It was the last night before the 74th Annual Hunger Games and both tributes from District 2 couldn´t sleep. It was not that they were scared of being in the Games, of course they weren´t. Clove and Cato were careers, and as a career they were ready for anything that could happen in that arena. Their problem was bigger than The Hunger Games, because they could fight the feelings, but they would always stay there, hurting and making their bodies burn in desire for each other. Clove was laying in her bed, staring to the ceiling and throwing at the wall some knives she earlier picked from the kitchen. Tack. Cato heared the sound of the first knife, the blade digging in the wall. Boom. The cannons were already sounding at her ears, making her bloodthirsty smirk grow. Tack. Another hole in the wall, another sigh. Cato would have to kill her, sooner or later - not that he wanted to. He hated to admit it, but Clove was unique, there was not another girl like her in the Capitol or in District 2. He hated even more to admit that there was no girl like Clove in the whole Panem. She was unique, and he would have to take that girl´s life in order for him to survive. Boom. The picture in her mind is not pretty, but the opposite; it was bloody, ugly and violent… just like Clove. She could see it, the face of the tribute whose life she took, with a sharp knife in the heart.
Lifeless blue eyes - she always liked those eyes, but not like that, in the that horrific picture. She liked them with the arrogant and confident glim that was usually teasing. But in that moment, they were staring at her, empty and dead -, dirty blonde hair and those lips she knew and remembered so well from all the times they were conected with hers. Those lip belonged to her since the first rough and passionate kiss - oh, she would never say this last word out loud. And the person laying dead on the cornucopia´s field was a boy. Cato.
Tack. Tack. Tack, followed for minutes of pure silence. Cato was worried after some moments, when the throwing knives suddenly stoped. He thinks about going there, to her new room, just like he used to do at the Training Center. But no he couldn´t do that. Cato had to push his emotions down and forget them as long as he could. Clove is surely doing the same, he things. And Cato is not totaly wrong. Clove would put her emotions aside and freeze them… if she could. Boom. It´s another cannon that she hears, but the sound is now so far away from her. The picture is fading, but Clove can see it one last time before it disappears. Her body is next to Cato´s, holding his hand. Her body… is dead, with her own knife in her chest. None of them was expecting it when Clove opened the door, so slowly it almost looked like she was afraid of something - and she was. Cato followed her with his eyes as the girl quietly walked to his bed. -One last time. - she suggests, climbing into the bed. Clove´s experrion is cold, determined and desperate, all at the same time. She wants him and she hates him for that. Cato feels exactly the same. As his lips crush against hers, Cato assures: -One last time. Both of them know, he is lying.