Hello everybody!

Sorry for the explosion of sadness that was the last chapter. I understand. I was crying while writing it, duh. I know, guys, I know. These two deserve more. "More tequila, more love, more anything", as old wise Meredith would say. I can't promise you guys this one is going to be better. But I can promise it will get better eventually. There is no way I could deny happiness to my babies. :3

Just keep in mind that this is all for the sake of a realistic plot, and it'll be okay. Good stories need time. Just stay with me, will you?

Thanks for reading and reviewing. You make my day! :)

Katniss POV (yeah, I am going to stick with her for a little longer)

"Having no tears left to cry".

It's funny how I've always thought that the meaning behind this expression was an exaggeration, a hyperbole you could use in a novel, in order to explain extreme, unrealistic sadness that can't exist in real life.

Well, at least now I can say it's not just a figure of speech. I've come to the point where I literally have no tears left.

Not that I haven't cried before, but this is something else entirely.

I don't know how I manage to arrive to my room and lock the door behind me. I ignore Effie's shouts, Haymitch's fists on my door, Peeta's gentle pleas: different ways to inform me that dinner's ready. I am not hungry.

I cry for hours and after a while they get the message and leave me alone. Thank God.

In the end, tears refuse to come out of my swollen eyes, so I just sob, making these terrible, animalistic sounds.
I hope no one hears them, but I know they will, because even when my throat is burning, I am in no condition to stop them or even control them. I feel like, any minute now, my chest is going to break into two halves. I wait for it to happen, but physically I remain whole.
Emotionally, though, every desperate sound that falls from my lips is a crack that rips me up, until I am shattered in a million pieces. Like a porcelain vase thrown against a wall.

I forget my name, there is just the pain and its irrationality. I went from a state of total happiness to one of crushing desperation and it happened too fast. I didn't even see it coming. Someone should have warned me, it felt too much like an ambush.

In my delirious, almost feverish state, I think that maybe we all have a maximum amount of tears we are allowed to cry in our life, and I have reached that final number, so I won't be able to cry anymore.

My father. Rue. Those were a lot of tears, but maybe not enough.

Johanna.

It wouldn't surprise me if she managed to be the one stealing away from me the last tears I have left. Her words, and the meaning behind them, were like the final blow, the last push able to make me step over the line that separates me from complete madness.

After all, there is just so much a human body can take before it breaks.
I am reduced to a shivering ball curled up in damp sheets, so maybe this is it. This is what it feels like to be at the breaking point.

Just because I let myself be vulnerable. And I chose to trust her.
You would have thought that, with all the tears I cried for all the losses I endured, I may have learned something. But no, I was stupid, and careless, and of course I was rewarded with the most cruel of betrayals.

The one that comes from a lover.

I almost hope it really is the end, the breaking point, because after what Johanna did to me, there's really nothing left. The prospective of the arena in my mind becomes nothing but a fortunate coincidence.

So when the sobs stop and I fall asleep, I pray it is forever.

xxxxx

When I wake up, my face is heavy and salty. I have never been more exhausted. It's like I ran in the woods for days. Every muscle of my body screams in pain.
I hate the light that's coming through the windows, it means it's a new day and I am still here. Still alive.
The only thing that makes me get out of bed is the thought that I probably won't be much longer.

When I finally drag my tired body to breakfast, six pairs of worried eyes are on me immediately. It is obvious they heard me crying. I know that from the same expression of utter concern the three of them share. And I must have been pretty loud, if they haven't even had the courage to talk to me yet.

The first mouth that opens, no doubt wanting some explantion, it's Peeta's.
Of course it's him.
But I don't even give him time to speak. I look at him him straight in the eye and, not even recognizing my own voice, I say: "I don't want to talk about it".

That's it.

Silence fills the room and, during the most awkward ten minutes of my life, no one dares to break it. We eat in silence, and it has to be the first time that it happens. Maybe I should say that they eat while I watch, because I don't touch food.
Haymitch is the first to speak and I'm almost glad he does, because he doesn't try to discuss the topic of my emotional break down and the reasons behind it. He's smarter than that. Or maybe he is just scared of what my reaction would be. Understandable, since I haven't had the time or even the desire to look at myself in a mirror, but I know I must seem completely crazy, with heavy, dark circles under my eyes and my hair all over the place.

"So...have you guys thought about allies? Do you have any names?".

I like Haymitch when he goes straight to the point. Peeta shoots him a look that pretty much says: "Are you crazy? She's been crying all night and you ask her about allies? What kind of man are you?".
But that is the last proof that even Haymitch understands me better than him. When you deal with me, especially when I'm mad, insisting and pushing me to talk isn't the right strategy, and he knows it.

Not only I don't mind, I am very thankful for the distraction he provided me.

"I want Beete and Wiress" I say, and from the surprised looks on Peeta's and Effie's faces, I know they didn't expect me to talk. And they didn't expect me to say what I'm saying.

"Beete and Wiress, are you being serious?", Peeta says.

"I have never been more serious in my entire life".

"Anyone else?" Haymitch asks, his tone one between resignation and amusement.

"Yes, Mags". I add her to the list like it's the most natural answer in the world.

"Mags? Are you trying to get us killed, Katniss?". Peeta raises his voice and I am momentarely startled. He is losing his patience and it doesn't happen very often. He's angry because I shut him off earlier, I suppose.

"I like her" I say, as an explanation.

"You...like her" he mutters, growing more and more frustrated. Haymitch is still the living image of calmness.

Peeta is clearly trying to make him take his side.

"Haymitch! Say something please, this is sucidal" he begins. And I let him, because I really, really don't care. But then...

"I am not saying we should team up with the careers, but I think we can do better than a eighty years old woman. How about...Johanna Mason? She is someone I would pick as an ally. I saw her with that axe in training...".

I don't know if my blood is freezing or boiling in my veins. Anyway, something is wrong. I stand up abruptly, my chair falling to the floor with a loud noise that makes Effie gasp in surprise.

That was a slap in the face. I am not responsible for my own words and actions anymore.

"That is out of the question" I say, raising my voice. "I don't want her".

I hear the echo of what she said to me yesterday, my words inconsciously mirroring hers. "I don't want...you".
I can almost hear her, her voice still resonating in my ears, sounding final like a death sentence.
I feel my chest tightening, and I wait for the inevitable tears. They don't come. Maybe I did finish them.

Twenty four hours ago, she would have been my first choice, but now everything is changed and I am trapped in this nightmare where she is not on my side anymore. It feels surreal. I almost want to ask someone to pinch me.

Peeta is watching me with a confused look. I am suddenly so mad and he doesn't understand how it happened and what triggered my reaction. He looks scared. I don't know if it for his own safety or my own. Maybe both.

He tries with the calming approach. Good luck with that.

"Katniss please be reasonable. There is no need to get so workep up. I was just trying to say that someone like Johanna would be a precious advantange in the arena. I don't know maybe you'd prefer Finnick...?".

Oh, he shouldn't have said that.

That image from yesterday, the one of her and a blonde, smiling Finnick sitting together sharing lunch like a happy couple, is still burned in my memory and I doubt it will ever go away.

For a minute I am blinded by a feeling I can't quite place or name. Than it hits me.
I am jealous. I want to punch Finnick so hard he won't be able to smile anymore because it would hurt too much to do it. I want that permanent, over confident grin he always wears to disappear from his face. And I want him as far away from Johanna as possible.

I am jealous and it feels so weird.
Then I realize I lost every right to be when she said to me I was just a distraction. Distractions aren't allowed to be jealous.

I am so mad that I can't even formulate a coherent response to Peeta's nonsense. It's not like I can tell him what's going on without breaking his heart, anyway. Though it would feel so good now, having a friend to talk to.
So I just get up and go to my room. It's becoming a habit, recently.

I make sure to slam the door as hard as I can on my way out.

I catch Haymitch saying: "Well, I believe that answered your question, kid".

He really does know me too well.

xxxxx

There must be some kind of scientific law that explains why, when things go wrong, then they're just destined to get worse.
That kind of law would also happen to be the perfect description of my life.
Or maybe there isn't a law, maybe the universe just really hates me. That would serve as an explanation, too.

After the complete mess that was breakfast, my first, original plan for the day is not going anywhere and basically staying locked up in my room until Effie will be forced to drag me out of my refuge with some of her more extreme solutions.

But it turns out that being alone while doing nothing has the side effect of giving you too much time to think about those very same things that went wrong, that are destined to get worse and that you'd like to forget.

Alone in my room, I am forced to deal with a series of truths, the first of them being that fighting with Peeta affected me more than I'd care to admit.

I know he wasn't being cruel on purpose, and I don't even know if he would be capable of doing that. He was just being reasonable as always, and he was showing his concern, but I am impulsive and he managed to say just the wrong thing (or maybe I should say names). Which is weird, because usually he has this ability to always come up with the right one.
In this case, though, I suppose there wasn't a right thing to say to begin with.

Furthermore, in the silence surrounding me, I come to realize how deep and painful my state of solitude really is. Not that I ever was a people's person, but I am so confused and hurt that I would really like to have someone with whom I could share what happened to me in these last days.
When I think about the past events in my head, they feel surreal, like I've been watching myself living someone else's life.
Hidden in the darkness of this cold room, the truth is I miss a shoulder to cry on, even if that would mean being embarassed about it after.
Peeta is of course out of the question, and -aside from the fact that Gale isn't here- he couldn't be a valid option either, for obvious and identical reasons.

That makes me miss Prim and, in a chain reaction, it makes my heart ache. I made a promise to myself that once in the Capitol I would't have thought about her too much. Because thinking about her is just so painful, and really, what's the point in indulging in such unpleasant thoughts?

But I can't seem to shake the feeling that she would have understood.
At first, hearing me talking about Johanna, she would have been surprised to find out she was a girl. But there is no doubt in my mind that she would have listened to my ramblings, because she is smarter and more patient than anyone I know. And because, being my sister, she's not in love with me like Gale and Peeta are, which is of course a bonus.

She would have understood how deep and unexpected my feelings towards Johanna are, because Prim has always been able to read me like a book. She would have accepted them.
And maybe, just maybe, she would have come up with some useful advice or even some clever consideration that would have made me see things from another point of view.
Or, more probably, she wouldn't have been able to fix the situation (she's no god, after all), but I know she would have been happy to give me the comfort I am so desperately ashamed to need right now.

After two hours of thinking about Johanna, about a friend that I treated like an enemy, and a sister I won't be able to see anymore, I am watching the wall like it is the only cause of my misfortunes.
I feel the need to punch it.
Fortunately, I don't give in to my instincts, or I would have found myself with a broken hand and a very angry Haymitch to deal with. Not that I am suddenly concerned with my safety, I am still planning to die. But if there is a thing that has remained certain during these two days of complete madness that left me shaking with confusion, is that I still have to save Peeta. I still need to. That part of the plan remains unchanged. And in order to do that, I am going to need my hands. Both of them.

So I decide to go to the training centre in order to blow off some steam. Plus, I am positive that Johanna won't be there...she would't have the guts to show up, after yesterday, would she?

Okay, I am a terrible liar.

A part of me, one I am not particularly proud of, just wants to see her again. Maybe it isn't the universe that hates me, after all. Maybe I just hate myself.

xxxxx

I show up at the worst time possible, when lunch is over but training hasn't started yet. Perfect timing, really.

They are all socializing, and it's so unconvenient, because my intention was not making new friends. Peeta is surprised but happy to see me. He learned his lesson and he doesn't ask questions. I just stay close to him as he chats with a bunch of other victors, clenching his arm like it's an anchor.
Not saying a word, just nodding from time to time, I play the part I despise, the one of the shy girl in love with the noble guy.
I am too focused on what's going on in other parts of the room to care.

Not so far away, in fact, Johanna and Finnick are together. Their new found habit of playing the part of a happy couple that they seem to enjoy so much it's becoming more and more upsetting.
I don't know if she is aware I joined the happy party. I don't know if she noticed I wasn't even here in the first place. And even if she knows I'm here now, why would she care?
I notice that at the moment, though, they don't look as happy as I pictured them in my jealous mind. On the contrary, they are talking animatedly. Maybe they are fighting? Please, dear god, tell me they are fighting.

But no, now he's putting a strong, muscular arm around her, consoling her while showing his defined, left bicep. I bet he knows what he's doing.
She slaps his arm away, and I am gald, but she does it with a playful smile that kills me. I would give everything I have to hear what they're talking about. Instead, I just stare from the distance, so tense that I don't even notice my hands becoming two angry fists, fingernails soon causing red marks to appear on my sweaty palms.

When the actual training begins, I almost scream in relief. I abandon Peeta immediately and I almost sprint to the bow and arrows I've been dying to use since I 've entered the room.

The weapon I choose feels light and friendly in my hands. It fits perfectly.

I begin to shoot, aiming at the targets, and the calming effect I was hoping for rains down on me almost immediately. I happily drown in this temporary state of peace, with the kind of abandon a lover would offer to his loved one.

After the third shot, I am in the woods, oblivious of my sorroundings.
I am perfect, I feel good, my body is alive, my mind is switched off, there is nothing but the targets I take down with deadly precision. Sweat begins to cover me me like a warm veil, a soft cloud.

I don't know how long this goes on, but I know when I have to stop even though I'd like to go on forever, because I am panting, my breath erratic and uncontrolled.

When I stop, I realize I'm not in the woods, but in the training centre. Of course, I had completely forgotten.

The weird thing is, the room is so silent. It's almost as if...

And then I spot them, almost forming an ordinate line, all the victors in the room, still like statues made of marbles, ate watching me in disbelief.

I know from the surprised and terrified looks on their faces they have all been watching me while I was shooting. Peeta is among them.
Even Brutus is impressed: it must have been quite a show.

When they realize I am watching them too and the show is over, they almost run away. The crowd they formed dissolves quickly. They don't want me to know they are impressed, it wouldn't be a wise move. So they all return to what they were doing.

Something even weirder happens, though: Johanna is the slowest to react.

When everyone is gone, she is still there, barely five steps separating us.

Why is she standing there? Her expression is unreadable and I am so mad because I used to be the one who was able to undertand her just by looking at her eyes. Apparently, I lost this ability as fast as I had gained it.

I do something out of anger. Something I know I will be ashamed of for a long time. That doesn't stop me from doing it.

It happens in a blur. I find myself with the string of my bow tensed, the arrow in its place, aiming at her. I don't remember about moving at all.

I could kill her right now and she couldn't possibly do anything about it.

She doesn't move. I don't know if she is too surprised or if she's daring me to shoot. For a millisecond, I feel so powerful.
Then, the realization of what I'm doing and the implications the come with it hit me. The bow slips from my hands, falling to the floor. Regret washes over me. Some of the victors' heads turn, startled by the noise. The majority doesn't pay attention to what's happaning. It is all too fast.

I stare at her but she doesn't hold my gaze. Her eyes drop to the floor immediately, almost as if she doesn't want me to look at her. It's a weird behaviour coming from someone who's so brave and snooty, but in a way I am almost glad she doesn't look, because I am scared of what I would find in her eyes.
Fear? Hate? Indifference? Sarcasm? I don't know.

What I do know is that this is the moment when I have to admit to myself the last truth of the series. It's hard, coming to terms with it, and bitter: it almost feels like loosing. The last of my truths is that I won't be able to kill her like she swore she would. My bow will always and inevitably slip from my hands.

Because, even after all she said, after all those terrible words she used to describe what I was to her (or what I wasn't), after being seduced and betrayed and turned down, after all she managed to make me feel, do and say, after all she gave me and then took away from me in barely fourty eight hours, and because of it...
the truth is I still love her.

My love for her is irrational and so primitive. My love for her is alive in itself, it slips away from my control, it has its own mind. My love for her doesn't know her well, but it somehow knows it would have loved everything about her, and that is enough.
It's weak, like the flame of a candle, because it hasn't had the time or the possibility to grow. But in a way it is also strong and it refuses to surrender, because it is unconditional. It doesn't end just because it isn't met by an equal amount of her affection. It doesn't compromise. The fact that she doesn't love me is somehow irrelevant.
My love for her leaves me with no doubts: I would have adored her. I would have celebrated her. And I would't have asked anything in return.

And that is going to be an enormous problem when we'll eventually be in the arena together. Because there is nothing more stupid, irrational, unpredictable than unrequited love and the sacrifices you are ready to make because of it.