The man whose blood I had just washed off of me only an hour before is being kept alive. Kept alive per Coin's terms, just like I was kept alive when I was brought back from 2. What is convenient for Coin can be the most painful for others.

Johanna slumps back in her chair, fists shaking in her lap. The other men in the room either have their faces in their hands or are looking to the ceiling, cursing whatever god may be listening.

"Why?" I stammer, "I mean, how? Gale shot him in the heart. The amount of bloo-"

"Close to his heart. The bullet was a few centimeters off," Coin corrects me.

My head, still pounding from my fight with Thread, feels as if it will shatter. My ears are buzzing louder than a swarm of tracker jackers. If I had eaten something after training with Johanna, it would have all come up. Instead my mouth burns from the ugly tasting ointment mixed with bile. So much has happened in one afternoon, I can't keep anything straight.

"You should have let him die," Gale says gruffly.

Coin turns to him, her hands now clasped behind her. "There are cogs in the machine that are much bigger than you and I. If we have nothing to show to the Capitol that we are very much in control, then we might as well never come out to the surface again."

"I didn't shoot him for you or for the Capitol. I shot him for Katniss," Gale's voice is tight in his throat.

"That's not for you to decide," Johanna interjects, twisting in her chair to look at Gale. His face pops up and he meets her angry eyes.

"You weren't there," Gale interjects, "You didn't hear what he said. What he had done," he pushes his words through his teeth.

"Still not your call, son," Haymitch says, looking at Finnick and Johanna. They nod in agreement.

"But he raped her!" Gale exclaims, standing up with such ferocity his chair slams backwards behind him. His breath is heavy and his fists are balled tightly at his side.

It's strange to hear it out loud like that. Oddly enough, I feel that information is the safest with the people in this room. On second thought, since Coin raises her eyebrow at the revelation, I am reminded not all parties are trustworthy. Surely she will be keeping this information within reach the next time I need persuading to follow my next set of orders.

I see Haymitch's jaw clench and he winces at Gale's words. Haymitch's sense of failure must be twisting his chest into knots. Finnick looks to Johanna, gauging her reaction to see if they should sustain from contributing to Gale's reasoning for his attempts to kill my attacker. Johanna shakes her head and mutters fuck it before standing up to face Gale.

"Still not your call, puppy," she says with authority. "My whole family burned because of that creep. Not to mention he practically sold me off to the Peacekeepers as their fuckin' play thing. How do you get to decide who dies for who, huh?"

Gale's face sinks into absolute sadness and desperation, surely remembering how Thread so thoughtfully spoke of Johanna. "He hurt so many people. Why do we have to wait?" he asks, turning back to Coin. "He was going to hurt Katniss again if I-"

"I had him, Gale. He wasn't going anywhere," Finnick reminds him. "If we are to survive and differentiate ourselves from the Capitol, we have to follow procedure and protocol. There can only be justice if done the right way."

As much as I want Thread to have bled out in that hallway, I agree with Finnick. His words calm the buzzing in my head and I start to make sense of the chaos that took place in that dimly lit hallway. There had to be structure and a show of accountability. Not using our power to intimidate an entire group of people to comply, but to bring said people together and grow as a whole. Rogue actions can send the entire system spiraling. It hit me then what Snow was getting at. To finally be on the inside of an organization that is trying to do something huge, all actions must be taken into account to benefit everyone.

The room falls silent in agreement. We weren't just here to tear down an entire government, but to build a new one.

Johanna walks with me back to our room, her arm entwined with mine. When we enter our quarters, we are greeted with a sweet smell of freshly baked rolls and a simple stock stew. Someone must have recommended we take our dinner in our room away from the general population, leaving them to their quiet speculations and rumors about today's events.

My bones ache and my head is still cold and damp from my shower and with the confusing scent of bread, of home, I break away from Johanna and lock myself in the bathroom.

I sit in complete darkness and silence, save for the little strip of yellow light under the door and the random drip from the sink faucet. Close enough I think. Warm enough, dark enough, quiet enough and safe enough from the chaos that manifests like a black fog outside my door.

Johanna shares her sympathy with silence. I do not hear her pacing, or swearing. I imagine her grappling with the same thoughts as I am. A split second of acceptance that our shared enemy was finally dead, but resurrected moments later. Getting jerked back and forth in such a way makes my ribs hurt and I wish to fall into a pool of morphling and sleep for a month.

I must have dozed off because I am jerked awake by a knocking at the bathroom door.

"Okay poopy pants, I gotta take a piss. Enough already and open the door!" Johanna pleads from the other side.

I begrudgingly remove myself from the cupboard size shower and unlock the door which allows Johanna to burst in and immediately seat herself on the toilet, paying no mind to my presence.

"Oh, thank god. I have been holding it for like an hour," she sighs as her eyes roll upwards.

I stagger into our compartment, rubbing my eyes. The red digital numbers read 2:18. They may have well been upside down, backwards and in another language, the time had no meaning to me. I could have been in that bathroom for weeks or for minutes. In the room, I see my tray of food leftover from dinner, still sitting there for who knows how long. The stock soup had already formed a layer of skin over its contents and it turns my stomach. My head pounds to the pulsing digital numbers on the wall.

I want to turn back into the bathroom, but Johanna's session is still very well underway with hums of satisfaction in chorus with her other functions. The conflict of interrupting her keeps my feet planted in place in the middle of our room and my body makes the decision to vomit where I stand.

Without the concept of time, it could be seconds or hours before Johanna finds me staring at the pool of yellow stuff on the tile.

"Whoa, you okay there, Katniss?" she asks softly, stepping in front of me to examine my face. I feel her fingers prod my face, opening my eyelids and feeling my forehead. She takes her sleeve and wipes my mouth. She then snaps her fingers in front of my face, "hey, you okay?"

I shake my head, jerked awake again just like from her pounding at the bathroom door. I clear my throat and spit on the floor, trying to clear my mouth of the sour taste. "Yeah, I'm fine, what happened?"

"I think you have a concussion. How the hell did those idiots clear you today from medical?" asks Johanna. "I would never have left you alone. Damn, this isn't good." She leads me to a chair where she is sure I am seated upright and hurries to the compartment door where there are an array of buttons and starts smashing a red one.

"They'll be here in a minute, just stay awake for me, yeah?" she says squatting down in front of me and takes my hands. This confuses me. Her sudden shift to kindness. Her concerned look. Her lack of expletives.

The room is dimly lit, but she has a dark halo of black static surrounding her. Not sparkly or soft, but the same kind of static that happens on the televisions back home when the weather is bad.

I can see her mouth moving, but the static becomes bigger and the pain in my head becomes unbearable, stemming from the top of my crown and branches down behind my ears and the back of my neck. A burning pressure builds behind my eyes.

"She can't do it. We have to postpone." I hear a voice from the fog of static which suddenly turns into a bright, searing light. I shut my eyes tight against it and cover my face with my hands.

There's beeping now. A rhythmic, pounding beeping. I had been able to ignore this sound before, but it seems dramatically amplified.

"The lights," I groan, "that noise." I can't decide whether to cover my eyes or my ears. The pounding in my head makes my body shiver and I want to vomit again. I try to sit up but can't find the strength, but someone takes my shoulder and rolls me over instead where I heave into a plastic bag.

"Seriously, she won't be ready. Who the fuck cleared her?"

Ah, I recognize Johanna is in the room with me.

"Concussions don't always present themselves right away. Sometimes up to 48 hours. Don't worry, we'll have her ready for the ceremony."

"I don't care about the damn ceremony. I care that you guys can't do your fucking job and spot a clear as day concussion!" Johanna exclaims.

"You were with her for most of the night. Why hadn't you spotted it earlier?" the nurse counters.

I hear Johanna stammer and swear as she moves to leave but not before saying, "don't let her fall asleep again."

But that's all I want to do. They fill me full or morphling but combined with a stimulant to keep me awake. Every muscle is completely numbed, however my mind is alert and racing. At least the pain in my head is subsiding thanks to the medication and the finally dimmed lights.

Finnick stops by to check on me, bringing with him a length of rope to keep my mind occupied during my task of not falling asleep.

"Thank you for what you did back there," I say softly but shake my head, "I am still confused as to how it all went down."

"You knocked your head pretty good back there," Finnick reminds me.

"No, I know what happened. My memory is fine, thank goodness. What I mean is everything happened so fast. Thread, you, Gale - you all came out of nowhere. One minute Thread is dead and the next…"

"Haunting us again. I understand. I am still trying to wrap my head around it, too. But Coin is right, we have to let the dominoes fall in the right order," Finnick says, leaning back in his chair, running his own length of rope through his fingers. I noticed he has since found a clean, fresh rope, free of the crimson dye. Would he have kept the old rope if Thread had stayed dead? Did he replace his momento because of a sense of failure? Or was he just sick of all the bloodshed like I was.

"I wish things weren't so complicated," I say, wrapping my arms over my face. "We haven't even started into the Capitol yet, and so far I have been in a hospital bed more times than I can count. Why? Why do they still want me?" I keep my arms over my face, but I know they fail to conceal the tears running down to my chin.

"Because you were the one that knocked over that first domino."

Shortly after Finnick takes his leave, Gale enters my room. He slowly sits down, and keeps his eyes from mine. He leans forwards and takes my hand in his, and buries his face on my bedside. I take my free hand to stroke his dark hair.

"I'm okay," I say softly, but he sighs heavily, and his shoulders start to shake.

"I'm not," he says, sniffing. He sits up and wipes his nose and finally looks at me. "I knew I couldn't protect you when you were in the arena. But what happened was in 12, our home. And you never said anything. If I had known, I would have stood up to a thousand firing squads if it meant killing him then."

When he mentions my silence, he looks defeated, betrayed even. Our whole lives depended on our honesty.

"I never got the chance to tell you. It happened the night before the Reaping," I say, hoping the sting of betrayal is lessened since his eyes now look at me with a renewed puzzling concern.

It was finally out, so no sense in holding back. Gale will be the first person I tell this to in some detail. The others have only gotten the gist of the event, being simple enough statement of what happened; I was raped. People can make their own conclusions with that information, but for Gale to wrap his head around it, he would need more information, especially since Thread was still a viable enemy that sprouted from the long winding tendrils that were controlled by Snow.

Gale was maddened by the fact it happened in 12, but even more livid that it occurred in the Seam. So close to his own home, if I had screamed loud enough, he would have heard. Gale was powerless, just as he was down here in 13. Tears run down his face, but he listens quietly to my story, giving me the respect to tell it uninterrupted, embellishing on only what was necessary. Any questions would force me into an uncomfortable path of an already difficult journey.

"I want to yank every tube out of that guy's body and strangle him with them. A few centimeters , goddammit," Gale says when my story ends on the train. He shakes his head and buries his face again on my bedside.

"You can't be everywhere at once, Gale. Remember, you got everyone out of 12," I say, trying to revive his worth. "You rescued Annie, Johanna and Peeta too."

Gale sits up and wipes his nose again, "Even that ended up hurting you. It's driving me crazy seeing you end up in here, again and again." Gale gets up from his chair and sits on the edge of my bed, keeping my hand in his. "I love you, Katniss. I hate seeing you getting hurt. I can't lose you," he says and leans over and kisses me. His mouth is salty from his tears, a taste I have not experienced from him. To see him so vulnerable again like in the barracks in 2 during the lightning storm, makes my heart ache for him. I pull him closer to me and kiss him back. I was wrong before when I said I needed something to get me through this maze of confusion, death and violence - I needed someone. I need him.

Suddenly, Gale pulls away from me and stands up.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how to do this. What he did to you, I…" Gale stammers through his thoughts. "If I had known before we were in 2, in the forest, it would have been different"

"Gale, it's okay. If it wasn't I would have said something. I mean, I wasn't sure at first, but I had it figured out that night, didn't I?" I say, patting the bed at my side and he sits again. He smiles and nods.

"Yeah, you did. But what do you mean, not at first?"

"What Thread did, was an act of violence, of hate and control. It wasn't just sex, it was rape." Gale grimaces at the word. I take his hand in mine. "You were my first, Gale. The first time I actually had a say in the matter with someone I care about. I meant I wasn't sure then because I didn't know what I was doing, what it was truly supposed to be like. My mind was still in a million places, yet you were so grounded. You certainly knew what you were doing. I knew I was safe with you. And later that night, I knew I made the right choice."

"I was your first?" Gale asks with a half smile. "I mean, I would have thought all that time with Peeta, something would have happened."

My mind flashes to the Sponsor's Ball.

"The baby talk? The wedding?" Gale continues, his brow furrowing slightly. "I know you love him."

I shake my head. "Loved," I say simply, correcting him. "And no, believe it or not. Frankly, there wasn't a right moment. It wasn't right with all that was happening."

"Did you want to?" Gale asks. I can feel him bracing for my answer.

I think for a moment. Had I? I had to almost force those thoughts when I tried Johanna's therapeutic remedy of a sleep aid back in my room at the training center, and even that didn't yield the best results. When Peeta and I had actually done the deed, it was forced, too. And just as I told Johanna, that didn't count either - and because it didn't count, there is no need to tell Gale about it.

"I don't know. I don't think about it enough to pursue it," I say, clearing my throat. "It wasn't until the arena that I realized how much I did love him. And that was destroyed the minute the Capitol tore him away from me."

Gale kisses me again and says, "the Capitol can't touch us down here. I'm not going anywhere."

I curse my condition and give into defeat when the headache threatens to return. My lip had even started to bleed again making it even more impossible to enjoy my visit with Gale. He excuses himself and promises to check on me again later.

Throughout the day, more people come and go. Bringing me puzzles and books to occupy my mind to keep me from going insane staring at the same four walls. Soon, food is introduced, unsuccessful at first but eventually it stays down about lunch time.

I measure my condition with the ability to concentrate on reading. The first few pieces of literature that Prim delivered was a scramble of symbols I couldn't concentrate on. When I can finally comprehend a section of an old training manual Gale brought to me later that afternoon, I know I'm finally better. The lights are only mildly uncomfortable now.

Sounds aren't as sharp or jarring. However, when I hear the Fulvia and Plutarch's steps approach from down the hallway, I groan and retreat under my blankets.

Once dressed in my Mockingjay uniform, I meet with Finnick and Johanna who are outfitted in the District soldier uniforms. In a small room just outside of the main hall, we can hear the bustle of the entire population of 13 combined with the refugees of 12 on the other side of the doors.

We are met by a young soldier standing by a table. He pulls back a black sheet to reveal our ceremony weapons. Finnick's trident, Johanna's ax and my bow with one arrow. Haymitch stumbles in once we finish signing the forms on the soldier's clipboard.

"Well, don't you look excited for the day," Haymitch says in his typical sarcastic tone. He doesn't look much better than we do. If he did sleep, it was with the aid of some liquor that was squirreled away, secretly acquired from any of the Districts we had visited.

He informs us that our only duties are the execution. No speeches, no songs, no dance. Just do what we do best. Wait for Coin's cue and we'll all be done by supper.

We hear Coin's voice through the doors, but aren't instructed to go out yet. For some reason, I don't feel that this is right. No different than what the Capitol does, especially since this will be televised all over Panem. The battles in 2 and 8 were one thing, but this, this would be shooting fish in a barrel. I am so over the pageantry of politics.

Drums start to roll and the door is opened by a soldier on the other side, giving us our cue to enter the main hall and find our marks in the center of the crowd. More soldiers line the perimeter, separating us from the citizen population. Coin is high up above the crowd in her personal mezzanine balcony, looking down on us with arms outstretched. Plutarch and Fulvia are in her entourage just behind her. In front of us is a stage with a huge curtain hanging from the rafters. Castor and Pollux are prowling around the crowd and hall with their beetle cameras on.

"Justice," Coin says proudly, her voice amplified by a hundred speakers. This brings a twinge of pain back through my skull. "It is the marrow that makes our society function. Without it, we would have chaos and no control. Justice creates a contract of understanding that there must be order. When someone is taken advantage of," she gives a theatrical pause and looks at me, "there must be Justice. The culprits must be held accountable for their actions. For their indiscretions. The Capitol has taken advantage for far too long. We are gathered here to show them that today, it ends." Coin waves her arms to give a signal and suddenly the large curtain falls to the floor, revealing three whipping posts. All have men already strapped to them, dressed in white pants and nothing else. Two of the men were those that accompanied Thread when they infiltrated our underground fortress and they were the two men Thread had killed in his holding cell. The third has a white hood over his head.

The one on the left with a purple and swollen face and splotched black bruises covering his body, hangs limply against his shackles. An extra belt is tied around his chest to keep him somewhat upright. His partner on the far right is tied in a similar manner to the other post, however, his features are completely destroyed. A bloody block of flesh and bone teeters on top of stained shoulders.

Johanna, Finnick and I are taken aback, however, remain visibly stoic for the cameras. Although, thanks to my rebuilt left ear, I do hear Johanna whisper, "what the ever-loving fuck?"

"These men attempted to infiltrate our base, and steal information for President Snow. Lead by Commander Peacekeeper Romulus Thread from District 12, they discovered that their attempts were futile. Having been captured within hours of their arrival," Coin announces, a blatant lie. They caught us off guard. Weeks had gone by. The crowd knew too, but kept a proud, strong look on their faces for the cameras.

"He struck tyranny in several districts," Coin continues. "A vessel for President Snow's oppression and malice. Here today, representing those districts, having survived more than just the Hunger Games and the viciousness that is the Capitol, are your Victors from 4, 7 and 12. Johanna Mason, Finnick Odair and you all know our Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen." We position ourselves to attention at the reading of our names, readying ourselves for our cue to ceremoniously execute the only breathing body that is strapped to the stage. Suddenly, Gale walks out to the center post, hands straight at his sides. His steps are slow and precise, military in fashion. When he arrives at the center whipping post, he makes a snappy right face and awaits command.

"Gale Hawthorne," Coin chimes with a proud introduction. "With his strength and quick thinking, made it possible for those of you to escape the Capitol's cowardly attack on your home." Cheers erupt throughout the hall. Once they calm down, Coin adds, "Not only did he protect his own people, he repeated his valor here in his new home when he aided in the capture of the prisoner you see in front of you." At her words, Gale turns and removes the white hood from Thread's head, revealing him to everyone. They had cleaned and shaved him, I noticed, but his face was covered by a clear plastic oxygen mask. I noticed a thick square of fresh white bandage taped to his chest, covering the bullet wound inflicted by Gale. Thread is barely alive, heavily dosed on whatever medication to keep his eyes open. The slow pulsing of steam that fills his clear plastic mask is the only other indication he is still breathing.

This time I hear Johanna a bit louder. I clear my throat in agreement. This truly was fucked up. This conflict makes my head begin to ache at the sear atrocity this show has become.

"Residents of 12 should recognize this whipping post," Coin announces, stretching her arm out again towards the stage, "still standing after the bombings. We felt it should be repurposed to punish those who built it."

I wonder if that was Gale's idea.

We remain at attention, my bow already knocked, but lowered in front of me. Finnick's trident upright against his shoulder and Johanna's ax stiff at her side. Gale snaps another right face and marches off the stage where he made his entrance. Applause follows his exit.

"As you can see, Peacekeeper Officers Samson Clemens and Gifford Druff have already paid for their trespasses. It is here for you today, that with the power invested in me as your President, that Commander Peacekeeper Romulus Thread, be sentenced to death. To be struck down by the same weapons our Capitol has forced our children to use." The drums start to bang again and the crowd cheers wildly. The steam fills Thread's mask more quickly now as he looks around the great hall with his red eyes, since his head too is strapped to the post.

When the drums make a dramatic crescendo and suddenly stop - a deafening silence fills the air. That is our cue to commence our duties.

Johanna is the first to move forward. She lifts her ax in front of her with both hands and closes her eyes, as if she was praying or giving his last rights. Suddenly white blooms on her knuckles and she takes a deep breath, letting out a war cry that rings through the great hall. Johanna lunges into her tediously rehearsed form and launches her ax forward where it finds purchase in Thread's groin with a sickening snap as it finds flesh and bone.

The crowd remains silent. Only Thread's curses and screams are to be heard. Blood spills from his hips onto his bare feet. His mask is an opaque white now - leaving no time for the condensation to escape. I can't help but smile at Johanna's choice of target. When she turns around to return to her mark, she winks at me with a satisfied wicked smile of her own.

The drums roll quietly now, awaiting me to step forward and raise my bow. Pollux finds his position just off to the side of Thread, lining up the best shot he can for Cressida. Lights glint off of his visor and make me squint. The headache has found an entrance into my skull through my eye sockets. My joints are still too shaky from the morphling. My mind is shouting at Coin, at the Capitol and this whole parade of bullshit. I am almost seeing double when I look down the shaft of my arrow. I have to loose soon before my muscles fail me completely. I hastily chose one of the two arrowheads in my vision to aim with and let my arrow fly. The second it leaves my knock, I know I will have missed.

My arrow lodges itself an inch away from Thread's throat into the whipping post he is strapped to. His screams of pain turn into laughter. I don't have to look up to Coin to see how disappointed she is. This show of her's had to be perfect. That's why she only allowed me one arrow. Even so, I stand there dumb, unable to look away from Thread as he cackles in his own private amusement. Before the drums can start up again, Finnick's trident is plunged into Thread's chest, silencing him at once.

Although he is supported by straps and shackles, Thread's body slumps against what little slack is available. His clear plastic mask, once white from hot frantic breath and laughter, fills with red.

-o-

"I told them to postpone!" Haymitch yells at Plutarch while my prep team peels my Mockingjay costume from my body.

"You know how they like their schedules here in 13," Fulvia says to Haymitch. "And do you know how much effort went into coordinating all of this?" she adds while throwing her hands up in the air.

Besides my major screw up, I would say it went well enough. At the end of the day, Thread is dead and the residents are happy.

"The poor girl has a concussion. Hasn't slept in hours. Coin should be happy Katniss can even stand up straight!" Haymitch retorts.

"It's a shame though," Octavia sighs as sifts through her supplies, "they won't even be able to air the footage after all. How will it look to see Katniss miss such an important shot."

She's right, I think, closing my eyes against the cool cloth that Octavia wipes across my eyes to remove my makeup. This seems to be a habit of mine, to unintentionally foil the grand plans of governments.

"No, Cressida said she might be able to edit it in a way to make it work," Plutarch reassures us. "Good thing it wasn't broadcast live. They figured they would have to censor Johanna."

I am glad to be back in my loose fitting clothes designated for regular citizens and not another uniform. This means my duties are done for the day and when Haymitch says I can go back to my room and get some rest, I ask, "Coin doesn't want to see me? I figured I would spend the next hour getting yelled at."

"Nah, she's too pissed to even see you right now. Go on, dinner will be in your room too." Haymitch says after he gives me a gentle hug.

When I enter my room, Johanna is sitting cross legged on her bed, licking her bowl that once held her dinner. With that much enthusiasm, we must have gotten a fresh shipment of real food.

I turn to dim the lights to our compartment and pick up my tray of food and copy her idea of eating in bed.

"Hey hey, how's the noggin'?" Johanna asks, setting her spotless bowl on the floor.

"Still a bit fuzzy, but I have a real appetite finally," I say, digging into the hopefully real beef stew. This wasn't the Hob, but I still had reason to suspect wild dog appeared on the menu from time to time.

"Thanks again for getting me back to medical. I wouldn't have known what to do. I didn't even know where I was," I mumble through a mouthful of stew.

"No prob. That can be some real serious shit," Johanna sighs, "my friend died when we were kids. Fell out of a tree, laughed it off and went home. He never woke up."

"I remember you gave me one once," I say after taking a large gulp of water. She tilts her head and smiles, mouthing the word sorry.

"It was for the greater good, I swear," Johanna clarifies.

"Haymitch and I tried really hard to get Plutarch and Coin to postpone. But they wouldn't have it," Johanna says reassuringly. "They said medical had already cleared you, and anything else was something minor that could be easily fixed."

"Well, serves them right by shoving me up there like that," I sigh, setting my bowl aside. The meal was almost filling. Real ingredients meant smaller portions. I would have to wait until morning for a scoop of oatmeal or eggs.

Johanna perks up and says, "I know, right? That sucks so hard!" She sounds like a school girl gossiping about some massive taboo that just happened. "I'm sorry you didn't get your shot." She slumps down in her seat again.

"It was all for show anyway. The end result was the same, right? At least I participated," I say simply. I pause for a moment and sit up straight and smile, "I have to admit, I couldn't have topped your shot."

She and I both jump up from our beds and bounce into a hug.

"That was fuckin' sick, right? Right in the cock!" Johanna exclaims. "Oh, and Finnick! Blam! Through the fuckin' heart!" she punches her fist into her other hand. I can't help but laugh at her. I feel lighter.

"I hate to admit it," I gasp, catching my breath, "this was kind of worth it. Doing that together like that. Not some random outlier that just happens to finish him off for us."

"I would have been happy knowing he was blown to bits in 12. But I get it. Coin may be a crazy bitch, but I feel much better," Johanna says, wrapping me into a hug. We were Victors again of another sick game, embracing our triumph we accomplished together.

When Johanna pulls away, she says, "But man, your shot would have been awesome!" She slaps her hands to her throat and makes spraying noises. "Ugh! Eerrrghhh! Aaaggh!" She wriggles and wobbles backwards until she falls onto her bed, splaying her arms and legs outwards.

"Cressida is going to fix the footage," I explain.

"Cooooool," Johanna says, staring up at the ceiling, already imagining the satisfying images of our abuser finally being silenced.