THG: Retrieval: 7: Ess-cah-pay (partial)

[amichan]

 

 

“Stupid fucking, son of a bitch.”

“Johanna?”

“Oh, good. You still remember me.” She appears out of the shadows in the corner of the room, “We're going to be doing some work. Our little secret. Well, ours and a few other peoples...” she looks towards the ceiling.

“Huh?”

“Oh, well, some people are idiots, but some people are not, and well, they also owe me for the fact that their asses got out of the god damn arena when ours didn't, and they know that if they don't loop security footage so that it doesn't look like I'm not in here I will break their fancy wheelchair and shove parts of it places they really don't want it and it will take them ages to work out with their fancy brain how I even got it there in the first place; but maybe if they see further proof the other people will stop being idiots.” She gives a toothy grin, “So...how are you doing?”

She lost me some of the way there, but, I recognize that part, “I've been worse.”

“No shit,” she comes over to me, “You're awake, and talking to me, which is great.”

“You got out,” I point out to her, “and still have all your fingers and toes.”

“This is true,” she says.

Do I get to call you Baldie instead of Blondie?

She's working at the straps around my wrists with her hands. Something deep in the pit of my stomach tells me this is a bad idea. Something tied to the memory of throwing her across the room into a wall and trying to rip her...in half? Which doesn't make sense given I haven't—have I been places? Where she is?

Come on, Blondie. Tell me what you think of the look. Can I pull off bald or what?

“What-what are you doing?” Trying to pull away is not effective at all given there's not very far to go, stuck on this bed with little give in the straps, but I remember her hugging herself around me, too, apologizing for something, and it's not just—that seems very real, as real as the screams, and the quiet girl voice saying someone was dead, and that was—that was my fault.

“I'm undoing you. What does it look like?”

“No!” I push at her hand, “No—those are there for a reason.” She can't. She can't. That is a very, very bad idea. I'm not allowed to be out.

“Hush, Blondie. Do you want to get out, or not?” She asks, “I'm getting you out whether you want to or not. Didn't I promise?”

“I don't...”

She makes a tutting noise with her teeth and I hear a buckle clink and more straps.

“C'mon, talk to me. Keep it real, remember?” She tuts some more, “Like I really wish I could have just punched Flickerman in his big fat smile during that last interview we had to do,” do you know how many times I had to watch the tapes, Caesar?, “and you still had to talk to that bastard. We gotta tell everyone what you went through. Make them pay for it, but...” she's working on another strap, why is she undoing me? She can't undo me, “...we can only do that if you stay with me, okay, Blondie? Why am I the one doing all the talking?”

“...tapes?”

“Yeah? What about the tapes?” I feel the strap loosen on my other wrist.

My arms feel so light. I might float away like a feather but I'm tied down by my foot. Wait, I have my leg. I have both my legs.

“Doing okay, Blondie?”

“I have...two...legs. When did they give me my leg back?”

“You'll have to tell me that one when you can put things together,” she's unstrapping my not foot, “You think you can do the other foot and help me out?” She offers me a hand to pull me forward more. My hands still feel very light I don't know what they're going to do, “Come on,” she says, “You can do it. I know you can.” She grabs my elbow and upper arm and pulls me forward, puts my hands on the leg strap, massaging my fingers for a moment with gentle taps until I start working. My fingers fumble as they pull at the buckles everything is tingling. Things starting to come clearer.

“You got out...aren't people going to be coming for you?”

“It's not quite like that, Blondie. We're going to try and clear some things up, okay?”

Straps clang down. My foot begins to tingle as well. This is a bad idea. It fills my head how bad this is. I can't get air. My body doesn't want to work. I'm not safe. There's danger. Danger. Threat.

“No, you don't!” She snaps. Tensing. Ready to spring.

A scream loud and piercing.

Anger. Keening. Banging.

A ringing in my ears. Curling me up.

Make me a deal, Blondie. Keep it real, okay?

“Doing better?” Johanna asks.

“I...don't know.”

She takes my hand and my arm by the elbow, “Let's get you off the bed. Ready to walk?”

I turn on the bed and swing my legs down. My right foot still feels slightly tingly but it's not so bad when I put it down on the ground. It's weird still being on a bed. There are echoes of hanging on a wall and barely having room to move.

“Things aren't right.” I reach out with the hand she's not holding. There's so much space.

“Things are more right,” she says, “This is not the Capitol. We were rescued.” They got us out. You and me and Annie. The bastard's had Annie too. Finnick's Annie.

“They got us out...”

“Yeah. You, me and Annie. We're living it up in District Thirteen now.” She brings me level with the wall, “I got right in here from the other part of the hospital wing. No chains to break out of. No brackets. I didn't have to kill anyone to get in here...you got a comfy bed in here, right?”

I look back at it, “It's weird.”

“Yeah, I know. I got used to sleeping hanging from the wall too; but we don't have to do that any more. We just gotta work on getting them to let you off of the straps.”

“That's not a good idea.”

She sighs, “Blondie...”

“I'm confused a lot, and things keep getting lost but I know I've done horrible things. I should be kept in that. It's not safe. Why did you let me out?”