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･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
She was shaking. Her hands trembling in her lap as tears brimmed her eyes, even though she didn't fully understand yet. Existing pool of Victors. She pushed out a shaky breath.
Was this her fault? Had their riots done more than they intended? After that one time, now weeks ago, she'd spent most her time inside to prevent walking into something like that again. What she couldn't see, couldn't hurt her. Except it could. She could go back to the Games. She would not survive again, she'd be dead before she entered the arena.
Her friends would go back, too. Cecelia, Neil, Wood... She couldn't lose any of them. Thinking about them possibly being in there was unbearable. If she was in there or not, she doubted she'd survive. At least there was a chance her name wouldn't be pulled. Not everyone had that luxury. Johanna didn't.
The sudden realization pressed the breath out of her. Odette might go, Johanna would. Her bones felt heavy as images flooded her brain. Johanna could die. Johanna would be in the arena again in just a few months. Air wouldn't reach her lungs, and it made no sense. The prospect of Johanna dying was more terrifying than her own death.
She hadn't called Johanna in weeks, though the stacks of letters on her desk was ever growing. She needed... She needed to talk to her. She needed to ask if she was okay, though of course she was not. She needed to know Johanna wouldn't do anything stupid. She needed to be there for her.
"Why are you looking like that?" Freya huffed as she entered the room. She'd been particulary bad since Odette had basically looked both of them inside. Most days, she could deal with it, not that day.
She sucked in a breah, trying to stabilize herself. "Nothing, Mom," she forced a smile on her lips that watered down when her mother scowled at 'mom'. "I need to call someone." It was more to herself than to Freya. There were more things she needed to do. Go to the other victors of eight, try to calm her spinning mind, but the only thing she seemed to be able to do was call Johanna. The others would come later.
Odette was surprised her legs moved, that she did not fall to her knees when she tried to stand. Everything about her body felt weak, unfunctional. Still she managed to get to the phone, her mothers mumbling disappearing behind the door she carefully closed.
She was breathing hard when she dialed the number, more out of breath than she should be. It was hot in the house, despite the snow outside. She was three rings in when Odette reliazed Johanna would not pick up. She never did, why would she after that news?
The click was familiar, and Odette felt guilty for the relief that washed over her. What could she even say to her? There were no empty comforts to be given, and Johanna would see right through her kind lies. She should hang up, but she could not.
