It seems like a lifetime ago, when my mother was alive. Brushing my dark hair with her silver brush, kissing my forehead and promising to never let us get reaped. Before cancer stole her and her soft words and silky hair and bright brown eyes from me. I can sometimes see her reflection in a pool or water, or while I'm brushing my own hair in the mirror, because who do I have to do it for me now?

Now I train for the hunger games which my mother had tried so desperately to stop. Now I'm excited at the idea of slitting someone's neck open and watching them bleed out. The fight excites me.

She would be ashamed, of what my father's forced me to become. Would she have protected me from his belts around the face? His harsh kicks into the ribs? I think so.

I think about where I am now. Laying under Cato, we're the last survivors. But only one can win.

His hands are on my neck and we're both grinning. We can't be mentally stable.

"Do it" I breathe, I want it. What do I have at home anyway? It's lose-lose now. Kill him and win. But no Cato. Let him kill me, don't have to live without him back at home, but still no Cato.

His lips are on mine suddenly. So gentle at first, his lips brushing against mine. But I'm hungry for it. And my hands slide to his neck, pinching and scratching and trying to hurt him in as many ways as possible.

Lips still pressed together, his weight gives up a little and I sit up, climbing on to his lap and spreading my legs. His arms are round my waist, and are bodies are pressed together like I need to blend into him until we're one.

I feel his tongue graze over my bottom lip and my mouth is open, but our tongues are already in battle, fighting for the dominance we both crave.

And when he bites my bottom lip and tugs it my moan is loud, and clear. "Cato"

"What?" He asks roughly, moving toward my jaw line and I bite my lip to stop the gasp as he lets out his own groans.

I pull out my knife and press it in his palm. "I want you to kill me."

"No"

"Do it, Cato."

"No"

"Cato!"

"Stop your bullshit."

"Kill me."

"I don't feel like it."

"You're scared."

"No I'm not."

"Then do it."

"Nah, too easy."

"Hurry up you cunt."

"Shut up bitch, I'll kill you when I please."

My eyes flicker up to his face but he's looking at the ground. "What if I don't want you to die?"

"Cato..."

"You're a bitch Clove, why'd you do this to me? Attack me with your tongue, bat your crazy green eyes, cuddle up beside me at night, jump in front of bows for me and then ask me to fucking kill you? Not in this lifetime Clove."

I'm surprised. "I always wanted the big yellow house. With the flowers on the window, and the picket fence. You know the one?"

"You'd have to kill me for it" he smirked.

"Together Cato, because I won't kill you. I can barely say it. It's all too wrong. How the fuck did we get here?"

"Together."

He takes the knife I gave him and puts it to his neck as I pull out another and put it to my own.

"I don't think I've ever loved someone Clove, I don't really get the whole idea. But if I had to love someone, it would be you."

"Same here. I'd love you."

And as the blade presses to my neck and tiny drops of blood drip out, a tear leaks over and I'm furious. No crying.

"Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, our victors from District 2!"

My knife falls to the floor and within the second I'm in Cato's arms and I pull the knife out of his hands and throw it as far away as possible.

I'm laughing, a serious belly laugh and I can't stop.

"You know you're still going to have to kill me for the house right?" He whispers in my ear and I can hear the smirk.

My eyes sparkle. "You don't stand a chance."

So there we go. One-shot but I don't know if I want to continue it and have Clove and Cato be mentors? Or something. I don't know anyway.

~Nia