Author's Note:
I wrote this chapter a year ago, after I watched (and rewatched) the Hunger Games in the theatres. Then like my usual self I went to over-analyse the characters and alas... I decided to jump on the Cato/Clove bandwagon and write about them in the 74th Hunger Games.
What woke me up from my slumber wasn't the fact that it was shining bright outside but rather, the soft murmurs of a beautiful girl beside me. My eyes opened and her blissful face greeted me. Her blonde hair was all over the place, but instead of making her look messy, it just made her look more beautiful. I grinned as I planted a kiss on her lips, and her eyelids fluttered open, a soft smile dancing on her lips.
"Mornin', sleepy bird," I whispered.
"I'd say the same to you, Cato," she giggled. Her soft, melodious voice had a strange calming effect over me, and it was all it took for me not to pull her under the covers with me and just lie there. But we couldn't. It was the day of the Reaping, and I was excited as hell for another chance to get sent into the games. Lyssa – the girl who was in bed with me – was a Career, just like I was, but unlike me, she didn't want to go into the games. Or rather, she didn't want to go into the games if I was adamant about going in. And how could she? What if we were the last two alive and we were stuck in a deadlock, wondering who should die?
I mentally shook the thought out of my head. No, that wouldn't happen. Both of us wouldn't get reaped together, and I wouldn't have to face the choice of having to kill the one girl I love. Besides, Lyssa would rather kill herself than to kill me. That, she told me.
Pushing the covers over me, I jumped out of bed and stretched. Lyssa stared at me with those brilliant blue eyes of hers, her shirt wrinkled from tossing about in bed. I had to leave, to get back to my own house and look presentable for what laid ahead in the afternoon.
"I'll see you later, Lys," I gave her another peck on the lips, before slipping out of her bedroom through her window.
I squeezed in with the other boys of my age from my district, an impatient look on my face as we all waited for the Reapings to begin. Being from District 2, the Hunger Games was an honour and a prestigious event that us children itched to enter. My father, being a peacekeeper in the district, expected a lot from me and my training. He expected me to enter the Games some point in my life, and come back alive to make him proud. I expected no less from myself either. I could do it. I was a lot taller than the boys my age, and while training in the district I was obviously a lot stronger and skilled than they were. This year was going to be my year.
My eyes scanned through the crowd to look for that familiar blonde, and grinned when she turned to face me as well. Good luck, she mouthed towards me, and likewise I did the same. But before she could open her mouth to tell me something else, our district escort, Balthasar Greer, a man in a disgustingly ugly green suit and a mouth stuck in a permanent pout, tapped the microphone to command our attention.
"Greetings, District 2! Happy Hunger Games!" he made out in a thin, tenor voice. I snorted as his voice hitched on 'happy'. Balthasar was an awkward man, unlike the other escorts I've seen. It was as if he was forced into this and didn't have a chance to back out. I used to remember the days where I would made fun of his voice with…
My mouth set into a firm line and stopped my though. No, I didn't want to venture into that part of my past. It wasn't worth digging back up.
I was barely listening to the Treaty of Treason that Balthasar was droning on about, and his attempts at trying to crack jokes brought a smirk on my face. If it wasn't illegal I might have snapped his neck, just to spare my district and himself from further awkwardness. When finally, his thin hand reached into the bowl that contained the names of the possible boy tributes, I stood up straight. My name was in there for more counts than I can remember. I had no need for tesserae, but simply because I wanted to up my chances of getting reaped into the games. I was mentally urging Balthasar to pick out the slip that held my name. Cato. Cato. Cato.
"Roman Stafford!"
Dammit! I thought. I was so sure that it would be my name that Balthasar would read out, but instead, a gangly boy who looked like he could barely lift a sword was starting to make his way towards the podium. I decided that I would save him from the embarrassment.
"I volunteer!" I lunged forward, pushing the boy behind me, and made my way up the podium even before the peacekeepers could stop me; even before Balthasar had the time to react; even before the boy could take his next shaky breath.
"Well, it looks like we have our male tribute! What's your name?" Balthasar said nervously, tugging at his mismatched bowtie.
I rolled my eyes and smirked before announcing my full name, my chin tilted up in arrogance. When Balthasar asked for other volunteers, no one dared to speak up. Not when they knew of my power. They wouldn't dare, because even if they came back alive, they knew what I was going to do to them. And that was that. I was the male tribute of District 2, and I was proud of it.
"And now for the ladies," the escort trilled, and stuck his hand in another bowl which held the names for the female tributes.
"Lyssa Abraham!"
The smirk was wiped out from my face as I made eye contact with her. I could see that her muscles were tensed, and her eyes were widened in disbelief. She didn't move, until the people around her started to push her forward. I wanted to shout at them, to keep their hands off her, but my voice never made it out. But before she was even pushed out of the crowd, another girl stepped forward.
Clove.
"I volunteer," her voice was soft, but it was firm. In this hushed silence, her voice was able to carry to the front of the podium. She made her way confidently towards Balthasar and me, her face defiant, and void of any other emotions that us Careers would deem as weak. Yes, Clove was a career like I was.
If I could see my face right now, I would definitely see a flash of anger, a flash of unhappiness. Out of the thousand odd girls in my district, Clove volunteered? For one, I was fucking pissed off about this arrangement. I didn't want Clove to be in the same games that I was. I didn't want her to be my district partner.
It wasn't that she wasn't good enough, or that she was too weak. This arrangement was simply not favourable, and it would drag up too many memories that I had kept repressed inside of me. I was furious. Was she doing this simply to get back at me? Was this purely out of spite?
My anger blocked out Balthasar's words, the district's applause, and my father's proud looks. I could barely see past the red haze that had taken over me. All I could think of was how I would like to get rid of Clove as fast as I could.
Her brown eyes met mine as we shook our hands, as customs would have it. "Hello again, Cato," she said with a cold smile that never really made it to her eyes. The way she said my name was venomous, as if she wanted me dead as well. But I knew she wasn't that simple. I couldn't decipher what that had meant. I never could.