Pure Torture: a Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 8

Katniss

I must not have done a good enough job on my interview. My torture (treatments, they call it) gets worse. Sometimes they come to get me from my white, cold cell up to 3 times every day. They're accelerating the process.

Whatever they give to me, it has the desired effects. I feel terrible every day, always cold and hungry. I drag myself from nightmares of fire mutts, arenas, torture, and scariest of all: Myself.

As if my so-called treatments aren't enough, it gets worse. I have a theory that they alternate mine and Johanna's tortures. When I'm in my cell, they have Johanna. When they have me, Johanna's in her cell. This way, we always hear the other's screams.

Days come and go with countless nightmares and tortures. I can't imagine how I look based on how I feel. I must look dead, or worse than that. I'm glad they aren't doing anymore interviews. At least, it doesn't seem as if they are. I find a little comfort in that.

However, what little I find in that is short lived. One day, they come in and bring me to another prep room. I'm dreading this. What if I can't do well again? These questions haunt me as I'm escorted to the room. I'm terrified when I realize that one of my escort guards is the man who talked to me before my first interview. He grabs my arm, and pulls me to him before I can get into the room.
"Hey, Darling." He says to me.
I don't respond, hoping it'll all go away.
"I said Hey, Darling." He repeats, louder.
I still remain silent.
"Got anything to say back to me?" He says, insisting. He won't stop.
"What?" I say quietly.
"How are you?" He asks, whispering in my ear.
I take a deep breath before replying.
"I'm great." I lie, trying to get out of the situation.
"Smart girl. Good answer, Darling. Which leads me to what I'm about to tell you. In this interview, I want you to read what's on the monitors above the cameras, and say it out loud. It's scripted. And you know what else you're going to do? You're going to act as if nothing is wrong. Nothing at all." He says.
I nod.
He pulls me closer to him and pushes my hair behind my ear.
"Good luck, Darling." He whispers, almost seductively.
He lets go, and walks away.

I rush into my prep room. But when I walk in, it's not my prep team inside. It's Johanna.
"Johanna?" I whisper.
"Hey, Brainless." She replies. She gives me a sad smile.

Johanna looks so different. Her head is almost bald, her face purple and red in some places. The dark circles under her eyes are immense.

I turn to look in the mirror at myself.
My hair, still long, is tangled and frizzy. My small, emaciated body is covered in cuts and bruises and scars. But I think it's my face that looks worst.

My eyes are bloodshot and the dark circles are even worse than Johanna's. My face is covered in red marks and small cuts. My neck is purple from all of the injections. My cheeks are slightly bruised. My lips are cracked and dry, scars mark my face. Some, like the one below my eye and the one on my forehead, are from myself and my life before all this. Others, like the one on my chin and the ones on my other cheek, are from here. I don't even look like myself.

Johanna's voice calls me back from my focus on my reflection.
"So, I guess this interview is different. My guards say I don't have any lines and that its just you doing the talking. I just have to stand there and look good." She says.
"Shouldn't be too hard!" She adds, cracking a smile.
I laugh a little. It's the first time I've laughed in a long, long time. It feels good, although it hurts my body.
"We both look a little worse for wear." She says.
"A little? Face it, Johanna. We look awful." I reply.
"Okay, maybe we do look pretty bad." She says.
"But don't worry, nobody else will notice it. Our stylists will make sure we look amazing." I say in mock reassurance. Of course they will.
"I wonder what I'll be talking about." I say after a while.
"I don't know. Could be anything. You'll probably be talking about Rebel actions. " she says back.
"Probably." I say.
The conversation stops again.
"Katniss?" She asks me.
"Yeah?" I reply.
"We're going to get out of here." She says to me.
"This is all my fault. you're the one who could get out. I don't deserve to be rescued." I say to her.
She gives me a look.
"I'm serious." I say.
"No. This isn't your fault... This is the Capitol's fault. They're doing this to us." She says back.
"Something like that," I say, "I hate myself. I can't wait for them to decide to kill me. I deserve it."
Johanna doesn't answer.
"It's true." I say.
She looks at me again.
"Katniss, stop. Stop saying that. What have they done to you? You aren't making any sense. They've brainwashed you!" She says.
"No they haven't. They've shown me who I really am." I reply, blankly. But when I answer her, it doesn't feel like myself talking. It's not me. I fight to get back to her, to fix what I've just said, but it's too late.
She covers her mouth with her hand. I see tears in her eyes. I know why. She's realized that Snow can hurt her now. She has people she loves, at least, she has friends. Me. He's hurting me which hurts her.

Our conversation simply ends there. The Prep teams enter our room and begin working on us. They cover our scars on our bodies with clothing, but the ones on our faces have to be smothered in makeup. When they finish, I look in the mirror with Johanna.

We don't look very good. The cuts and bruises on our faces are mostly covered, but a lot of them are quite visible. They dark circles under our eyes are visible as well, but aren't as intense. Our hair looks fine, and our clothes normal. It's not enough to make us look fine, as if nothing's wrong.

Makeup can only do so much.