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He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was choking.
The- memories? Nightmares? -sensations clung no matter how much he reminded himself that he was fine, that he could breathe, that there were no hands on him and no bedsheets beneath him and he wasn’t choking, choking, he was choking-
No. He wasn’t. He wasn’t choking.
He was fine.
Even if he couldn’t stop feeling like he was still kneeling between someone’s legs, like there were still hands curled tight through his hair, like he was still choking-
Except he was sitting, not kneeling, and the only hands in his hair belonged to Johanna as she practiced weaving the bronze strands into tight little braids that fell across his vision.
And he wasn’t choking.
He took a breath, then a second, as if the simple act of drawing air into his lungs was rebellion.
See? He could breathe. He was fine.
He was fine.
He was-
The hands in his hair tug it sharply, and no, no, let go let go stop touching him let him breathe let him breathe let him-
“Finnick?”
He blinked, vision clearing as he focused on Johanna’s face above him. He took a breath.
He wasn’t choking.
“Finnick?” Johanna repeated.
He swallowed, then tried a smile that felt sickening when he still could feel phantom touches against his skin. “Yeah?”
Johanna scowled, seeing through the Capitol grin in a second. She always saw through him the way no one else did. Even better than Mags did, honestly. She just… could. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Odair. What happened?”
He let the smile slip, the feeling of choking flooding back. “What happened when?”
“You froze,” Johanna said stiffly. “Like you…”
Her hand was still tangled in his hair, the other under his chin, tilting his head up to meet her eyes, and the feeling of her skin against his was like knives, like itching acid that made him want to claw at his skin the way he’d used to when he was a child to try and make the memories stop.
“Finnick?” Johanna asked again, and he flinched as her hand brushed his throat and he was choking, he was choking and there were hands and mouths and skin, skin, let go, let go-
He gave in to the urge to dig his nails into his palms, sharp pain dragging him out of the memory that threatened to overtake him. “It’s nothing, Jo.”
Her dark eyes narrowed, and her hand was still against his throat and he didn’t want her to be angry with him, was she angry with him, please, he didn’t want her to be angry with him, he was sorry, it always hurt worse when they were angry so he didn’t want her to be angry he couldn’t have her be angry and choking, he was choking, and-
Not a client, he thought sluggishly. She wasn’t a client, and she wasn’t angry.
This was Jo.
He was safe.
He was fine.
He wasn’t choking.
He couldn’t be.
“Finn?” she murmured, worry in her voice, and he didn’t want her to worry, certainly not over him.
He wasn’t worth that.
He dug his nails harder into his skin, until he felt blood well and the ghost touch of hands recede. “I- I’m fine, Jo.”
“I said don’t give me bullshit, Finn. What’s wrong?”
What was wrong?
How could he even begin to explain-
This time, when the nightmares flood back Johanna tugged gently on his hair, just enough to get his attention and he clung to the slight pain instead of the feelings crawling all over him. “S- sorry, I… I’m, uh, just- I’m…”
“Finnick-” she started, then cut herself off as her gaze caught on his hands. “…Finn.” She grabbed his wrist, and he only flinched a little as she pulled his hand up, frowning at the crimson.
“Sorry,” he mumbled again, resisting the urge to yank his hand away, to dig his nails deeper into his palms and scrape red lines down his arms and thighs and where was rope, he should have rope, Gill always told him to practice knots when he wanted to claw at his skin so where was rope, why didn’t he have any rope?
“Not a sorry thing,” Johanna told him quietly, running her thumb across the half-moon cuts, and he knew it was supposed to be reassuring but instead it just made his skin crawl and there was touch all over, fingers running down his chest and across his jaw and between his thighs and-
He whimpered, knees hurting from kneeling even though he wasn’t kneeling and lungs screaming for air even though there was nothing in his mouth and hair pulled tight even though-
Oh. Wait. That one was real.
He blinked until he could see Johanna’s face again, until he could hear her worried stream of meaningless platitudes- it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here, you’re safe, it’s just me, I’ll protect you, you’ll be okay.
He ran his tongue over his teeth until he could think enough to speak. “Jo?” he whispered hoarsely. “Jo, you… hair. Hurts.”
“Sorry,” she said quickly, untangling her fingers and smoothing down the bronze knots she left. “I didn’t mean… I panicked. You weren’t responding.” She took a short breath, squeezing his hand. “Finnick. What’s wrong? I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”
“You can’t help me either way,” he reminded her softly.
“ Finnick. ”
He took a breath. Another.
Not choking.
He wasn’t choking.
“It’s just…” The words stopped in his blocked throat- even though he could breathe and he was fine, he was fine- “I’m just…”
“What do you need me to do?” Johanna asked instead, and that was an easier question, a safer question.
“Don’t touch me?” he mumbled, and he felt pathetic because fuck, how weak was he that he couldn’t even handle his friend touching him?
Johanna didn’t say any of that, and he doubted that she even thought it as she dropped his other hand and shifted away from him on the settee. “Done. What else?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, drawing his knees up to his chest, and the action always made him feel like a child but he’d been a child when they’d first started hurting him so in some way he would always be the scared kid trapped in silken bedsheets who didn’t even fully understand what was happening. “It’s just. It’s…”
“It’s what?” Johanna prompted, and he was choking, he was choking, he-
“I can’t breathe,” he gasped out, and Johanna snapped to get his attention.
“Look at me. Finn, can you look at me?” He did, and she nodded, grinning at him softly. “Good. Good. Can you, uh.” She paused, running a hand through the short spikes of her short hair. “Fuck, damnit, how does Blight do it again? Uh, breathe in? For… for one, two, three- four?” She held up a finger for each number, then hesitated on four. “Maybe four? Okay, hold it? Good. Good job, Finn. And out… out four again? Wait, no, shit, I think it’s out longer.” She shook her head, huffing, “Just breathe out with me, alright?”
He did, carefully following her actions until the memories faded into the background, until he could breathe and he wasn’t choking, until the world shrunk till it was just him and Johanna, breathing slowly.
He wasn’t choking.
He was with Jo. He was safe.
And he wasn’t choking.