Pure Torture: a Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 59

Katniss

"It takes a while to settle down my shivered bones. Wait til' the Panic's out." -Birdy

I seem to push through the darkness of the night that's settled over the house that night. I can't sleep. Any hope of sleeping is gone. As I layed in bed, I tried to calm my racing heart and mind, telling myself that it wasn't real. It's just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

But my attempts at calming down weren't enough. I ended up getting up in the night. So here I am, silently going down the stairs to the living room where I'll await sunrise. I sit down on the couch, staring into the dark, unlit fireplace.

When I finally pry my eyes from the fireplace, I notice that I'm not alone down here.
"Johanna? What are you doing up?" I ask.
"I could ask you the same thing." She replies, "And actually, I was up before you, for the record."
"I just..." I say, voice wavering, "I just had a nightmare."

"Me too." She adds simply.
"I can usually calm myself down after one, but tonight... I know it wasn't going to happen." I say.
"Maybe if you talk about it. I've always thought that talking about it could make it better. But, really, I've never had anyone to talk to at home. Just me." She says.

I feel bad for her. She didn't have anyone. There's no one left she loves.
"I don't want to talk about the nightmare." I say.
"Oh." She replies. I can hear an edge of disappointment in her voice.
"I want to talk about something else. The Capitol. Not the Capitol now... The Capitol that tore us from the rebels." I say.

"What about them?" Johanna asks.
"I don't know. What they did to us, I guess."
Johanna nods. It's pitch dark, but my eyes have adjusted to the blackness, and I can just see the outlines of her.
"Johanna... What did they do to you?" I ask, cautiously. I hate to ask, but I have to.

She sighs.
"Not exactly what they did to you. I was of use to them, but nowhere near as much as you were. I think you got the brunt of it, to be honest. Not that I got off easy. They still tortured me. They'd do all the same beatings with me. I could... I could always hear you screaming when they'd take you and hijack you." She explains.
"I screamed a lot?" I ask, the memories foggy.

"Oh my God, yes. I swear, I've never heard anyone scream so much. And I've seen people practically chop themselves in half with their axes in 7. Still, you screamed more, girl." She says.
"Oh." I say. I feel bad, almost. Like I should have tried to be quieter.
"But I can't really blame you." Johanna adds on.
And she's right.

"Well," She continues, "I remember they'd burn me like they did to you."
She holds out an arm with pink scarred skin from a flame that licked across it.
"And I had the same cuts and bruises as you did, for the most part." She says.

"What gives you nightmares?" I ask.
"I... I get my nightmares from other things they did. They would always take me to interrogation rooms and they'd ask me questions about the rebels, and I didn't know anything, so I couldn't tell them. But they didn't believe me. That's how I got most of my scars. Interrogation and torture from it. And that's what gives me nightmares. The pain, the helplessness." Johanna explains.

"I understand." I say.
"What about you?" She asks.
I find it hard to gather the courage I need to delve into the subject. But by the tone of her voice, the way it rattles sometimes, I can tell that she genuinely wants to know. I don't want to deny her of that.

"I get my nightmares from a lot. More times than not, to about the dead; the people I couldn't save; the people who are dead because of me. But that's not always it, I guess. I have nightmares of the Games. I have nightmares of my hijacking. I have nightmares of all of those things at once, made scarier by the fact that my brain can't tell real from not real sometimes." I explain.