.
"Ha, I knew it!" Johanna shouts, clapping her hands together, "It must have been recently too, because he's been all puppy doggin' you since you guys got back from 2 and it's not because you almost died - again."
I can feel my face get red and I sigh in defeat, "Okay, yeah, something did happen back in 2."
Johanna hops onto the foot of my bed and crosses her legs, "Oh give me the details, please, I'm dying in here. I need some entertainment!" Her mischievous grin turns into a grimace as a muscle spasms in her neck twists her head slightly. Once it passes, she clears her throat and smiles again, ignoring the contraction completely.
"There's not much to tell," I say quietly, "it wasn't all that I thought it would be, actually."
"I don't believe for a second that Gale is a bad lay. Tell me anyway," she says and then pauses for a moment. Suddenly her eyes go wide and bright, "Is he better than Peeta? I bet he's way bigger than Peeta." Johanna has her chin resting in her palms, a grin is plastered across her face.
Her words strike me viciously again, "We never –"
"Bullshit. Then what was all that baby stuff about? He couldn't come up with all that without a little inspiration."
"That time doesn't count," I blurt out.
"Doesn't count? But there was a time, though. Oh I get it, it was just the tip, right?"
"No, we, I –" I have no idea where to start or how to explain. I lie back and cover my face with my arm. "It was the Sponsor's Ball. It got weird."
"Weird is good."
"Nope, this was bad weird." For some reason, I am feeling self conscious about this sudden disclosure. Cressida was so easy to talk to, even Cinna. Johanna's exhobitionist past and blatant promiscuity embarrasses me. I feel mocked and vulnerable when she questions me like this. "Our sponsors. . ." I stop and bite my lip, ". . .We were drunk, or drugged, I don't know. It wasn't right."
I can hear Johanna shift in her seat. "Oh, you're right. Drugs are fun, but not with sex. Eesh," I feel the bed shutter under her featherweight frame.
"He doesn't remember that night at all," I say, moving my arm down and away from my face. I need to see her reaction to what I have to say next. "I think they messed with his head like when he was captured, like it was a mini hijacking. I don't know, I think somehow they figured out how to turn that party drug into a kind of weapon."
"Didn't sound like a party to me. It sounded like a whole lot more effort went into his hijacking than slipping him something in his champagne."
"Beetee says they used tracker jacker venom on him in order –"
"And a shit load of electricity too," Johanna says plainly as she gets up from my bed. Her pacing begins again, albeit this time a little slower.
"You know what happened to him? Were you with him?" I ask, sitting up on my elbows.
Johanna wraps her arms around herself at my question. Her back is to me and I hear her groan as if in pain. "You're like a splinter in my ass, fuck, no. No. No. I told you. I told you, you don't fucking get it. You don't!" Johanna doesn't shout, however her tone is incredibly stern. I sit back slowly and keep quiet as I watch her pace a few laps. When she approaches the middle of the room for the fourth time, she stops suddenly, and with one hand, grabs her lower back; almost in spasm, her face twists in pain. "Oh my god," Johanna growls, "why did you have to be such a fuckin' hero and take my morphling away, huh?"
"You said it was fine. That you'd be fine. We have to get through this one way or the other," I say plainly, however, I still have a twinge of guilt. My comments only perpetuates her mood and her pace.
"We? We? No, it's all you, brainless. It's all been for you. The only reason why I jumped in to help you was because Finnick asked me to. Because he knew how much I wanted to shove it up Snow's ass," Johanna's speech is now just as frantic as her pacing. "If I had known all this would have happened, all of, eergh, everything, all of this, fuck!" She stops in her tracks and her hand shoots up to her head, just behind her right ear, and her other wraps around her ribs. "Fucking hell. I would have let them hang me." She manages once her spasm ceases.
"Don't say that," I say, sitting up completely now. "We all have a common enemy. I'm not the only one fighting here. I wouldn't have made it this far without you."
She waves me off yet she continues to spout off a barrage of colorful language - directed at me - as she resumes her endless journey around our room.
When her insults dissolve into random clips of phrases not necessarily pointed at anyone in particular, I decide to lie back and remain silent. My mother dealt with plenty of drunks who became belligerent and blindly violent that came to us with busted knuckles, bloodied noses and gashed foreheads. Hours were spent in our front room as my father assisted and tirelessly tried to calm them down. Inevitably, it was only a matter of time before our visitors would tire themselves out. The next morning, I would find them asleep under a quilt on the couch or kitchen floor before I hurried off to school.
Much like those men, Johanna spends the rest of the early hours in the bathroom heaving and swearing. Unlike her, though, the men didn't have quite her vocabulary, nor did they direct their dismay at me personally.
I remember one case of a visitor in need that wasn't brought in by the effects of the white liquor passed around the Hob. This was a girl, about sixteen, that took a full two days to recover. Sweating, vomiting and shivering all at the same time. My mother said it was only the flu, but I knew better. Kids at school mentioned that with the newest batch of Peacekeepers came a new batch of synthetic entertainment. My mother dealt with several cases of the flu that summer until whatever stock finally ran out. Prim was much too young, but I was old enough to help with laundering the sheets and towels.
I glance at the dim red digital numbers above our door. The clock reads 04:42. I pull myself from my cocoon and go to the bathroom where Johanna is sitting on the floor near the toilet. It's been almost an hour since her dry heaves began. Her eyes are even more red and puffy than before and somehow she has become a few shades paler. I go back to the chair by my bed and pull the quilt off and carry it back to the bathroom. Johanna is so spaced out, she doesn't acknowledge me when I wrap the blanket around her shaking shoulders.
"Just a little bit longer. We're Victors, you know. We can survive anything they throw at us. I'll see you on the other side," I whisper before returning to my bed and burrowing myself under my pillows.
We did survive. We survived that night and the next week of training, all with new quarters assigned to us. We even survived each other.
Since we have been out and around our arena allies, Johanna has seen how much everyone has changed and grown and adapted to their concrete burrow. Because of this, she leaves much of the juvenile teasing for other unsuspecting citizens and doctors of 13 who have a much more innocent past than she or I. With her newly placed maturity, I believe she can finally see that Peeta, who is not only a sore subject, is so much more gone than Annie; as if on another plane of suffering, that has no possible path back to me.
When there is time for innuendos or off colored jokes in my presence, she saves them for when we are assembling our weapons or when physical therapy involves assisted leg and hip stretching exercises. Even I can't help but laugh, especially when our training commander blushes.
However, her comments today at lunch during a surprise visit from Peeta threw a huge wrench in her progress. Unthinking, brash descriptions about her and Peeta's shared experience of torture, right in front of Annie and Finnick. How she prodded at Peeta with her words, making him squirm in his seat across from me. Yet, in all of that pain and internal struggle I witnessed, I didn't feel sympathy towards this shell of a boy who my world once revolved around.
Gale walked me to my room after that. He tried to console me by telling me that I wasn't seeing myself as who I really am, and he kissed my cheek. When he turned to go, but I grabbed his sleeve to stop him before he could take a second step
"I told him about us," I confess. "It was way before we went to 2, but what I said may not have helped his opinion of me."
"He needs to grow up and understand we're together now," Gale says, straightening his shoulders.
"I never said that," the words come out more defensively than I would have liked, but I stand firm. "I never said we were together," I say again, cementing my position on the matter, "I told you back home I can't be with anyone like that right now."
"Then what was all that before? Back in 2?"
"I felt like I had to," I say with a heavy sigh. "Gale, you don't know what pressure I'm under. I need something between me and my mind, the war, the violence. I needed something to make me feel somewhat normal and grounded for even just a moment." Gale's eyes grow dark, yet his shoulders remain strong and broad. "I took so much from Peeta," i continue. "Just as I am with you now."
"You're not taking —"
"I'm not giving either. It doesn't feel right, Gale. Especially now that I have someone who is calling me out - turning everything that I touch into a weapon that can be turned against me. Until this is all over —"
"Let me know when you need someone instead of something," Gale says coldly before leaving me at my compartment door.
I lost Peeta and now I've pushed Gale away. Gale is someone who has always been by my side, no matter what, which makes our separation awfully painful. So I latch onto Johanna and together we focus on healing and training. We keep Coin's promise at the front of our minds, because Thread is the first step before we can get to Snow.
Standard combat training has us crawling around in the mud and shooting firearms after several miles of strenuous running. Afterwards, we are granted special access to Beetee's training area to focus on the weapons we are most known for. A week ago, I could barely hold my bow upright, let alone draw the string back to my anchor point at my cheek - the fire in my healing torso restricted much of my mobility. Now with mended ribs and rigorous exercise, I can achieve a full draw; however I still need practice to ease my trembling muscles and tighten up my grouping. If I am to land a single arrow ceremoniously, I must be perfect.
Johanna's strength has returned with a vengeance. Her blade sinks deep into the scrap plywood targets from ten yards back. Axe throwing reveals itself to be more complicated than I imagined. Johanna spends most of her hour throwing the axe sideways, so it lands flat enough to be used as a step up a tree trunk. Her body curves over her wrist while her right leg slides back gracefully behind her letting her free left hand float above her head; all a single fluid movement that sends the metal and wood forward with a ferocious velocity. In the beginning, her cussing was because of ill form or missed targets, now she uses the same words for triumph.
Extra training awards us an extra trip to the cafeteria. I appreciate the added bonus for working so hard, but I feel this special treatment is mostly for Johanna to get her weight back up. Typically there are a few dinner rolls left over, or even a scoop of rice or potatoes that was found at the bottom of a huge industrial pot. Tonight, we enter the cafeteria with our noses in the air and our arms linked together for support as we make our way to find the Mess Captain as our mouths water in disbelief.
"Ahoy hoy!" Johanna calls into the empty cafeteria when we make it to the chow line counter. We hear shuffling in the back kitchen, so Johanna pipes up again. "You can't be teasing me with those oh so sexy smells! I'm dyin' here!"
Hushed voices start to argue.
My shoulders relax as I take in another deep breath. They must have gotten another shipment of real food again. "Oh," I say with a sigh letting the aroma fill my senses, "god, this almost smells like–"
"Home," Peeta says, appearing in the doorway.
Even though a large counter and several feet separate us, I step back. I should have known - there was only one place and time that I smelled the sweet scent of fresh baked bread. It seems like ages since I experienced that last, and with a fatigued mind and body, it didn't register that it could be the only baker I know who could conjure this. His figure is so familiar, standing there with an apron and a face dusted with flour. The corner of his mouth is turned up ever so slightly as he wipes his hands off with a white rag. Hands that aren't shackled. Hands that are free to grab a knife or my neck again.
"Wow, back home in 7, it smelled like pine and shitty rotten compost," Johanna breaks the tension between me and Peeta. "But hey, it was home," she says with a sigh.
"Since the wedding cake and the pastry shipment to 2, they are letting me back here more often. Kind of a therapy if you will," Peeta tosses the little towel over his shoulder and rests his hands in his back pockets. Peeta was never very tall, but his wrestler's build gave him a solid and stocky frame, a frame that has been regained since his arrival in 13. Spending more time in the kitchen means more time to sample his creations and eat the imperfections all while tossing large bags of flour around.
He easily crushed me when he was returned to us feral and rabid from the Capitol looking just like the emaciated dogs that wandered our District. Now, as his body fills the doorway. I know if given the chance, he could snap my neck like Thresh did to Clove.
Johanna lets out a slow whistle, "Wow. My therapy sucks!" She leans her elbows on the counter and cheerfully engages Peeta. "You used to do this back home? I haven't even seen a crumb and I'm about to pee my pants. Think we can snag a few samples for the road?" Peeta laughs, revealing a full smile, something I haven't seen since the arena.
"This is just a practice run for Coin. If I can prove that I can yield so much with a bag or two of flour, then I will be allowed back here on a regular basis."
"What's your margin of error look like?" Johanna asks, cocking an eyebrow.
"Meaning?" Peeta asks.
"Like, would Coin whoop your ass if you were to, say, burn a couple by accident?" she says with
Peeta touches his cheek with one hand, his eyes distant. He told me he remembered the bread, however this time, the reverie seems to have hit a little deeper and I take another step back.
The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. Even though his mother bruised that same cheek, he somehow remembers that moment fondly.
"She might," Peeta replies, his eyelids fluttering upon his return to reality, "but I think I'll manage. That old oven back there has been a little tricky to get used to," he said with a wink. "Hang tight," he says and dips back into the kitchen.
Johanna hops gleefully at the counter like a child back at the Mellark bakery awaiting their prized pastry to be carefully wrapped in a sliver of white parchment. I, however, am shocked. We talked about that moment briefly in his hospital room while he was safely restrained to his bed, however our conversation was derailed by a stupid question about wether or not I loved him. I only know that he remembers that day, that moment, but not how it made him feel.
Considering his mood shifted so fast and so nasty back at our lunch table the next time I saw him, my gut twists in anticipation of another episode of Kill the Mutt. What I find so strange is that this is the first memory he has had of me that has been somewhat positive.
And that frightens me.
I back out of the cafeteria door and almost collide with a group of soldiers running down the hallway. Red lights strobe lazily, yet no alarm sounds. Another drill, I conclude, and make my way against the current of uniforms. No way will I get swept into more training and I definitely need to get away from any potential bombs that are covered in flour. Johanna seemed friendly enough during this encounter, so my leaving only made me feel slightly guilty. He was less likely to turn on her, and if there were any issues, I am sure she could handle herself.
Since my move with Johanna into our own private living quarters, I will hide myself away in the tiny shower compartment instead of the dank and dusty cubby holes of 13. Not only did I need to clear my head, I desperately needed to clean the stench of sweat and mud off.
The sudden flash of kindness and even some happiness in Peeta's eyes confused me. How long will this last? Was he cured? Is he normal again? For too long had I accepted the fact that boy would never return to me - Snow crushed that pearl of a soul into dust and blew it all away.
But that smile - those fingernails coated in white flour - the yellow hair matted with sweat from the ovens - was that truly Peeta?
Quickly, I hurry through the halls as I tug at my braid, loosening it in anticipation of the lukewarm shower. When I reach the door to my compartment, I hear a shaky, tiny voice behind me say my name.
My heart drops and I am in the arena again, when the Jabberjays used my sister's voice against me - except I know this time it is for real.
I turn slowly, wishing for an illusion, however, the image in front of me is no hologram or dream - my sister is in fact real, with a much more real Thread holding a sharpened toothbrush point under her throat.
