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Johanna doesn't want Blight to teach her how to be a Mentor - not any of it. She doesn't want to go into the Mentor booth. She doesn't want to learn any of it. She doesn't want to sit near the Careers, as if she's one of them. She doesn't want to acknowledge what happened last year, at least not yet.
She spends more time with Finnick instead. It's what Haymitch suggested, and Finnick never tells her to get in the Mentor booth. Sometimes they spend time in the 7 apartment, since now that the Games have started, it's just her and Blight, whereas in 4 it's busier, with Mags and the escort and a few stylists to keep Finnick looking good and an Avox for the meals.
Finnick is kind, and he doesn't match her expectation of a Career tribute. No - that would be Enobaria. Johanna and Finnick were told together by President Snow that they would be expected to entertain the citizens of the Capitol in whatever ways they desired, under threat of the death of their families, and if that isn't the basis of a fast friendship, she isn't sure what is.
On the first night of the Games, she and Finnick spend the evening picking over some dinner and watching trash television while Mags and Blight work in the Mentor booth - Mags because she told Finnick to relax, Blight because Johanna refused to help. They have two hours before they need to be in Remake, and then they'll be off to whoever has bought their company for the night. Finnick is sitting stiffly on the sofa, but Johanna is laying back, sipping wine.
"Want to get high?" she asks. It's insane how easy it is to get anything you want in the Capitol. She got a blend to try smoking from Cashmere, and a second from an Avox. Cashmere doesn't even like her, they just both happened to be drinking nearby during the Opening Ceremonies.
If possible, he sits up even straighter. "Do you think it would help?"
She shrugs, but pulls out a water pipe to pack with Cashmere's blend. "Can't hurt. Cash uses it and she's been at this for a few years now."
He grabs her wrist, and she stops what she's doing. It feels wrong - to stop - she feels like she's been in motion for weeks, for months, since she's been reaped, perhaps. "Jo - how are you so calm?"
She bites the inside of her cheek, hard. She wants to tell him that no one calls her Jo, that it's Johanna or Anna, or sometimes even Annie, if you're her little sister, but she's learning quickly, more things every day, and one of those things is that in the Capitol, what Finnick says goes. If Finnick says her name is Jo, then she supposes it is. As for the other part, she wants to shake him, to ask him if he was calm when he impaled all those kids with a trident. If he was calm when he was mentoring the kids from his district last year - like the girl she killed with her axe.
Of course I'm faking it, idiot! She wants to shout. I just figured out how to get my hands to stop shaking. But if Finnick can't see that, if Finnick really thinks she's calm, cool, and collected, will her saying otherwise sound genuine? Everything feels fuzzy now, after a glass of wine or three. Her nerves are there, making her doubt herself. What does it matter, what happens with Finnick right now, when I'm about to be forced into sex with some freak from the Capitol and so is he?
"I don't know, I guess it's just important to get that sponsor money," she says. It's stupid - she doesn't care about the sponsor money at all. But if he can't understand that she's as frightened as he is, then she perhaps he deserves a disingenuous answer. She removes her wrist from his hand, resumes packing the pipe. She lights it, takes a few hits, and then he follows her lead. They lay on the couch, mostly silent, his head on her shoulder, until it's time to get ready to go. The sun is fully down now, and only the TV glow illuminates the apartment. The whole scene is so artificial, so Capitol, and Johanna feels ill. She goes to the bathroom and vomits, then brushes her teeth. "Ok, I'm ready, let's go."
Johanna wakes up sore, back in the 7 apartment. It's hard to remember the last night, it's just a blur of hands and bodies and wait- maybe there was- she closes her eyes, willing herself not to recall anything that happened. If substances helped her forget, then she ought to take more of them next time. She walks to the bathroom, passing the mirror on the way to turning on the shower, pausing when something catches her attention. Bruises on her neck - 4 on one side and 1 on the other, a perfect, awful handprint around her throat.
She can feel herself trembling with anger, or maybe she was shivering at the loss of control. She can't tell the difference anymore, and as she gets into the shower, she finds herself slipping down to the floor, knees to her chest. It feels like it did back in the arena - exposed, vulnerable, like it was only a matter of time before she was done for. Victory was supposed to be her freedom, and it was only a door to the next phase of suffering. For the first time, she wonders if it was better if she just died in the arena, or if she should die now. She knew Llewellyn, an older Victor from her district, killed himself when she was very young. She never thought to question why he would want to.
Eventually she stands, finishes her shower, and eats breakfast. She dismissed the Avox days ago, so she just makes do with the automatic food machine. Then she goes down to Remake as surreptitiously as possible to ask them to fix her bruising. Enobaria is there, of course, getting ready for some interview, by the looks of things.
"Ooh, rough night?" she asks, fangs flashing.
"Psh, you should see the other guy," Johanna teases. Soon enough a stylist is there, zapping her with some light-wand that seems to be returning the skin to its normal color.
Enobaria finishes getting dressed a few minutes later and leans over the table where Johanna is getting treated before she leaves. "I'm glad it's fine," she says in a quiet voice, "But I hope you didn't do anything to them. For your sake."
Johanna rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, your little Capitol friends are totally fine, no harm done. Except to me, obviously."
Enobaria nods, and leaves without saying anything more, but Johanna is spooked. She really can't remember the rest of the night. What if she did attack whoever choked her? What if she hurt someone she wasn't supposed to hurt, or even just cursed them out? She remembers the video Snow showed her and Finnick, of Haymitch's family being murdered, and imagines it happening to her mother and little brother and sister. So she can't go to these encounters completely fucked up, she supposes.
When she gets up to the Mentor's lounge, Blight is out of the booth, getting a coffee. "Thanks," he says, his usual awkward self.
"For what?" she asks, mostly surprised at his about-face.
"For whatever you did to get the Capitol's vice-education minister to send a big old donation for Leif."
She breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that whatever happened last night, it wasn't going to get her family killed. "Yeah. Listen, I-"
"Blight, you better get back here-" one of the other Mentors calls from the booth, and he is gone. Johanna turns to the screen in the common area to see the last tribute from 7, Leif, in an area of the arena where a massive wildfire is spreading. He is doubled over, trying to crawl underneath the smoke to escape, but as the camera pulls away, Johanna can see the scope and realizes that it is futile.
"Well, he was way above it on the ledge, but the 1 girl pushed him in," she hears Finnick explaining to Blight, catching him up. Well, that explains why Blight felt it was safe to take a break. Leif drags himself a little further before he stops moving completely. Johanna leaves the Mentor's lounge.
Johanna finds Finnick's ability to balance it all truly incredible. In a day, he will take a shift in the Mentor's booth, get high with her, go to the club to socialize as is expected when attracting patrons, then take a client at night. Get a bit of sleep and then repeat. And in between, he is somehow friends with the Careers, with her, with his own district Victors, and is even friendly with the lesser-represented districts like 6 and 10.
If she didn't know him better, she would definitely say he was a pretty-boy without a thought in his head and a stick up his ass. But now, she can't even say that about Gloss, even if she still doesn't like him much. Now, with Finnick laying on the couch as she lays on his chest, she really can't say anything bad about him at all. She's almost asleep, his hands rubbing slowly up and down her back, when he speaks.
"Do you have a customer tonight?"
She sighs. She had been having such a nice time. "Of course I do."
"Oh." Apparently, he wasn't expecting this. "But your tributes are dead."
Oh. Perhaps he was hoping for a light at the end of the tunnel, news that once the Games were over for him, the extra work would be as well. "Nope. Doesn't seem to work like that."
Johanna feels him rearrange himself so his arms are around her back, pulling her closer against his chest. Both of them can pretend it's for their own comfort. Just as the people of the Capitol use them each night, they use each other in little ways like this each day. Hold me. Let me hold you. Sit next to me. Stay here while I sleep. Drink with me so I don't drink alone. Wait. Come with me?
When he again relaxes, she sighs, biting impatiently at the collar of his shirt. Being in the Capitol was so much waiting, so much sitting indoors - there were no days of hiking in the woods, no trees, and for Finnick, no swimming. It was all artificial, all synthetic walls and synthetic drugs and even synthetic bodies. "Want to go a little wild?" she asks, suddenly feeling stir-crazy.
He raises his eyebrows. "I have to work the booth tomorrow."
"Enobaria told me there's a wicked hangover cure in Remake, if you suck up to them."
And Finnick feels like the sea, from the way Johanna bobs as he sits up, to the way he just goes along with whatever life throws at him, from his mentoring in the morning to her wild ideas to clean out their apartments' drug stashes in one stupid evening. Nothing memory impairing, she reminds herself, but she pops the pills that are Finnick's favorites, the only ones he regularly buys, Euphoria, and immediately the songs playing on the radio become her favorite songs. The colors on the darkened street below become beautiful, and as she turns to tell him, he becomes even more beautiful, a chiseled marble statue become man. He grabs her hand to pick out a bottle of wine, and an interesting feeling - like sparks of heat, flies up her spine.
They drink, they smoke, they drink some more, and enjoy the pills. Blight comes back at one point, and then shuts himself into his bedroom. At the sound of the door closing, she makes eye contact with Finnick and they look at her bedroom. They always lay on the couch, never on the bed, but for once, they go inside. The bed seems nice to lay down on, at least before they have to go out again.
But the moment she lays down, Finnick is there, his lips against her neck. And she wants to tell him that he doesn't have to, that he shouldn't worry about sex now when they have to go see clients later, but oh god the feeling is doing things to her, and she is so turned on just from his tongue on her neck.
She touches his abs, under his shirt, and he moves against her, until she can feel his hips against hers. He moves his lips to hers and they kiss, and he falls to his side, inviting her to climb back on top of him, and she does, her tongue slipping into his mouth. He tastes like wine and salt and Finnick, and she commits it to memory so she can revisit it when she's in bed with some fuck from the Capitol, buying her time, and when it's no longer enough, she takes off her shirt, inviting him to do the same, she wants to feel his skin against hers. When they finally get around to it, when they fuck, it's so much gentler than she expects, and she is overwhelmed by it, she almost starts to cry.
She doesn't want to do that - doesn't want him to see her cry or ruin this moment with tears, so she buries her face in his neck instead, biting him gently, coaxing him to start moving so she can get used to the sensation. And when it's over, they lay back on the expanse of her giant, silly bed, spent and tired, still high and giddy, but it feels different than before. She wonders if she loves Finnick Odair.
When they make it down to Illyria, Haymitch is there. His tributes are out now, too. Finnick is the only one between them with skin in the game, still. Johanna reupped before she went downstairs, so Haymitch is blurry, and it takes a moment for his words to reach her brain. But it feels better this way. If she has to deal with the Capitol's bullshit, she'd rather it be on her terms, while she's a little self-medicated.
"Hey - be careful," he tells her, shoving her shoulder a bit to make sure she's paying attention. She can't decide if he's talking about the drugs or the drinking or tonight's client or falling in love with Finnick. They all seem equally dangerous. But by the time she focuses again, he's gone, over to speak with Finnick. They're looking at her, and Haymitch is probably getting the details from him. Pesky 12 mentor, poking his nose into everything. She doesn't understand why he won't just leave them alone.
That night's client is a junior Gamemaker - Seneca Crane. He invites her back to his townhouse, and they ride in the darkened car with the hired driver - it's all very new, very terrifying, but she's Johanna Mason, the tough girl of the Capitol, so she doesn't let it show. She is probably still swaying a bit when she arrives, but she can tell he is a little drunk too, so it doesn't matter.
He's young, maybe 5 years older than she is, and his apartment has a small get-together going on. There's a half-dozen Capitolites in the living room, playing some sort of drinking game under dim lighting, a couple of them passing around a water-pipe. He leads her back further, to his suite, a sitting room and bedroom combined, with a desk in the corner with what she assumes are drafts and notes about the Hunger Games. She's never met a Gamemaker before, even a junior one, so she isn't sure what to expect. She certainly is inclined to hate Seneca Crane, but currently her terror is winning.
He doesn't make a move on her, at least not initially. He pours himself another drink, then opens a small box under the liquor cabinet. "Take anything you like," he offers, and she comes to look. It's well stocked, full of all sorts of pleasure-causing pills and morphling powder and cannabis and other pipe weeds, and had she not had such a riotous evening with Finnick already, she would have indulged more openly. But as it is, she just takes another Eurphoria tab. She understands why Finnick likes them, especially with the kind of work they're forced to do: they make everything feel beautiful, and she wonders if she won't hate the inevitable end to this night as much if she's riding high on that pill. Seneca raises an eyebrow and takes one as well, washing it down with the whiskey. He puts on some music, some vintage sound she isn't familiar with.
"I'm glad we could meet," he says, and he sounds almost shy as he sits in a chair. "I was a fan of your Games."
She isn't sure what to say. It isn't the type of compliment she wants to thank him over. She sits on the small sofa, feeling the pill start to take hold, enjoying the way the plush feels under her, and she can feel herself smiling at the silly way his mustache is twisted. She knows better than to tell him that, of course.
He is smiling a bit now too, his posture looser. "I haven't had a chance to do anything yet, it's always 'here work on some trees' or 'we need more walls'. This year was my biggest job, I got to design the outside of the Cornucopia, but it's all aesthetics. I want to design how the arena works, to dictate how the Games are played."
It's strange: she is enjoying herself immensely, thanks to the pill, and yet his words unsettle her. She sits on her hands, trying to process this. "Why?" she asks. "Why do you want to design the Hunger Games?" she cannot process why this would be anyone's ambition.
"Because I-" he falters for a moment, meeting her gaze. He seems to realize that he's speaking to someone who lived it, who was there when 23 people died so she could become Victor. "Because that's what I've trained for." he finishes, rather blandly.
He's a Career, but at Gamemaking. This fact cuts through the ecstasy of the pill, brings her back down to earth. He has no idea why, he is just a cog in this Capitol machine. She suddenly wants nothing more than to leave, but she knows she needs to fuck him before she can go home. She moves to the chair to get things moving.
Afterwards, he is laying back on the couch, his smile still half-formed. "You can stay, if you like. The bed is plenty big, or we have spare rooms."
"It's fine, I'll call a car."
He sits up, like he wants to say something else, but she doesn't think there's anything else he can say to her that she wants to hear. She waits for the car by the door. He doesn't follow.
When Johanna makes it into the Mentor's lounge the next day, it's because Blight stopped into the room to tell her that 4's boy was killed - that Finnick is out. She's exhausted and hungover and sore from her night with Seneca Crane, but this was Finnick - she knew he took his job as Mentor seriously.
He's there, in the lounge, looking as handsome as ever, but she can see it, the slight dip in his shoulders, the almost imperceptible grimace as he changes positions that tells her that despite the glamours the stylists have cast on him, he is hurting - physically as much as emotionally. He's sitting at a table away from the smaller room with the headsets, the room Johanna won't enter, chatting with Mags in a low voice, her old, wrinkled hand on his forearm.
Johanna takes a step towards Finnick, but her attention is caught by Cashmere and Gloss. They're at another, closer table, which means Chrome must be at the 1 mentor station, since their boy tribute is still in the Games, but Cashmere is crying, her head resting on Gloss's shoulder. Johanna feels for them, she really does, because she can't imagine what kind of unsavory things the Capitol would ask of siblings, especially two beautiful Victors like Cashmere and Gloss.
But she also hates them, because they never fight against it, they don't even seem to mind, most of the time, not drinking themselves into oblivion, or smoking, or trying to find ways out of their reality. They even make excuses for their clients - she's heard Gloss say "he had a bad day, he needed to let off some steam," and then laugh darkly with Enobaria. Every time she sees the siblings, they're a reminder of what she could become if she gives in - a look at compliance with the Capitol, the system working as designed.
Which is why she, feeling as rotten as she does about her current situation as well as her conversation with Seneca Crane last night, can't resist a little jab as she passes them. "Finally realize the Capitol isn't your friend?" she asks in a low voice.
Both of them are standing at once, anger replacing the sadness on their faces. To the side, she can see Finnick eyeing the situation, likely trying to decide if he should take the side of his fellow Careers or the girl he likes to be self-destructive with.
"What was that, Mason?" Gloss asks, stepping forward so the foot of height difference is apparent between them.
She can lay low, stake out a situation, or freeze with panic. She can feel like her hands are tied. But once she decides to act, it's all engines go. Backing down has never been her strong suit. "I just thought you might be sick of being someone's puppet after all this time," she says. It's teasing, meant to provoke, and boy does it do the job.
Gloss is on her, pushing her to the ground at once, a good punch to the face immediately. Cashmere holds back, but she's fired up too, Johanna can tell. "Like you're any different!" she yells, voice a little hoarse from crying. She isn't sure why she does it. Did she just want to get beat up? Perhaps. But it's also nice to see Gloss and Cashmere do something of their own, rather than just act as perfect Capitol zombies. It almost makes the broken nose and what feels like a massive gash under her eye worth it.
"Hey, hey, hey! Gloss, that's enough!" It's Finnick, and he takes an elbow to the chest trying to diffuse the situation. He comes back, though, Johanna can see, wincing through the pain, to bear-hug Gloss, pulling him back. "Look! Your tribute!" he says, his voice nearly gone from the earlier blow.
They all turn, Cashmere with her tear-stained face, Johanna bloody on the ground, and Finnick and Gloss, tangled around each other. This is where they stand as Augustus Braun becomes Victor.
While Augustus is on television being interviewed, Johanna goes to the Training Center roof. She's sure she'll be dragged to the party later, as long as Remake can hide the beating she took from Gloss, but for now she just leans against the railing, nose a little askew, left eye swollen, shirt very bloody. She imagines a scenario where they can't, where she's permanently ugly now, and no one wants her company anymore. She goes back to the woods, alone, forever, and that seems fine.
Blight comes out after a while. "I was looking for you everywhere," he says. "Mags told Haymitch you went and got yourself beat up today." She doesn't say anything, and he takes his time hand-rolling two cigarettes. She can tell they'll be good - special 7 style: part cannabis, part tobacco, and just a little bit of morphling. He wraps them tightly and she accepts hers, lighting it with his lighter. It's wonderful. He doesn't berate her about the drinking, or the drugs, or the fight. They just stand there and smoke. Finally, when he does speak, he keeps looking out towards the sunset, which she appreciates.
"Why won't you go in the Mentor booth?" he asks.
She thinks he already knows the answer, but just wants confirmation. But even so, it's hard to say out loud. Because to say it is to depend on someone, and she doesn't do that - not him or Finnick, or Haymitch, she doesn't need any of them. "I-" She takes another drag of the cigarette, enjoying the way it calms her down. "If you teach me what to do, then there's no reason for you to come here," she says, because it's true. Llewellyn killed himself so he doesn't have to return to the Capitol. Jackson pulled seniority on Blight, and makes Blight go every year. If Blight teaches her what to do, Blight won't need to come back, and it'll be just Johanna, just Johanna to man the booth and entertain the clients and gather sponsors and…
"I was by myself for a long time, Anna," he says, and she almost drops the cigarette when he uses the name they called her in 7. "But I was lucky. Snow thought I played a mean fiddle, and so I only had to entertain people like that. I know more is being asked of you." He pauses, and it's the closest he's come to acknowledging why she's been on a self-destructive rampage. "So I won't fault you for not wanting to come back here, but it is required. He will punish you if you don't. But I'm not Jackson. I won't make you go alone."
"I just…" she drops the butt of the cigarette and puts it out under her heel, then mashes the parts of her face that aren't painful with her palms. "Everyone plays a part here - everyone's an actor. I can't - I'm too honest, it shows through."
He smiles, and she knows he agrees. "You are, but you'll get better. If you don't have anything nice to say, just keep your mouth shut. And the Capitol will like that tough-girl thing - look at Enobaria. Just think about the 10 or 11 months a year when you can see your family, when you can relax in 7."
Beyond them, out on the main road, they see a projection of Augustus Braun. He is beautiful, hale and hearty and so… 1. Another Golden Boy, though in Johanna's opinion, he has nothing on Finnick. She thinks about him finding out about the Capitol's darkest secret, about his first clients, about him crying in the lounge. There is pain, and sadness there, certainly, but mostly she's relieved that his face signifies the end of the Games, that she can go home and see her family.
During the 68th Games, Johanna decides she will give it a shot, that she'll actually try mentoring. Blight assigns her the girl, and he takes the boy. There's not much she can do at the start, but she does try to give the girl as much advice as she can. Fortunately, the girl is smart as can be, so if the arena is some sort of puzzle or trick, she'll likely solve it. Unfortunately, also she's weak as can be, so Johanna spends most of their free time shoving food into the girl and making her pick up heavy things and throw them.
She can't be with her at the training center, but she points out which stations the girl should try. She thinks she would be good with a killing method that requires little force, like snares, poison, or luring the others into traps. She also tells her that the best plan is to just survive, so if she outlasts everyone else, she's the winner by default. After that, all she can do is secure sponsors.
"Johanna, there's an event tonight," Enobaria says, as they're eating dinner.
"Oh?"
"With several Gamemakers." She leans in closer. "We were both… requested." She sits back and sips her wine. "I think it will be good for your tribute."
Johanna's appetite is suddenly gone. She's never had to entertain several clients at once. Sure, she's given her body away for money, or Capitol currency, but to do so in a semi-public way?
She takes Enobaria aside after dinner, voice low since she can never he sure who's listening. "Have you done something like this before?" she asks.
"What are you, scared?" Enobaria teases. She moves close, her voice almost a purr, their banter a disguise for anyone watching. In reality, Johanna wonders if Enobaria perhaps is concerned, as her senior, but it's impossible to tell, she's an enigma.
"Of course not," Johanna bluffs. "I'm just wondering if it'll be worth it, for our tributes." This is a bluff, of course, since it's not like they can decline, at least without consequences. But it's an exucse to get more information out of Enobaria, at least.
"Only met some before," she admits. "They're… enthusiastic, but not dangerous, and their pockets are deep."
This all sounds fine to Johanna, even as she's having a drink with Finnick before she leaves, listening to him talk about his time in 4, listening to him talk about the girl he sees there. She wonders if she should see someone in 7, but is there anyone in 7 who would understand her? Finnick can separate his life, parse it into little pieces as needed. Johanna is Johanna is Johanna, and everyone gets all of her. And no one in 7 can take all of her, she thinks.
Later, after she gets out of that underground parlor, she's shaking, and she thinks she's going to vomit, or maybe die. She wonders who Johanna Mason really is, after all. The silhouette of the Tribute Center is guiding her back, and she follows it like a moth to a flame - it will be her salvation and her undoing, a microcosm of her life as a Victor. As she walks, she thinks of Enobaria, her teeth on Johanna's neck, her body between Johanna and the Capitol men, protecting them. And she hates her - she hates Enobaria for bringing her to that hellhole - for setting her up for disaster like that - because hating Enobaria is tangible, it won't slip through her fingers in the same way hating the Capitol will.
When she gets back, Johanna goes to the 4 apartment, and Mags answers. "Finnick is still out." Her face changes as she sees Johanna, pale legs bare under her fur coat, makeup certainly running. "Are you alright?" she asks.
Johanna is not alright. She turns back to the elevator. She scans her options. They go from bad to worse. She picks 12.
Haymitch opens the door after she rings the bell several times, and looks surprised to see her. "Come into my room, the Avox and the escort are still here," he says, as if she's inconveniencing him. She feels frozen at the ledge, and so he pulls her along by the arm. She sits stiffly on his bed in her coat, realizing she's naked underneath. He seems to pick up on this, and leaves and returns with a set of Capitol pajamas, which she changes into. It doesn't matter if he sees her naked. It doesn't matter if anyone does anymore, probably.
But as she slips the shirt over her head, he must see the marks at her neck, because he stands to look closer, even in the dim light of the bedroom. "Enobaria?" he asks.
And rage fills her, never mind if it's misplaced. Stupid, stupid Enobaria, who dragged her into that horrible place, who tried to protect the stupid Capitol men when she was losing her mind, who held her down and bit her like she wasn't a Victor, like that wouldn't set her off. She thinks of the blur of the room as she left it, of Enobaria trying to keep everyone calm, of the body she had pushed into the wall. She crouches, hands to her eyes, on stupid Haymitch's stupid bedroom floor. Her voice is small even to her ears when she speaks. "They're going to die."
"Who?" He sits beside her, his arm around her shoulders.
"My family. My mom. My brother Tommy, my sister Imogen." She can feel the tears now, though she doesn't remember when they started. She would have been capable of standing, probably, but she feels Haymitch pick her up, deposit her on the bed.
"It's better to cry up here," he says. And he doesn't do anything as chivalrous as leave to sleep on the couch, he just exits for a moment to fetch a bottle of his preferred white liquor and sits back against the headboard, the two of them awake in the dark in silence, passing the bottle.
She should know better than to seek comfort from someone like Haymitch, but she is so, so bottomlessly empty. She is unmoored and he feels like an anchor - the 12 mentor who is there, year after year, and so she leans over to rest her head on his lap. To her surprise he doesn't protest, he even cards his fingers through her hair, but eventually he does sigh, probably once his bottle is finished. "You should go see if Finnick's back," he suggests.
He's telling her to leave, and it's this rejection on top of everything else that makes her actually sob. She tries to get up, to leave, to just go back to 7 and cry herself to sleep in her own damn apartment, but she can't see to even find her shoes, and eventually she feels him behind her, not the tight embrace of Enobaria, but just a hug, and then his stubble against her shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that, Johanna."
She tries to shake him off and he keeps his grip, not overly tight, just attached to her, and now she's annoyed so she elbows him. "Is that what you do?" she asks, "Pass me around with Finnick? Decide who has to deal with Johanna tonight?"
She knows it's not true but she can't help feeling like a burden all of the time, and her fuck up tonight will almost definitely doom her family, and he was telling her she should leave. Her family… her mom… Tommy… Imogen…
Fresh sobs wrack her as she shoves her feet into her shoes. She hates her emotions. She hates her dependence. She hates how she must appear to him, and wonders if Snow might grant her the courtesy of letting her die instead. Whatever Haymitch has to say, about how that isn't what he's doing, about how he really does care about her, it's just white noise behind her thoughts, as she pictures her family's faces and tries to remember them as they were before she left.