Johanna grins, and I feel a slight but significant shift in our relationship. I don't know that we're actually friends, but possibly the wordallies would be accurate. That's good. I'm going to need an ally.
The next morning, when we report for training at 7:30, reality slaps me in the face. We've been funneled into a class of relative beginners, fourteen- or fifteen-year-olds, which seems a little insulting until it's obvious that they're in far better condition than we are. Gale and the other people already chosen to go to the Capitol are in a different, accelerated phase of training. After we stretch - which hurts - there's a couple of hours of strengthening exercises - which hurt - and a five-mile run - which kills. Even with Johanna's motivational insults driving me on, I have to drop out after a mile.
"It's my ribs," I explain to the trainer, a no-nonsense middle-aged woman we're supposed to address as Soldier York. "They're still bruised."
"Well, I'll tell you, Soldier Everdeen, those are going to take at least another month to heal up on their own," she says.
I shake my head. "I don't have a month."
She looks me up and down. "The doctors haven't offered you any treatment?"
"Is there a treatment?" I ask. "They said they had to mend naturally."
"That's what they say. But they could speed up the process if I recommend it. I warn you, though, it isn't any fun," she tells me.
"Please. I've got to get to the Capitol," I say.
Soldier York doesn't question this. She scribbles something on a pad and sends me directly back to the hospital. I hesitate. I don't want to miss any more training. "I'll be back for the afternoon session," I promise. She just purses her lips.
Twenty-four needle jabs to my rib cage later, I'm flattened out on my hospital bed, gritting my teeth to keep from begging them to bring back my morphling drip. It's been by my bed so I can take a hit as needed. I haven't used it lately, but I kept it for Johanna's sake. Today they tested my blood to make sure it was clean of the painkiller, as the mixture of the two drugs - the morphling and whatever's set my ribs on fire - has dangerous side effects. They made it clear I would have a difficult couple of days. But I told them to go ahead.
It's a bad night in our room. Sleep's out of the question. I think I can actually smell the ring of flesh around my chest burning, and Johanna's fighting off withdrawal symptoms. Early on, when I apologize about cutting off her morphling supply, she waves it off, saying it had to happen anyway. But by three in the morning, I'm the target of every colorful bit of profanity District 7 has to offer. At dawn, she drags me out of bed, determined to get to training.
"I don't think I can do it," I confess.
"You can do it. We both can. We're victors, remember? We're the ones who can survive anything they throw at us," she snarls at me. She's a sick greenish color, shaking like a leaf. I get dressed.
We must be victors to make it through the morning. I think I'm going to lose Johanna when we realize it's pouring outside. Her face turns ashen and she seems to have ceased breathing.
"It's just water. It won't kill us," I say. She clenches her jaw and stomps out into the mud. Rain drenches us as we work our bodies and then slog around the running course. I bail after a mile again, and I have to resist the temptation to take off my shirt so the cold water can sizzle off my ribs. I force down my field lunch of soggy fish and beet stew. Johanna gets halfway through her bowl before it comes back up. In the afternoon, we learn to assemble our guns. I manage it, but Johanna can't hold her hands steady enough to fit the parts together. When York's back is turned, I help her out. Even though the rain continues, the afternoon's an improvement because we're on the shooting range. At last, something I'm good at. It takes some adjusting from a bow to a gun, but by the end of the day, I've got the best score in my class.
We're just inside the hospital doors when Johanna declares, "This has to stop. Us living in the hospital. Everyone views us as patients."
It's not a problem for me. I can move into our family compartment, but Johanna's never been assigned one. When she tries to get discharged from the hospital, they won't agree to let her live alone, even if she comes in for daily talks with the head doctor. I think they may have put two and two together about the morphling and this only adds to their view that she's unstable. "She won't be alone. I'm going to room with her," I announce. There's some dissent, but Haymitch takes our part, and by bedtime, we have a compartment across from Prim and my mother, who agrees to keep an eye on us.
After I take a shower, and Johanna sort of wipes herself down with a damp cloth, she makes a cursory inspection of the place. When she opens the drawer that holds my few possessions, she shuts it quickly. "Sorry."
I think how there's nothing in Johanna's drawer but her government-issued clothes. That she doesn't have one thing in the world to call her own. "It's okay. You can look at my stuff if you want."
Johanna unlatches my locket, studying the pictures of Gale, Prim, and my mother. She opens the silver parachute and pulls out the spile and slips it onto her pinkie. "Makes me thirsty just looking at it." Then she finds the pearl Peeta gave me. "Is this - ?"
"Yeah," I say. "Made it through somehow." I don't want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him.
"Haymitch says he's getting better," she says.
"Maybe. But he's changed," I say.
"So have you. So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beetee. Don't get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena messed us all up pretty good, don't you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?" she asks me.
"No," I answer.
"That's the one thing I think my head doctor might be right about. There's no going back. So we might as well get on with things." She neatly returns my keepsakes to the drawer and climbs into the bed across from me just as the lights go out. "You're not afraid I'll kill you tonight?"
"Like I couldn't take you," I answer. Then we laugh, since both our bodies are so wrecked, it will be a miracle if we can get up the next day. But we do. Each morning, we do. And by the end of the week, my ribs feel almost like new, and Johanna can assemble her rifle without help.
Soldier York gives the pair of us an approving nod as we knock off for the day. "Fine job, Soldiers."
When we move out of hearing, Johanna mutters, "I think winning the Games was easier." But the look on her face says she's pleased.