Your mind was a tempest, the aftermath of torment in the Capitol lingering like shadows, instilling falsehoods that branded the rebels as adversaries, not allies. Old friends morphed into distant echoes, their faces unrecognizable as you cocooned yourself in silence, retreating from the world. Morphine seeped steadily into your veins, a balm for your anguish, becoming your solace amid the roar of chaos. In the sterile confines of the hospital wing, Johanna shared your space, yet you were ensnared in a fugue where her presence hardly registered, her outbursts to the doctors little more than background noise to your addiction.

Then, one fateful day, she shattered your reverie.

"You look like a skeleton," Johanna remarked, her tone unyielding, though your reflection could scarcely argue with her "You need to eat something if you expect to endure the rehab nonsense they’ve planned for you," she added, exhaling heavily "Come on, let's just go get something to eat before I have to hear it from the damn head doctor again."

"I'm fine. I was fed today and I'm not hungry," you retorted, diverting your gaze.

Johanna scoffed, inching closer to the morphine drip "Don’t whine later when I hear the doctors’ complaints and have to give you more. You’re not fine; you’re an addict, a coward too scared to admit it."

"So what? It's none of your business," Anger surged within, and in a moment of blind rage, you pushed her away.