A/N: First time writing in 1st person!
For the record Cato doesn't carry a sword in this story; instead he's using a flail/morning star. That is, a flail-like weapon (with the handle and chain) connected to the star.
It's AU. Meaning, I derive from the original work but go on a completely new direction with new details (some of what's written might not coincide with how things go in the book/s).
Either way, hope you guys enjoy and leave some feedback!
It's all or nothing.
Night has fallen and there's a hot sticky breath against the side of my neck. If I hadn't already been trained to shove it aside, I'm sure I'd be taken by terror. Somewhere deep inside my chest fear still flickers faintly, an awful illumination I can barely dodge. Or the consequences of my split second of inaction, which ram me square in the ribs. Literally.
I should have known better. But these last couple days or nights have more difficult to withstand. Ever since… ever since Clove died, a painful realization dawns, one which costs seconds of reaction time, long enough for the muttation's gigantic limb to crash onto me again. This time it catches a section of my torso and knocks a huge whoosh of air out of my lungs. How am I still alive? I'm not exactly sure, but luck has nothing to do with it.
I push to stand just in time to get smacked again. If I didn't already have internal damage, I'm pretty sure I might have now. I almost panic. My heart thuds, blood rushes and I really can't stop and think about it. I can't consider anything but victory, getting out of this damned hellhole alive.
A claw makes it through my cheek at the same time a rush of adrenaline shoots up my arms and the feeling of dread grows heavier, overwhelming. "Fuck." If the burning sting wasn't enough to nearly overpower me, I can now taste the metallic pang of blood swirling in my mouth.
I raise my flail to break the creature's paw aside; however, I'm not dexterous enough to avoid the hit. I feel as the flesh is neatly cut apart, like a hot knife would've done through butter. It almost doesn't hurt, though I'm not fortunate enough to have the 'almost' on my side. It's too sharp, too clean. But it's definitely not without blood or pain. Oh no. I don't see, as much as sense it gushing down the side of my face.
I think I grunt, annoyed. Perhaps it's more of a groan than anything else. It's difficult to tell through the frustration and the ache that starts to build up. But in the end, such a thing is not what is going to stop me. I'm making sure of it already by countering its moves:
I swing my arm forward, twist my wrist and aim to hit the dog across its head. And despite the danger creeping around me I am pretty damn aggravated to realize that the beast is down already. Fuck me.
Suddenly, as soon as it had started, the dog falls aside and I look over my shoulder to see where an arrow has impaled its skull to the ground. I observe as the beast tries to escape its death hold. They, the dogs, these monsters, aren't natural. I've learned that, at some point, a couple years ago. It's difficult to remember with any sort of precision now. But I don't need to, after all what sort of animal would be able to keep moving after having their brain skewered through?
Though, it's not like I have any time to spare it a second glance, or thought, before confusion takes me over. Why would she do this?
I watch as the mutt finally slumps dead beside me. There's only one other tribute alive capable of having done this. So. Why?
My eyes dart across the dimness and that's when I take notice of many other mutations, in the distance. Oh hell. I have to grant her that this - attracting them to me - is a pretty smart move and a strategy that I hadn't even thought she'd use, much less against me. I know she has the guy wrapped around her little finger and that's a petty game. This, however, is nothing of the sort.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I cry, outraged and taken wholly by the sensations around me: mostly pain and an unfaltering urge to put my legs to good use and flee the scene. "I'm gonna gut you, bitch!"
The fact that I don't actually have a sharp weapon on me and that slashing someone open with a morning star is pretty difficult barely crosses my mind at this point.
Because my half assed excuse for a plan: to hope that the creatures would kill every other tribute, has been thwarted. I have been foiled by her little archery skills and there's no time to waste at all if I want to preserve my living state for long enough to make her pay.
I wheeze and try to not choke on my own blood. One dog, sure, I can take it. But there are a lot more of them circling me now. A full pack of at least ten, twenty, maybe more damn huge, salivating beasts are making their way towards me, where I stand, completely vulnerable on the floor. They seem to have been attracted by its comrades dying growls, or maybe just the stench of its rapidly decaying guts smeared on the ground, where the fallen dog has managed to slash itself wide open. Disgusting. The grass used to be green, but it's somewhere between pitch, inky black and thick crimson now.
"I'm going to get you!" I shout again, and it sounds every bit as angry as I feel at the moment. If either the girl or loverboy, whatever his name had been, are listening at all, then they don't seem to mind my fury.
They're too far behind for me to see their forms or listen to their reply. Not that I can force myself to care. Not when I know what they have in mind: my gory death. I am thinking exactly the same thing as the monstrous creatures draw closer. I should be trying to imagine an escape route in my head, instead, for some obnoxious reason, my eyes and mind focus on how the dogs stalk around me, in slow circles. I am hard pressed to not try and just try to make a break through. Very hard pressed. Fucking hell.
I run with the flail's blunt end trailing behind my head, though I don't get very far before one of the mutts catches up to me.
Teeth catch my leg and it's damn excruciatingly painful. The body armor crumbles under the pressure like a sheet of paper would've done when confronted with a scissor. I'd push my feet off but I'm fairly sure that would rip the tendons of my ankle, so I clench and am prepared to fight the thing away. At this point, I realize dryly that I must've been swearing aloud just a touch TOO loud because another arrow wheezes past my ear and what the hell does she think she's doing?
The beast slams down on the ground and spasms dead a couple inches behind me. I am thrilled for a whole second as my leg slides off its mouth. It would've been great but there are a number of others closing in.
For some idiotic reason, I stand frozen, breathing hard by the forest's edge. A good hundred feet of plain empty, bare land separate me from the structure ahead. It's risky, but what else am I supposed to do? Safety in heights and I can only hope that these fuckers can't climb, or at least that they are as clunky as me, because despite my size I am still vastly smaller than their massive, hulking forms, and that's an advantage.
The panic swirls harder and my insides feel like they have been knotted together.
Something, or rather, someone pushes past me and knocks my thoughts out of order. What the?! I barely have time collect myself or glance at the pair before a cacophony of growls snap at my heels.
"Run. RUN!"
"What?" I admit I'm not at my best because although I have already broken into a quick dash through the woods I can't quite help the shocked gasp, stupidly unable of understanding exactly what they mean. It quickly shifts into something harder and I have to fight back furiously on the urge to throw myself at pair and rip their throats off with my bare teeth. No, of course not. I don't think I am that mindless yet.
And I don't want to be known for imitating my mentor's feat to reach victory. That would be a low shot for everything I know I can do.
"You heard her." Loverboy speaks. He sounds subdued and unwilling.
Like I would never guess why.
"Why yes, I have." I scoff and my flail's handle is firm on my grip.
Maybe the leg wound is still holding him down. After all, I am sure he should have bled out like a pig within days of having me inflict that cut which should have severed through his tibial artery. Which means they have sponsors, somehow. From twelve? Unlikely, or maybe not, not with the act they've put up. One way or another, I don't have the time, or patience to consider the implications.
Yet, he's still alive and heaving like a madman a couple feet from me.
"Well then, you deaf? Run! RUN!" She repeats.
I snort and earn a glare from the girl which I match in intensity. Why am I even having this conversation?
I could end it all, but I don't. There's a pack of mutations high tailing our—my footsteps, so I don't pick a fight that I know I wouldn't be the winner of. I shake my head and a few bangs fall plastered, damp and bloodied, against my forehead.
"This is hysterical; you draw them all here and then expect me to go with your little plan?"
"Yes," she's close, and I see the bow in her hands shift back and forth, between me and the encroaching dogs. "Do you want to try and battle for your life with some dignity? Then run." She commands and my urge to throttle someone is back tenfold.
Dignity? If we weren't running through the arena for our lives, I would've tipped my head back and laughed. It's obvious she knows shit about either of these things and I am beyond fuming. There are no words to describe Firegirl and her nonsensical sense of morality. It's priceless. It's pathetic. And it's something that really wrenches my guts. Or maybe that's actually the internal damage.
Firegirl looks distressed now, like she's actually waiting for me to decide, as we dash.
"Fine, go!" I don't know what takes me over, but I roar at her and wait a couple seconds before adding: "Move it!"
I'm not sure if she's trying to get me killed by fleeing the scene with them, but staying here is not going to do any good either, so in a flurry of recklessness, I break through the space separating me from the cornucopia, both of them follow closely. Am I supposed to be their shield or something?
That's remarkably smart and I'm definitely at risk. The growls sound closer now, so close that I can imagine the creature's breath on my ear. I quiver at the thought of being caught by one of the dogs.
With that, I finally tumble across the final couple feet separating me from the structure ahead and practically throw myself at its walls.
Climbing the cornucopia is beyond trying; my sweaty, bloodied palm slides over the smooth metal over and over, and almost causes me to fall down a couple times. I scramble forward and I try to revel in the thought that at least this time around there's no mindless beast trying to grapple my legs down, but they are still too close behind. And if not munched on by razor sharp teeth, I don't want to risk being ran through by an arrow either.
It's easier said than done, however, I have the advantage of being first ahead. I don't help them up, though I don't push them down either, maybe twelve's words have really gotten to me and I do want to fight fair. Stupid.
Instead of collapsing, I sort of manage to prop myself upward against one of the structure's curves, and pull the flail's star against my hip.
They follow snug behind, shooting me these heated, half-dismayed looks. Clearly they would have preferred for me to get mauled during our race. I all but scoff. Really? Did they believe me to falter? I may be exhausted but am not that weak.
It sounds funny, even to me, how we all take a moment to catch our breath atop the metal platform. This is basic human nature: to flock together in moments of great danger. And these mutations, in a scale of how lethal everything around me might or not be, they definitely take the cake.
I've been taught to spin the moment around and use it for own gain, I know exactly what to do; just one move further. I want to, but I can barely put together a coherent thought. And there's this heat spreading through my abdomen, which I'm seriously hoping is not internal bleeding. I'm slipping. My eyes shoot wide open. I'm slipping. I force myself to ignore it. Focus. FOCUS.
"So. What were you saying about dignity, eh?" I start by raising my voice towards the pair, gruffly. "I don't—"
"Don't you dare talk to her!" Loverboy interrupts and I snap at him.
"I'll damn talk to whoever I want!" It's true. "And I wasn't the one who started it." Again, this is mostly true.
Only these are the real deal, the grand finale of the fucking hunger games and I'm not expecting to have a long drawn conversation about any sort of topic.
They glance at each other noncommittally and I know they're whispering about me as if I can't hear it. I feign nonchalance and fiddle with the chain on my hand, only damn if I'm not perfectly aware that there's an arrow fixed on my Adam's apple and a string yearning for release.
She nudges his shoulder. It's not a meaningful gesture, though I still capture it from the corners of my vision.
"Okay."
Something bobs within my chest and I'm about to spring forward, to move off the weapon's focus, thrust into action, when an rather powerful arm catches my waist. Oh, what the hell is he doing? At least Firegirl would've had a chance to take me out before we sprung into action. Does he think he can overpower me like this? There's no time or effort to talk, I grunt instead.
I hit the floor with a huff and we roll for a moment, until his legs are pressing me down on the hard surface of the cornucopia.
"Really think you can do this?" I tense and try to taunt but my voice is a touch took husky from having my head pressed low against the metal platform. "Shit!" My shredded cheek is firm against what feels like ice and it fucking hurts.
My cry must've been louder than I thought because I hear his smug reply crystal clear. "Sure. I'll manage."
In response, I flex my arms and push him off.
We struggle for another moment before he captures me on a headlock. It's such a dismal attempt at one that I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes as that would give me away. Seriously, does he not know that the intent behind the hold is not to cut one's air supply but to actually force the brain into shut down from the lack of blood supply? Probably not, I realize with my throat tight, they are just kids from twelve. Doesn't matter, he's strong and I am breathless from the hold.
"You're really no good, twelve." I hiss.
"Better than you'll ever be, monster."
I so hate the nickname.
"…you wish." With that, I force myself to move, breaking off his hold and turning the tables. He's strong. I'll admit to that. But I'm stronger and it's either that or passing out from blood loss and exhaustion.
My flail is on his skull before she has the time to twitch a muscle and defend him. It's not instantaneous. Loverboy falls forward but I can tell he's not dead.
For some reason, Clove appears in the front of my mind. She's bold, vicious, brilliant, and a blade twirls in her hand. Am I hallucinating? Damn. She would've killed in one hit. I, on the other hand, am not neat enough. One of the star's spikes lodges itself in the top of his skull and he buckles down, convulsing and bleeding all over the silver metallic surface.
I hear a shrilly scream of: "PEETA!" as I move to dodge the arrow that really never comes.
So that's his name. There, you fucker.
For Clove, I tell myself. I miss her, but I am glad she's not here. I wouldn't have wanted to kill her. He, on the other hand, poor loverboy, he was doomed from the start and somehow, everyone knew that but him. It's with some sort of ironic snort that I nudge the twitching body aside before turning back to the real deal. The grand finale.
"Yeah, well. Told him." I say, feeling rather self-satisfied and glance at the growing pool of blood by my feet, before focusing back on the girl.
The weapon IS of medieval design, long, clunky and heavy: it's not as nimble as a sword might have been or as precise as a knife, though given everything that has happened tonight, I can say I am pretty damn glad for having picked it up from seven's body a couple days ago. Too bad she couldn't wield it and ended up with a broken neck and a shattered jawbone. Not exactly in that order.
"You bastard!" She screeches again and it's beyond unsettling. Her bow wavers in her hand, but the arrow is still pointing too close to my windpipe for comfort. One wrong movement and I'll be choking in my own spit.
I'm not sure why she hasn't shot me yet so I don't say anything.
We stand there in silence for a minute. Lover- Peeta's body is still splayed a foot from me,
And then, of course, cannon booms somewhere above us and the bow in her hand moves, shaking until it's pointing directly at my chest, my heart. I can't tell if she realizes I am wearing body armor or if she's just trying to make a point. I twitch, feeling queasier by the second as warmth floods my chest.
"How could you, you bastard!"
"How could I?" I say, and push the flail forward again, threateningly, "I lost her too, now you know how it feels to lose someone! Fucking sucks doesn't it?" I sure think so, though there are far worse things happening at this point.
"You didn't love her."
I make a conscious effort not to dwell on these thoughts.
"And how the hell do you know? Like you loved him, right? Like you even gave a shit about—" I don't have the time to finish because there's an arrow flying in my direction. It hits me straight in the chest and although it doesn't manage to pierce through the body armor, the impact is still considerably painful and nearly knocks me off my feet.
"Monsters don't love, Two." Her eyes narrow and she glares at me. I straighten up again within a second and don't catch it happening but she has a second arrow pointed directly at me. It doesn't surprise me that she is still pushing for the upper hand.
"Like you would know a thing about that, right? Who's the monster here? You could've had me at the forest." I retort angrily. "But you didn't. You drew me here and look what happened!"
"I didn't kill him! You did!" It's difficult to tell for sure but I think she's trying not to break down or trying to convince herself of my deeds. "You did!"
I did kill him, there's figurative, as a well as very literal blood staining my hands and I don't regret it. After all, it would've been me in his place if I hadn't fought back.
I am, however, not entirely sure if I would've escaped the dogs back in the forest. So she really has granted me this easy victory, I realize as some sort of pride swells within me: in the end, I wasn't the one being foiled, after all.
"I can still kill you." She warns and I see one of her fingers twitch over the bow's string.
"Last arrow too, so you better make it count, bitch!" I taunt back, forcing myself to push the emotions away.
"Think I will."
"Yeah well, whatever. I don't see anything happening. So…" I drawl. "Time to join your precious loverboy."
"Shut up." She snarls.
And then the stupid arrow is hissing through the air, firmly pointed at a spot in my chest. Given how close we are from each other, only a couple feet separating us, ducking is nearly impossible. Although I move as fast as humanely possible, the projectile still hits me. I jump to the side and try to roll off its path, but it pushes against my shoulder and the pain which immediately envelops my upper torso is insane.
It's with some sort of thankfulness that I notice she has missed impaling my heart, mostly since I'm not sure the armor would've stood a second blow without crumbling away and leaving me exposed. As it stands, I'm neither dead, nor dying within the next couple seconds, however, every flex of my muscles is pure torture and I struggle to remain impassive for the moment I take to collect myself back up.
I raise my head and our eyes meet. Something fierce sparks between us. She stares at me with an expression that looks somewhere between apprehensive and just plain surprised that I didn't fall down or got skewered against the metal. I push myself back up practically gloating over her misfortune. Too bad.
"I'm going to fucking kill you." The pain is driving me on edge. I'm beyond fuming and she shrinks back when I take one step forward. Maybe she accepts her fate, maybe not. Either way, I can't bring myself to care at the moment, if ever.
"Go on." She spits. She actually spits a mouthful of blood on a couple inches beside my feet. "Monster."
It's not the word but the fearlessness which practically pisses me off further, beyond breaking point. Fucking hell, is she never going to get it? She's supposed to be trying to scramble away, not stand there like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Glad to." And I advance upon her. Firegirl is standing perfectly still in front of me and I close the distance between us without a second thought. In retrospect, it might not be the smartest thing I'd ever done, but right now, I just want to end it all, regardless of what it might take.
And it does take a lot out of me, since every step forward sends blood curdling pain shooting through my limbs.
I catch her wrist and push her up. She doesn't fight me like I had expected. She's defenseless, just another scrawny kid, while I'm almost a whole foot taller and much heavier. Instead of panicking she stands there, seemingly frozen to the world. It's unsettling to say the least.
I briefly toy with the thought of pushing her down the edge of the cornucopia and waiting for the beasts to devour her alive, but decide against it. It really wouldn't be a very satisfying ending, I think.
I move one arm, curling it around her shoulders and flexing against her bruised skin while the other pushes the flail on her stomach. I could snap her neck within a moment's notice but I hold back and apparently, she returns the favor by continuing perfectly still. The closeness is making me lightheaded, though I don't pull apart, not when I have her so helpless on me.
"Let me go." She's not pleading and I'm not holding her in my arms. Not even a hint of warmth makes it in the space between us. Something else does…
"Not sure, why would I do that?" I snort and it's weary and ice cold. Does she peg me as dim? Brutal, violent and… stupid?
She moves and I twist my arm. My heart pounds heavier and less certain when something cracks, loudly, in the space between us; suddenly she's hissing and spitting against my chest like a damn mad little shrew, which only further incites my reaction and causes my arms to tense around her. I realize, a couple moments later, that the sound was actually her wrist breaking.
It was never my intention to cause her the extra pain, though I'm not sure why that thought startles me.
There is no actual silence, the dogs are still yapping and snarling down bellow, yet somehow, her voice still manages to break through it all. It doesn't sound like the crackling wildfire I remember and although it's not exactly fearful, it hangs somewhere in between terror and resolute fierceness. She doesn't accept her fate and I'm not about to throw my life away to change it.
"Let me go." She repeats, this time sounding even more breathless than I feel.
Her braid is practically falling apart and in the breeze, her hair waves softly. It reminds me of Clove's and I'm so close I can gaze directly into her green eyes, which are a hue lighter than my now dead team partner. Hints of tears shine in them and I am thrown back by the realization. Fuck, this is not right. I hesitate. I NEVER hesitate.
"Okay, fine." I grunt at her, pressing my fingertips on both sides of her neck. For a moment, I push further: our faces are so close that I feel her shaky breath against my torn cheek and it might've hurt if my whole face weren't already so numb from the punishment it has suffered during the past couple hours.
I can read the surprise clearly as it flashes through her features when I pull back and let go of her body. I had seen that coming. I don't, however, expect the way she buckles down and falls flat on her knees a moment after. It is as if I had been the one holding her up and not some sort of impossible courage.
That's when I get it: everything that has just happened is a facade. Fake. She's terrified of me. She has a very good reason to, after all. I don't, or maybe I just can't relate to it. Either way, I try not to think about it. I will kill her. Despite the terror I have felt, and the staggering pain, my urge to break through and win is paramount. A girl from twelve isn't vital for my survival. Ending her life, on the other hand...
An idea pops in my mind, one that might please both the audience and, if that's even possible, end things on a better note. Or maybe it's just as dark, sick and twisted as everything thus far. I don't think so far.
"Close your eyes." I command, and draw the flail on my hands.
"What?" She asks, sounding exactly as if she were biting back on her confusion and keep the cool, brave outward layer from moments earlier. Though I can tell that it fails and falls through when her torso twitches on the floor and I see her hands try to cling to whatever surface they can find.
Maybe she's trying to keep her family the humiliation of seeing their kid beg for her life at the finale. I've watched it happen before and it's pathetic. So maybe that's her goal. I don't know, don't particularly care one way or another and don't want to think about it. Not now.
"I said close your damn eyes NOW, or do you wanna watch as it slams down your face?" I don't, however, repeat the same mistake twice. Instead of trying to keep myself from snapping, this time, I growl coolly at her, slapping one hand on my hip. The chains connecting my weapon's handle to the morning star crack and rattle on my other.
She winces, either at the movement or the tone, and this time, she IS trying to move away, scrambling backwards until she hits one of the raised metal plates by the cornucopia's hood.
"Thought not."
And then we stop.
I am idle for too long. I'm not sure why I'm doing this instead of just breaking her down and finishing whatever show this has become. Right now, I can practically imagine the sick, sated expression on these Capitol's bastards, probably delighted at how I overpower and stupidly draw things on and on. Maybe I've overestimated myself. This was never my intent.
"You're not going to do it, are you?" She asks and there's an edge of something back in her tone, it's pitched and gasped. It screams of faux fearlessness, an act to throw me off and an attempt at hiding her own weakness. I'm sure of it and I want nothing more than to wipe it off.
"And why ever would I want you to live, twelve?" I sneer down at her kneeling form before moving closer, and lower.
I'm not sure of what I am doing, so I blame it on the blood loss and the internal damage, again. It's failing me, since whatever has happened to my insides - which feel as if they have been tied together and ache dully - it just not a very good excuse any longer.
What am I doing? A cold bead of sweat runs down the back of my neck and I exhale the extra air in my lungs, slowly.
She just stands there; perfectly silent as we look each other in eye. If there's anything else transpiring from this moment, I am apparently immune to its meaning. I'm fairly tired of this game already and do want to get it over with, so after another moment of absolutely nothing going by, I continue.
"Do you want them to scrape your brains off the metal walk? What would your family think? Your sister?" I point out, though I know I'm lying, the gamemakers seldom focus on tribute's bodies being flown away, but who knows, maybe they'll want to draw out the drama. I, however, don't. Not for a moment longer.
As predicted, it's obvious she hates me mentioning her family, from the way her faces twist onto a slightly less coherent and much angrier expression. Well, it's just too bad, though I don't push further, mostly out of not knowing and definitely not caring for the details. She volunteered, I remember that much, though my personal interest only reaches so far. Anything else is up for anyone to guess.
And that eleven on training. Oh that had me damn furious, back then. Now everything which happened before the games feels like a whole lifetime ago and makes less sense by the minute. Eleven. What does it matter? At the moment. Nothing.
"Don't you dare." She screeches and I take notice of how desperate her voice sounds.
She moves frenetically and for a moment, I stand back, unsure of what exactly I am witnessing. The mad kick of a fight or flight reaction? Dunno. It's frenzied, a flurry of fabric as she reaches for the bow and points it at me, only there are no arrows so I ignore the movement as well as the stench of blood which reaches my nostrils.
"Yeah well, I'll dare whatever I want."
"Not with her, no."
Mostly, I just ignore it. It shouldn't matter, I'm sure there are a thousand and one cameras pointed at us and I shouldn't care, but I do. "One chance." I warningly push the star's spikes against her cheek, right on the purple bruises which blot her skin.
"For?" She asks, this time with nearly mocking, caustic sweetness. I am dangerously close to losing my grip on whatever is going on at the moment.
Of course she could try to run, but the dogs are out there and we both know they'd be on her before she'd managed to make it back to the relative safety of the forest's edge.
"Make it good." I shrug and take my time to drop beside her, crouching onto the metal and flattening my side against hers. The movement sends brand new ripples of fresh pain flying down from my shoulder and spreading everywhere. It's agonizing and impossible to ignore. I try not to act on it but we both see me shaking like a leaf for the second it takes me to pull together.
I just hope that the cameras haven't picked up on it. I have to.
She glances up, eyes narrowing and swallows down noticeably when I take a hold of her shoulder. "Like you'd care."
"Maybe." I reply. "Let's just get this over with."
It's not like she has much of a choice. Her wrist is broken in my hand and although I am not planning to choke her to death, the flail's chain is now wrapped around her throat. I push it off and swing it above my head, once.
"Okay."
Okay? OKAY? I don't give myself time to think of her choice of words or the fact that they nearly throw me off. For all I know, this is a ploy to get me to hesitate and if I allow it to work then she would have succeeded again.
Though I must have had taken too long, since she sneers at me and when eyes meet, for a second I can see the fire and brimstone in her green ones. This is why she is called Firegirl, after all. Though the thought doesn't strike my mind as forcefully as the resemblance with the other girl I used to know, who is as dead as this one is about to become. Unfortunately, for the fucking umpteenth time today, I am reminded of Clove.
"Just do it, monster."
I do. I can't wait for a second longer. I'm not sure who we're torturing here: is it me or her? After all, my heart is pounding loudly against the back of my head and I can hear the blood as it pumps, hot, in my veins. I feel like I might be the one dying and it only intensifies my sense of dread that, for some inane reason I wait a moment until her eyes have slid shut before, finally pushing myself into action.
"Good." I mutter under a breath, and then I let go, flexing my biceps to finally slam the flail down on her. "Good..."
It looks flawless, at first. The star whizzes through the air and my blood seems to spiral faster in my veins as I watch.
But she moves, she moves and the flail misses my perfect strike by inches. Instead of a neat blow to the side of her head - something I have practiced before and am sure I could pull off faultlessly - it lands somewhere between her chest and neck with a loud crunch which screams of shattered bone.
"What the hell are you doing!" Frustration spirals down my chest and I bellow at her.
I never get an answer because her body slumps forward against mine, her forehead touches my shoulder briefly and lolls down. At first, I think she might be unconscious, that I might have to repeat the gesture, so instead of lingering about with a half dead girl in my arms, I put my flail to use again.
This time, I make sure to aim correctly. It's still not as perfect as Clove's knifes would have been, and far bloodier. The star makes contact with the back of her neck. A gasp reaches my ears - of course she wasn't dead, damn – and I feel her body soften. It takes a minute before her muscles stop spasming and afterwards, I take another to set her corpse aside to rest on the floor, instead of gutting her open like I had threatened before. That would be more effort than I am willing to put into this. I breathe in her scent and it's not nearly as awful as anything I could've come up with. It's not sweet like other girls I've known, just musky, strong and nearly masculine.
My head turns upwards as a canon roars in the distance, deafening and I sigh under a breath I hadn't noticed I was holding. Finally.
It's almost too bad that she's gone.
Growls snap me off my own thoughts. The dogs, these hell-hounds are still yapping and snarling down below. One of them turns its nasty snout at me and for a split second, our eyes meet. They are vaguely familiar whereas far wilder: their anger and mindless viciousness surpasses mine, I think, though not without the satisfaction of knowing that no, I cannot possibly be the monster she accused me of being.
I had to do it. I had to. It was either me or her.
Ignoring the way my chest heaves forward, I call to them. "Wouldn't you like this?" My boot is firm on Firegirl's limp shoulder. The beasts actually howl up at me, like they are waiting for their meal. "Sure you would." My gaze sweeps across the other body splayed on the cornucopia, but I don't bother pushing either of them down.
I nestle down, feet away from either corpse and force myself to push my jacket off and throw it aside. The cold wind bites against my arms, but I barely have a mind to pay attention to that as I roll my sweater up my chest. I have to know.
As I'd feared, there's a large dark red blotch on my abdomen. I swear it grows larger the longer I look at it. Some sort of damage. I'm not sure and don't focus on it, not when there's a heavy pang of something panicky whirling through my chest. It's more physical than imagined. I feel like curling up and puking my torn guts out. I fight the urge off, though: I'm not about to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me falter.
And then I am being finally being crowned victor:
"And the winner... Cato, from District Two…" The tone booms, akin to thunder.
Yes, my name. Having known what is going to happen now, I barely pay attention to it or to anything else at all. I am alone now so I drop most of my guard.
For a long moment, which could have probably stretched for hours, my mind is… somewhere else. I stretch my legs over the metal plate beneath me and look up as the force field surrounding the arena appears visible, shining soft blue.
I barely pay any heed to the shifting, twitching form beside me, and only when a very human, very real and definitely pained groan reaches my ears do I snap my head around to look. My eyes widen immediately and I am sure I gasp, though the sound never quite makes it through to me.
Jesus. She's alive.
"Twelve?" I ask and my voice sounds strangely charged, unfamiliar even to my own ears.
She moves, or rather, tumbles onto her side and tries to reply with something but I don't understand a word of the gurgling. At least I think she's replying, though it's possible she's only crying out. I have no idea how she's not choking in her own blood, or that I missed her trachea, or how the fuck is it possible that her heart is still beating at all, after the canon sounded. I don't know, I have absolutely no idea and it startles the shit out of me.
Her eyes open, heavily lidded but I can see them, a swirling green hue and pain. Faint recognition flickers in them like a silent question.
"No. Not me." I murmur and if she realizes who I am, that I'm not her precious loverboy, she doesn't protest. Not when I move to stand or when I take one step closer and nudge her ribcage with my foot. "Sorry for not killing you properly." I realize aloud.
Only this time, I don't resume my blow. I don't swing the flail at her for once and for all, and I don't wait to hear the sick crunch of her brain being splashed against the floor. Instead, I sit beside her. There's no second announcement and I have no idea what to make of it. Surprisingly, I'm not angry. Maybe it's stupid - I am actually rather sure it is, but I've already been claimed the victor and I blame this on my current state of exhaustion. It's a good defense.
In the end, my hands are soaked in blood that is not my own and the emotion is far from positive.
I don't know what to make of this. She doesn't move to push me away, though I think that's because she's physically incapable of doing so, not quite a vegetable yet, but definitely on the way there. There's a gaping hole on the side of her neck from where the star pierced her skin through. I push back on the lump that has crawled up my throat and cradle her head with my palms. My heart is pounding violently and there's a sick headache brewing on the back of my skull.
I feel her pulse; I could end it all, I could snap her neck and lull her back into whatever world she has woken from.
I don't and I have no clue what is stopping me.
Where are they, the Capitol lapdogs who will take me away, anyway? Are they waiting for me to finish it all for her? For me to show her one last shred of kindness? Or is it kinder to let her live? A sudden, bitter wave of liquid insecurity floods my chest and I only manage to take a hold of it by forcing myself realize that cameras around me, still taking in my every angle and that faltering is something I want to fight against.
I don't know what to do, though. I've won, now what? I've watched every recap of every game thus far. I know one too many victors from Two and I never expected to fail achieving my goal. If I had, I wouldn't be here. However, even that knowledge doesn't help me in this situation, not with her.
I'm pretty sure I am going insane and the games have gotten the best of me, but I don't let go of her body. It's a unique situation, one which I have caused. And that, well, that can't be good. I should know much better but I still ignore my most basic instincts and keep her in my arms. There's something different about this and I don't question what.
Firegirl's limp and only a touch warmer than the icy metal around us, maybe dead, maybe not. Probably not, since her chest quivers in my hands and she moans something as I shift to a less painful position, sitting down atop the cornucopia.
"Yeah I know." I am damn sure she can't hear me, though I still nod down at her face. It's mad but the slight warmth rolling off our joint bodies is nearly comfortable. Soothing.
Yup. Definitely going out of my mind.
At some point later, a hovercraft appears high up above me, seemingly out of nowhere. I tense as it descends and wrap one hand around her shoulder, pushing her up with me. Given our relative weights, it's easy – too easy – to just carry her.
When someone waves at me to rush inside, I do it, stepping down the cornucopia and leaving the arena behind for once and for all.
I am the sole victor but I am not alone.