Suffocate

The blood on my hands was hot, burning as it started to rain from the ceiling and, from the walls in harsh splats, coating everything it could including me. Mag’s body slips on the liquid, it’s a stream carrying her towards the drain. I struggle, slipping from the bed, a pain shooting through my arm that’s too heavy.

I try to reach for her, missing, watching as her corpse vanishes into the black and I’m left screaming her name.

A hand emerges from the darkness and slams over my mouth.

“Hey, stop it, for fuck sake calm down!” The hand’s tighter but the cell vanishes, the hole closes up. I know that voice and snap my eyes open to see. The hand wait a second and retracts, leaving the body huffing, wiping it fiercely on the night gown to rid skin of my saliva. I let my own hand rub over my face, there’s no tears.

The dream was too horrifying for that.

The lights in the hospital are dimmed, dimmed but never dark. I could add that to the list, I haven’t felt true darkness in the same amount of time I’ve missed natural light. The shooting pain in the dream is my left arm, I must have banged the metal encasing on the side of the bed, and it’s ricocheting along each embedded pin.

“Fucking loudest sleep talking I’ve ever heard.”

“Sorry.” I mew, reaching for water, both because I need it and because it’s an excuse to look at someone I haven’t in a while. She rolls her eyes at my concern.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. At least I still have some grip of reality.” Her bite at me falls flat and neither of us comment on it.

She’s skinnier than I am, was. Her head is almost bald, small tufts of hair in random places over her crown remain, the rest of the skin is pale and coated in scabs and healing bruises, scars similar to those on my chest cover the rest of her scalp. Her arms are about the same.

As usual I can’t think of anything to say, so I grasp at something weak. “When...when did they move you in here?”

“Couple of hours ago.” Her voice is still bitter, “Why they thought shoving us in the same place was a good idea I don’t know. I think we’re supposed to be healing together, some bullshit like that the head doctor was saying.” She’s connected to a drip but only now sits on her bed, crossing her legs. She’s so pale she looks like a corpse and she tries to hide a cough but ends up retching.

“Jo-“

“You haven’t seen Wyere yet have you?” I shake my head, letting her cut me off in. “Well let me tell you it’s a bundle of fun. I’ve only seen him once and he spent half the time telling me how I was safe here. Not sure how fucking safe I’m supposed to feel when half the time I wake up convinced I’m still there.” Her eyes drop from mine as if she’s embarrassed, ashamed of being human.

“I feel like I’m there half the time I’m awake as well.” She shrugs, “So at least you know you’re handling this better than me.”

She scoffs, “Wouldn’t be able to stand myself if I wasn’t.” This time it hurts and I take a larger sip of water to swallow down mean returns, but she sighs and offers a weak apology. I let the quiet stretch, turning up the level of morphling to counter my arm.

I don’t want to need it but I do. I’ve spent so much of the last week a bit high being sober feels odd.

“Careful with that. They’ve already threatened lowering my allowance.” She lays down finally, on top of the sheet, bare legs still dark and swollen. “But then they had to break your arm or something didn’t they?”

“Yeah.” Tiredness is creeping over me again like a thin mist. “Trying to set it right.”

“Guess that gives you a free pass. And that’s excluding that I’m sure either your brother or Finnick would kick off if they didn’t give you what you wanted.” She’s not being mean, but there’s an edge to her words. “We’ve met.” She answers in response to my silent question, “A few days ago. He was trying to work out what I knew about what they’d done to you. I didn’t know, of course, all I ever got was the screaming.”

I shudder, “I got the impression the two of you weren’t speaking? That’s real grateful of you.”

“Don’t.” I warn weakly, but as always, Johanna Mason doesn’t stop until she wants too.

“But then, I’ve kind of forgotten what it’s like for someone to care about me. Maybe you get so used to it being a complete bitch seems acceptable.”

“Stop it.” I snap, wrenching myself up. “Don’t you dare.” She mimics the movement almost threateningly, although the wheeze is still evident in her heavy breathing and my ribs ache in protest.

“Don’t talk about Thom. You have no idea...”

“Why? I’m making conversation.” She pouts childishly, adopting a higher tone, “Dr Wyere said we’re supposed to share experiences to help us heal. So unless you want to talk about being tortured by a bunch of sick fucks we’ll have to talk about other things, won’t we princess?”

I sigh another “Don’t.” At her, detesting tears pricking in my eyes. “You know they didn’t rescue us because they wanted too?” She grips her hands together although I’m sure it’s no revelation to her, “They rescued us because we were collateral, because we were there and they knew Katniss needed Peeta...”

“And then he got here and tried to throttle her, put her in the hospital for three days and is locked in a whole new cell. Not exactly the golden couple Caesar painted them out to be are they?”

“They locked him up?” That’s news to me, more information hidden. “What, why?”

“You tell me, you were in there with him. You both screamed a lot and at the same time. You know more than anybody else. Firsthand experience.” She pops her tongue like it’s some kind of joke and my temper flares again. “And that’s ignoring the whole attempted murder on the precious MockingJay thing.”

“Shut the fuck up Johanna.” Her eyebrows, so odd looking now she’s close to bald rise and she grins that unusual impish grin.

“I’d say make me but neither of us are exactly in brilliant condition for that.”

I control my breathing to keep silent, twisting awkwardly on my side to stare at the thin wall, it’s made of plastic boards that are all linked vertically, placed wherever they want with the ability to easily fold, making smaller rooms in the larger space. I almost wish I was but anyone but here.

That’s a lie. I wish I was in Finnick’s apartment that I’ve still never seen.

I realise the absence of his body and glance around, as if he’s going to appear. She notices. “They sent him away so it’s just the two of us and we can ‘reconnect’. Don’t worry, he’ll be back as early as he can in the morning I’m sure.”

“You saw him?” The angers simmering until it evaporates. I should be used to Johanna by now. By now, I almost laugh at myself, I haven’t seen her in so long, and I only really spoke to her for a week before that.

I didn’t know Johanna Mason much at all.

“Yeah, you were asleep when they moved me in.” She’s chewing on her nails and my hand twitches with the urge to, the other just spasms randomly as it does permanently now. I nod, although she can’t see.

“You as mean to him as you are me?” It’s half joking, but I’m interested in the answer. They’ve known each other much longer, better, even if it was just a couple of weeks every summer.

“Of course not.” I lay flat on my back, head growing ever fuzzier, her voice is odd. “I’m not stupid to push away people who care about me.” Sarcasm filters through her words, “After all, there’s not many of them is there?”

I don’t disagree with her. I just know at some point I’ve become one of the few, even with her distaste towards me.

I fall asleep, the night broken as ever by random checks by Nurse Forror. Johanna wakes me at one point, her murmurs not violent but pained, scared. I retreat to my own nightmares as soon as I can, but wake unusually without Finnick there.

She’s awake again, eating a bowl of food quickly, still not used to the freedom of it no doubt. Seven isn’t particularly poor, but I know there’s often food shortages and after everything in the Capitol...

My hand trembles and I clutch the sheet hard to disguise it.

“Morning.” I offer her the same, “You have a thing with the head doctor later. Excited?” I pull a slight face at her and she sniggers, pointing to my own bowl on the table between our beds. I struggle to reach it, sick of the sting of the drip as I stretch just a bit too far. We eat again with the only sound the spoons scraping against the bowl.

I fight back the question, knowing she’ll enjoy mocking me, but eventually I just let it slip out, “What time was Finnick coming?” She glances at me in her peripheral vision.

I know exactly what she’s thinking, that it’s pathetic. I’m pathetic for struggling to go twelve hours without him. I probably am, in fact I’m sure of it. Her words from the previous night sting, make sense.

I was more than out of line towards Thom, crossed any barrier of decency by a landslide.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s pining for you just as badly as... where are you going? Honestly are you going to go prancing down the rabbit warren? It’s-“

“Shut up Johanna.” I let my feet touch the cool ground, awkwardly unlinking the morphling drip from my arm, leaving the plastic in place that keeps the needle in my arm.

“You’re seriously going to go find him? That is genius Elenia, I’m sure Coin will be thrilled when you collapse and...”

“I’m getting the nurse.” I hiss, flexing my arm and carefully moving my other, trying my best to keep it still as I stand. She pulls a face, “I want her to go and find Thom.” As I turn I see a different look spread over her face, one so unlike her, she almost looks a little happy, proud.

It just makes me feel worse.

I speak to Thom, or rather, allow myself to get so worked up when I see the upset on his features that I spend most of the time choking apologies into the collar of his shirt.

But I think we’re okay. I hope we’re okay. He has to leave to attend some sort of training, I know it’s where Finnick gets dragged to for a couple of hours each afternoon. I don’t like the thought of either of them training for combat.

Being mad at Thom is being mad at the wrong person, completely the wrong person.

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. I don’t care about any of them.”

Finnick isn’t the right person either, even if that phrase can appear in a split second and torture me for hours. It’s an effect of the tracker venom. It’s the hints of their plans, the terrible things they did to Peeta, that they tried to a degree to do to me.

I can’t imagine it. The resentment towards him fades with the words, I force it down.

Peeta can’t do that.

I want to see him, Finnick frowns but Boggs, a tall older man with deep grey eyes says he’ll talk to the doctors who work with him. Boggs is high up, practically Coin’s second in command according to Thom. Finnick doesn’t argue with him, but the unhappy look on his face sticks for a while.

Johanna’s with Doctor Wyere when we get back, Finnick’s hand unnecessarily on my lower back. I’m not going to fall, there’s no issue with my balance. I tell him that and he reminds me of the time I tripped over my own feet during one of the tedious jogs we endured as part of our pre-quell training.

It’s the closest he’s come to talk about anything to do with the games since I’d confronted him about that sentence. My time in the Capitol was still uncovered territory; I knew he was aware of things.

The visits from official looking men, demanding answers that would make him hurriedly re-enter the room and try to calm ne down had all but stopped. Maybe they felt like they had enough information.

Apart from what exactly they have done to Peeta.

Although Finnick told me Beetee had a theory, and it seemed to fit. It was what I had expected; the used of the tracker venom, playing memories that taunted him. The venom made you scared, scared of everything, real and fake.

They associated the fear and pain with her. Peeta associated it with her.

Finnick’s looking at me, of course I’ve drifted, his arm has tightened around me and his other hand is gently working my fingers out of a fist. “Sorry.”

“I thought we decided you weren’t supposed to use that word anymore.” That coaxes a smile and we start walking again, I see his adams’ apple bob up and down as he swallows. “What were you thinking about?”

I don’t lie.

“Peeta.” He nods slowly, “I do want to see him.” His front teeth graze over his lower lip.

“Boggs said he’d see so...”

“Okay.” I breathe, feet fumbling in the too large slippers that have become the only piece of clothing I truly own. “We’ll see.”

We reach the hospital, my time away from my bed is still carefully monitored and I’m forbidden from going outside.

“What time are you with Wyere?”

I search my mind, feeling that shimmering gleam of confusion that seems to float around random memories, “I don’t remember.” I hate the slightly pitying look that forms. “I think it was about three.” I lie, his nod and small smile fake. They drop, the two of us coming face to face as we step into the recently formed room with some slightly familiar faces.

Not so much now though, it’s like their colour has faded, they’ve drooped and withered. Plants with no water.

I instantly know what they want from me and my chest aches. I let Finnick speak, and he does in that easy, casual way, manoeuvring our way around them so I can sit back on my bed, letting my slippers drop off, legs hanging over the side. He joins me, careful not to bump the metal cage around my arm.

“We’re sorry.” The older woman speaks, clearing her throat. I’m supposed to know their names, I feel like I should, that at some point I did but the blank look I feel on my features makes them introduce themselves again.

Venia, Octavia and Flavius. Katniss’s prep team.
I had no idea they were here. I’d just assumed they were dead, too close to Katniss.

I knew what had happened to Peeta’s team, Plutarch let that slip, their public execution held on the night probably planned for my own. I feel the cool metal of the guillotine against my throat.

“We know this is horrid to ask you, but we need to know...” Venia rubs a hand over her mouth in a nervous movement, “But, Margy was my niece and...”

I’m mute.

I don’t scream, the walls don’t start to squeeze me because instead they crumble. I don’t see blood over the floor because instead it’s on my hands. All I can do is avoid their eyes, shake my head, tell her I’m sorry again and again until I’m able to spit more words out as the meeker looking one, Octavia mentions another name.

“I don’t know where Luine is.” I croak, “Trix and her were alive on the day with Peeta’s interview but I don’t know...” The atmosphere in the room is dead, familiar swirls on my back don’t bring comfort; all I can see is the blood, the pained confused look on Luine’s face.

That part was real; I can feel it was real. I know it was.

“Something was wrong with Luine...she thought Marck was alive and that they were going to take me home..I...I..d...don’t know what they did to her.” That’s partly a lie, I know she’s dead, there’s no chance she’s alive, she wouldn’t be.

Finnick’s listening as intently as they are, I’m entered that managed silence, that guarded area of memory and speech. “The first person I saw them kill was Marck.” His name is practically a squeak and my hands shake. “They would have killed all of them, wouldn’t they?”

Their silence and stuttered exit in a flurry is all the answer I need. Finnick practically forces them from the room before joins me, partaking in our newest ritual of counting my breathing.

In and out.
In and out.

He crosses the same barrier. “Do you...did you hear anything about Naloh?”
I shake my head.
“I...I’ve heard things about home you need to know.”

There’s plenty more bodies taunting me in my nightmares that evening once he’s finished speaking.

They're rounding Victors up. Both the rebels and the Capitol.

Killing them.


After two sessions with Dr. Wyere, which primarily consist of him assuring me that I’m in a safe place with people that care about me I’m given permission to see Peeta.

Thom and Finnick are against it.

Phillus says as long as the proper precautions are upheld there’s no reason I couldn’t speak to him.
She doesn’t know what he’s like, who he is now.

Nobody does really, but Thom tells me things he hears in command, rumours that spread. A girl from Twelve had been to speak to him just before Katniss left, his words were the reason she did.

Beetee gives me the most in-depth analysis, what they suspect.

“He’s had ten days to adjust.” My brother’s ignorance is overwhelming but no-one rises to it.

Johanna is asleep, drugged into oblivion. I’m trying to avoid that, keep my head straight. Oddly that’s easier when I see Johanna struggling, it’s selfish but it’s true. Seeing her suffer only enforces my own strength, it makes me feel less weak that I’m not alone in my madness.

Post traumatic stress is still a phrase thrown around easily.

“Haymitch is perhaps the most involved person outside of the medical team.” Beetee explains, sat in some odd wheelchair that moves with less than a point of his fingers. I’ve barely seen him, he works deep down now Finnick told me, with weapons, putting his mind to work.

It was him that managed to break into the Capitol broadcast as I had suspected. In equal measures it was him that put my life more at risk. I’m not angry at Beetee, is it his still timid manners or his own new physical deformity? It doesn’t matter. I listen when he speaks.

When he lifts his glasses to wipe the lenses I can’t help but think back to the arena, him covered in blood by one of the huge trees. That always follows with Wiress, Cashmere, Gloss.

It’s hard to remember how they died, I don’t want to ask. I don’t think I want to remember in truth. It’s preferable to leave that section of my life shrouded in the fog.

“He’ll be there behind the screen, but he’ll let you know if there’s anything you must absolutely not mention.”

“You mean Katniss.”

“That definitely inspires the worst reaction, any tie to her or the games itself.”

Thom leans forward, “So how is that going to work? He only knows Elenia because of the games? Surely he’s going to freak out straight away as soon as he sees her?” I suck in one cheek, glad Johanna’s not in the conversation, her biting remarks would just put everyone more on edge.

“I want to see him anyway.” I glance at Finnick to defend me but he’s faltering, he was never happy about the idea. A flicker of irritation and I drop from his eye line. “I haven’t seen him since they beat the life out of him in front of me. I want to see him for myself.”

Mentioning the Capitol is a low but necessary blow, I can’t even feel the dreadful memory myself but it flashes on all three of their faces.

“I’ll talk to Haymitch.” Finnick sighs.

Two hours later I’m about to enter the room, finally given clothes that aren’t the soft hospital gown but instead are the bland typical uniform. The shirt is too large, both sleeves hanging in folds at my elbows. They wanted Peeta to see the damage to my arm, some attempt at sympathy at someone who before had apparently been so flooded with it.

I look ridiculous, like a child dressing up in parents clothing. It doesn’t matter. I’m briefed officially, finally having a glimpse into the Command room Thom has spoken about.

I’m not to mention Katniss, obviously. I’m not to mention any names. He’ll be secured so there’s not risk of any harm coming towards me and there will be guards outside, whilst the mirror is one way glass so they can observe him.

A couple of them had wanted me in there earlier, to test his reaction. My brother had been a big part in stopping there, part of me was angry, but I knew it was for my own protection.

I despise my cruel words from days ago.

“Let him speak to you first. He may not want to at all.” Haymitch hasn’t mentioned anything but Peeta, nothing about leaving Mags, leaving us. He’s all business and his business is his warped former victor.

“If he starts to talk about the Capitol...” I didn’t want him too, far from it. I wanted to try and understand him, try and wrap my head around how what they had done had affected him so. I wanted to work out what was real and what wasn’t. But all of that brought back the flashbacks, brought the illusions only Finnick could help me properly escape.

“Any normal conversation from him is a good sign.” A man walks past with food, it’s close to dinner.

“Actually, get her some too. Eat with him?”

“Eat with him?” Bogg’s looks confused but Haymitch nods. “And if he reacts badly and doesn’t eat? His welfare is important Haymitch.”

“If he does one meal won’t make much difference, having it less like an interrogation setting might help.” Nobody seems to agree but the argument is weak and a few minutes later I’m holding two bowls of food awkwardly on a tray.

We only seem to eat out of bowls here, easy things, soups, stews with meat I know isn’t farmed properly, although apparently they have farms dug deep into the earth, specially created atmospheres and conditions. It makes sense, apparently there’s little on the surface, although it’s not the smoking ruins the Capitol used to show, and they have to eat.

All the information I receive I get from Finnick or Johanna. I don’t ask how she especially knows so much. I especially don’t ask what she and Finnick talk about when I’m asleep, but they’re always hissing when I start to come around. I need to sort out my sleeping pattern, having nothing to do all day, no schedule stamped on my arm like everybody, has made almost bored.

I’m either bored or trying to escape the past.

Peeta doesn’t turn when the doors open and I have to tread around him. He has thick shackles on his wrists, the skin red and inflamed, dried blood. My own are mostly better now, although they’re still a raised pink in places. They’ll definitely scar, lifelong bracelets so I could never properly forget.

He doesn’t look up from his legs until I’ve placed both the bowls down and cautiously push the plastic spoon towards him. Sliding the tray purposely away down the side of the table.

He must see my hands in his peripheral vision and his whole body twitches, a ripple from his eyes to his feet which slam against the ground. I hear rattling and know his feet are chained as well. That makes me frown.

I want to talk, say something, just his name. Bring him comfort, if he knows comfort anymore.
Let him speak first.

He looks at me properly, after I’ve ripped off a few chunks of bread and dipped them in the broth.

“You’re here.” It sounds like an accusation and I nod, nerves striking me at full force, “What happened to your hand?”

“The doctors are trying to sort it, so they had to re-break most of the bones.”

He squints, trying to remember. I know the look, working out if it was real. He doesn’t have anyone to guide him. The look changes slightly and I bite my lip.

“It wasn’t you that did it.” I expected some form of realisation, relief but there isn’t any.

“Wasn’t me.” He repeats lowly, “Breaking your arm wasn’t me.”

“No.” I didn’t touch the food any further, I couldn’t. My stomach was a stone. “You didn’t.”

“Because they did?” I nodded again. “Sometimes I don’t remember who they is.”

I could imagine the pens scratching against paper in the secret room, him bringing up the men in the Capitol, him bringing it up at all with no loss of control. I was told that was a rarity.

“Sometimes neither can I...it’s all...” I gesture weakly.

“Like a gleam, gold rings.” He murmurs until his voice takes on a robotic term, reciting something he’s heard. “We’re in Thirteen.”

“Yes. We are.”

“She’s not.” I know exactly who she is but try not to indulge him. I offer food, suggest he eat but I’ve lost him, already, so quickly. “She’s not here.”

“Peeta...”

“She left because now she knows I get her. I understand who she really is.” He’s leaning forward, dangerously close to knockimg the bowl over the edge of the table, onto his lap. I can’t resist reaching over to pull it away and instead his hand clenches hard around my wrist. I wince but stop myself from exclaiming outloud. If I do they’ll remove me.

“She’s just a girl Peeta. Just a little seventeen year old who got lucky.” He almost looks surprised at my bitterness, but then the darkness, that other being I know too well engulfs him.

“She’s a mutt.” He doesn’t yell yet, he just says it blankly, to him it’s a fact. “Because of here we’re here, they burnt down Twelve, you know how many people died?” His grip on me tightens and I mutely shake my head. “So many people. All because of her. She doesn’t care. They created her, made her a mutt, who doesn’t care about us. Left us in there.”

“That wasn’t her...”

“It as good was!” He roars into my face.

“Peeta calm down or they’ll drug you... Peeta.” He drops my hand only to swing his own, my surprised yelp catching in my throat as the bowl hits against the wall, smashing into dozens of pieces.

“Peeta, stop it!”

I didn’t know why I thought I’d have any effect on him if no-one else could, why I thought I was special. Because I was there? That just made it worse. He’s ranting, yelling about her.
No-one comes for a while to get me out, they just let him rave, let his anger flicker between me and his false fiancé.

“They left us! They lied to us, she got them to lie to us.”

“Them?” He falters for a second, glancing at my hand and struggling to reach the metal. I lean forward, he taps it once, sending tingling vibrations over my skin.

“Them.” He said with determination, before that switch flicks again and I shrink back as he erupts.

“Them all of them. She lied to all of them, him. You trust them, him, her?!” I know he means Finnick, and I can imagine the confusion as they try to work out why he’s mentioned Finnick. It’s obvious though, isn’t it? It’s to hurt me.

“She’s a mutt and she’ll make everyone trust her just so she can kill them herself! He helped her.” His voice lowers from a yell to a frantic hiss, but this is somehow more terrifying than ever. “You can’t trust her, why do they trust her?! You know, you know! You saw them, you saw the clip!”

Someone’s had enough and several guards step in, Haymitch with them. Spotting his old mentor makes Peeta worse, and within seconds his head is pressed down against the metal table, something is being injected into his arms, still thick with the track marks of previous attacks on his psyche.

“Stop it!” I hear myself yell, “You’re making it worse!”

They don’t listen and I’m brought outside, very quickly met with a tense and agitated Finnick. “He hurt you?” He all but demands and I barely shake my head. I know what clip Peeta is talking about, that touching, almost sexual moment between Katniss and Finnick, and easily, although I hadn’t through about it in days I can visualise it. Clearer than the present Finnick in front of me.

“I’m fine, stop it.” I snap, pulling my wrist away, it still feels hot but I’m sick of the sympathy. Pushing past him and Boggs, who’s talking quietly to the cuff on his arm. The name escapes me but I know it’s a direct link to Coin.

I vanish into the maze of halls, all look identical and within minutes I’m lost.