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F.
Cato could still recall Glimmer's desperate shouts. In fact, he didn't think he would ever be able to forget the tangible proof of his own cowardice and opportunism. But what could anyone expect from him, after all? He was a Career from District Two, a killer born only to bring pride to his family, a ruthless war machine. He wasn't supposed to have feelings, not even for his own blood, let alone for his rivals in these lethal Games.
That was the way he'd been raised, with pretty little stories on the art of fighting that had filled him with the conviction that there was no greater honor than volunteering as a Tribute and killing a bunch of kids for the pleasure of a hungry crowd. And so this was what he had become and, despite the small part of him wishing he was something else, when the situation had required it, he had pushed Glimmer to the ground and saved himself without hesitation.
And now she was dead.
Cato couldn't say he loved her, exactly. They had spent together only a couple of weeks and they had both known there couldn't be anything between them that could actually survive what was bound to happen. They had known that the sole purpose of their relationship was to bring sponsors to their side, to get the favor of the people in Capitol City and to put on a good show to be remembered by future generations.
This had all been very clear to them, but there were some things that just couldn't be prevented nor could they be ignored; despite their best efforts not to, they had ended up caring for one other.
And yet he had betrayed her.
As the cold water of the river smothered his flaming skin, as the soft cream soothed his stings, he regretted that impulsive choice more than anything else in his life. A deep guilt settled into his bones and, no matter what he tried to tell himself – that this was going to happen anyway, that Glimmer didn't have what it took to survive, that this just meant he was one step closer to finally going home –, it didn't seem to fade away in the slightest.
All he could think about was the fear Glimmer must have thought in her final living moments, and he was almost grateful for the one he was feeling now. Because, as he was seated in a rigid posture near the Cornucopia, only half-listening to Marvel rambling, he was pervaded by the greatest terror of his existence. Terror of having lost not only Glimmer but Clove, too. The girl was lying on her side beside him in that very moment, unconscious and fragile-looking.
Cato had suffered from monophobia for as long as he could remember. That fear of being alone, of being cast aside and forgotten by those he cared about had never truly left him over the years. If he dared enough, he could admit that that was one of the very few reasons why he had accepted to train for these games in the first place. He didn't want to anger his family, his father and brother in particular, both previous winners, nor did he want to let down his District with the accusation of cowardice. And so everybody else's opinions had slowly become more important than anything in the world, even more important than his very own dreams and ambitions.
Perhaps he hadn't taken this whole thing seriously enough; back at the Training Academy, whatever hard punishments had been inflicted upon him, he had never truly been in danger. Whatever cruel words his father had reserved for him, they had never had the power to truly hurt him. For all the complaints he had regarding his life, Cato couldn't say it hadn't been safe for him. He was only a bit too late now to acknowledge that.
Because he wasn't home anymore; he was in this treacherous Arena, monitored by careless people and supported by even worse ones.
Abruptly, he had the sudden urge to concentrate on something else, or he feared he might have a mental breakdown just there in front of hundreds of cameras. He forced himself to take deep breaths, and tried to tell himself that winning was the only thing that mattered to him, that the festivities that would follow it would make all this worth it, that he didn't truly care about either Glimmer or Clove, it was probably just his brain playing tricks on him.
But the more he thought about it, the less convinced he became. Because the only certain and recognizable feeling he was able to perceive was fear.
And fear was never rewarded in the Hunger Games.