Please read this first: Before you start reading my fanfiction, please try to understand the angle I'm going for here. I made Cato and Clove strangers who at the same time have a backstory so that they could slowly fall for eachother before and during the Games. I am really not great at writing casual conversations, so don't hate. I have written parts of the feast scene and Cato's death, and I think dramatic scenes are my strong point, so I hope you'll stick around to read those. c: I'm sorry if this first scene is boring for you.
I have decided I am going to write parts of the book from Cato's point of view, but not the whole book. The parts I'm doing are the reaping, the tribute parade, the bloodbath, the tracker jacker scene,one random night in the Games, the announcement of two winners, the feast scene, and Cato's death. Thanks!
I remember the first time I ever talked to her. I was thirteen years old. My Dad had gotten drunk that night. As I ran through the rain, to the training center, his words echoed through my head. You're worthless, Cato, he had said. Why are you such a disappointment? Why won't you volunteer? I saw you training the other day. One of the trainers beat you in hand-to-hand combat. Do better next time. Volunteer, volunteer, volunteer… My father had followed me through the house, screaming at me, while my mother stood idly by and watched. She always says she loves me, but never tries to stop when he hits me. She's never once tried to put a stop to the abuse. Insult after insult came my way, until I couldn't take it anymore. "Dad, shut up! Why are you so obsessed with me and my training? It's pathetic, you know. Just because you were never good enough to volunteer for the Games doesn't mean you have to push me so hard. I don't have to be perfect all the time. I can make one mistake. Grow the fuck up and get over it!"" I had screamed.
I was in a blind rage, but the instant the words were out of my mouth I regretted them. My father's eyes got wider and wider as I spit the words out at him, until finally he barreled towards me. He wrapped his hand around my throat, pinning me to the wall, and raised the beer bottle he had clutched in his hand high above his head. Before it could make contact with my skull, I kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying into the kitchen, and ran out of the house before I could suffer the consequences. I started sprinting down the street, squinting through the rain that was pouring relentlessly onto my district. There was only one other place I could think to go in the rain, and that was to the training center. Good place to blow off steam, I thought.
I stormed into the building, not bothering to lay low. No one would go to the training center that late at night. I instantly headed towards the room where guys of my stature usually train and decided to practice throwing spears. It's not my strong point, and it had some room for improvement. I had raised my second spear, ready to throw it at a target, when I heard a cry of frustration coming from another room. The spear left my hand and hit the target to the left of the one I was aiming for. I started cursing in frustration and ran to the room I thought the sound had come from. I stopped in the doorway as soon as I saw who it was.
I'd seen Clove often enough around town. I'd heard plenty of things about her, about her skills. I'd studied her in school, fascinated by this mysterious girl who was apparently so talented with knives. But I'd never seen her use that talent until that night. Clove had a large, wicked looking dagger in her hand. She turned towards a target, threw the knife and hit in right in the center. Before I could say anything, she had grabbed two more from her belt and threw them at two separate targets, hitting them both in the center at the same time. I took a step towards her and she whipped around, eyes alert and knife raised. "Um.. Cato? What are you doing here?"
I'd always thought Clove was pretty. Whenever I was sure no one was watching me, I would steal glances at her in class or in the hallway at school. Seeing her train just made my fascination with her grow. "Well, I could ask you the same question," I replied. "You made me screw up on my training." This is the guard I put up with everyone. Everyone knows me as Cato, the conceited guy with insane survival skills.
"Oh, is that right? Well, if you're half as good as everyone tells me you are, you wouldn't let sounds coming from another room distract you from training," Clove said. I expected her to be hostile towards me after I snapped at her, but she looks at me with challenge in her eyes and a smile on her face.
"Oh. So you've heard about me, have you?" I joked.
"Honestly, Cato. Who hasn't? And I see by the look in your eyes you've heard about me as well. It's too familiar," she paused, hesitating on her next comment. "What do you say you help me with my training? I've been needing someone to practice with…"
And with that, we spent the whole night together. We practiced our weapon training, hand to hand combat, endurance skills, and climbing. By three AM, we were both sweaty, and tired. We ran to the benches lining the room and got ourselves water. As I bent over to grab a towel, I felt a bucket of cold water drench me from head to toe. I whipped around to find Clove standing there with an red bucket in her hands, laughing her head off. "Oh, sorry Cato. You just looked a little warm." Before she could react, I picked her up by her legs and started running outside, with her in my arms. I was only thirteen but incredibly strong for someone my age. Carrying Clove was much easier than lifting the bulky weights from the training room. Outside, it was still pouring rain, and I carried Clove under the gutter, where there was a steady stream of water pouring out. In seconds, she was drenched.
I stayed outside with Clove for hours, laughing, flirting, and talking. By the time we parted, it was 5 in the morning, and I slipped into the house through my bedroom window. My father would never remember I was gone, by the state he was in. I went to bed that night with thoughts of Clove with her long, brown hair covered with raindrops, her face lit up with a smile. That was the first time I've ever seen her without a scowl on her face, I thought. She's guarded, like me.
For weeks, Clove and I didn't acknowledge each other in school or around town. But one day, I was sitting on the outskirts of the district, avoiding my family, when I heard someone creep up behind me. It was Clove. She calmly walked up to me and sat down beside me. For a few minutes, we didn't say anything. We just stared off into the distance, watching birds fly over the far-off mountains. Then, we began to talk. I talked with Clove for hours that day. I told her about my family, the abuse I'd suffered at home, and how badly I wanted to volunteer for the Games. She opened up about her aunt, who had volunteered for the Games when she was sixteen and never made it out. Because of this, her mother pushed her to volunteer, as if Clove could fill to void left in the family by winning the Games. Only for some reason, Clove didn't want to volunteer, which struck me as odd. Clove would have as good a chance as anyone I know to win the Games, and who doesn't want to go into the arena? Who doesn't want to be showered with riches and become victor?
No matter. Better that she's safe home in the district, I thought. Then I shook my head to clear those thoughts out of it. I could feel myself falling for this girl, and love is something a guy like me cannot afford.
For a few more hours, Clove and I shared with each other the details of our lives, every in and out that had never been spoken aloud. I had no idea why I was even talking to her. All I knew was that it was easy to trust her, easy to like her. And I liked the idea of having her by my side all day. After a comfortable silence had settled over the conversation, I looked over at Clove, a smile tugging at my lips. She lifted up her head and stared back at me, and whispered the words I have not forgotten to this day. "You know, we barely know each other, but at the same time we know everything about each other." I took in the truth of her words. It was plain bizarre, the way we had trusted each other so quickly. I didn't even know how I felt about the situation, just that it felt natural. Before I had even thought my action through, I did the only thing it felt natural to do, surprising even myself. I leaned in and kissed Clove full on the mouth. At first she tried to pull away, startled, but then she kissed back, passionately. We sat there, intertwined with each other, until I felt a blow taken to my chest.
Clove had pushed me away from her and jumped to her feet, hair flying and face terrified. I knew all too well exactly what she was scared of. She was terrified of the fact that she had confided in someone. Terrified that we kissed. Terrified that she had let her guard down, even for a little while. "Cato. No. No! We can't, I can't. I don't—Just. Just stay away from me."
I sat there, stunned, as I watch Clove sprint away to her house. I had let her leave, just like that, without saying a word. I was rendered speechless by her sudden change in mood, how she could go from being so warm to fleeing the scene in a single instant.
Ever since then, we've been strangers.
I would make attempts to talk to her in school, stare at her when I knew she wasn't watching. But Clove never talked to me again after that day. I would catch her looking at me occasionally, and every time I caught her, it seemed that she wanted to say something to me but decided to hold back. I would always watch her while she trained, and listened to the people of District 2 commend her for her skills. As we grew up, I kept my tabs on her, but never let my keen interest in her come to the surface. For a little while, I had gotten to know the mysterious girl with the knives. I had learned who she was and saw a side of her that no one else has since. And I let that slip through my grasp without a fight.
That was four years ago. Clove and I have grown into different people. I am not close to anyone and have made no attempt to get close to her. I have my guy friends that I endlessly joke around with, but other than that the guard I created long ago is still here. At 17 years old, I am now a vicious career who wants nothing more than to volunteer in the Games. This year. At 16, Clove has grown into a cold girl who trains with her knives and keeps to herself. I think of my experience with her that day at the edge of District 2 often, but we now know nothing about each other. I have a feeling this suits Clove just fine.
I woke up this morning thinking, today's the day. Today's my day. Now, I walk towards the town square and my father's loud, booming voice in my head. "We're so lucky to have the Capitol as our leaders, son," he had said. "They know just how to keep the pathetic, lower districts in line. They reward us with riches when we win their Games, a gracious gift despite the fact that we so foolishly rebelled against them. You'll be our victor one day, Cato. You'll make the whole district proud.
I remember looking up into my father's eyes, mine wide with curiosity. Thinking of a future where I was victor of the Games. It's my year to do just that. It's my year to volunteer, and win. I turn the corner that leads into the square just as the clock strikes two. I run over to the area roped-off for sixteen-year olds and shove my way to the front. No one questions me. I'm one of the most skilled, feared, and admired careers in the District. They've all seen me in training and wouldn't dare to call me out on anything. I stare at the confident faces of the boys around me, most of which I've seen around town. A lot of the kids here are hoping that their name gets pulled out of the reaping bowl. One of them will get their wish. But no matter what, I'm volunteering this year. I can't afford to wait until the next reaping. I stand there, bored, waiting for the ceremony to begin. As soon as the large population of District 2 all file into the square, the mayor begins his speech. Although I'm not paying attention, I know exactly what the speech is about. It's the same one every year. He talks about how Panem came about, the rebellion, and what it left us with. The Hunger Games.
Iris Mundler, the District 2 escort, glides to the front of the stage as soon as the mayor is finished. She's as eager as ever for the reaping as she welcomes us all here. She heads to the glass bowl stationed on the left and I brace myself for the reaping of the girl tribute.
I feel the wind go out of me as her name is pulled out of the reaping bowl and spoken aloud. I wasn't prepared for it. I wasn't prepared for this particular girl to get reaped. I jolt forward and the boys around me shoot me looks, eyebrows raised. This isn't the kind of behavior that anybody expects from me. I quickly straighten up and raise my eyebrow, making an attempt to make it look like I'm sizing her up. I watch as the girl with the long, brown hair moves forward to the District 2 Justice Building. She walks calmly up the steps, head held high as she tells the escort her name. "Clove."
It echoes across the town square, through my mind. Clove? She's only sixteen. She only has five entries, I think. You can see in her eyes that she is trying hard to hide her fear. In her stature and facial expression, you would never know. No one who doesn't know her would even recognize the hint of fear that has settled onto her features. But I notice it. I'm probably the only person here who realizes how scared she is inside. Because I do know her. Or, I've always felt like I do. This is the girl I have so often watched from afar in training, the girl whose skills make her admired by all those of District 2. I have spent years trying to convince myself I am not in love with Clove. And now I never can be. These are my games to win. And I would never let something as distracting as love stand in my way.
As the crowd cheers for Clove, I study her. She's steeling her emotions, looking straight ahead. The determined expression on her face cannot be mistaken. She's not losing these Games without putting up a fight first. I'm thinking of the skills I have that could be of use in the arena when I hear the escort's voice call out, "Any volunteers?" I've missed the call for the boy tribute. "I volunteer! I volunteer." I yell. Whoops and cheers from the audience follow me as I walk confidently to the stage. A smile creeps onto my lips. A few weeks from now, I'll be home and bathed in riches. My district will look upon me with pride as I am crowned victor of the Seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games.
As I reach the top of the steps I shake Iris's hand and tell her my name. "May I present to you this year's tributes of District 2—Cato and Clove!" she calls out. I turn to Clove and shake her hand. She looks up into my eyes and I see no trace of fear in her large brown ones, which surprises me. I'm the biggest threat to her than anyone else could've been in the arena. As we shake, she gives me one look: The same look of challenge she had first given me on the day I first met her, and a sly smile to go with her.
As we shake, Iris presents us with words of enthusiasm. The crowd erupts into cheers and clapping. Everyone will be rooting for me in the arena. They all know I'm going to come out as victor. And Clove stands a fighting chance as well. The whole district has seen her hit the bulls-eye with her knife from unbelievable distances. This year, there will be no boring moment in the Games for the citizens of District 2. Clove and I, we're the most exciting pair they've had in years.
After the general clapping subsides, Iris ushers Clove and I into the Justice Building. I'm directed up a large marble staircase to the room I'll stay in while I wait for my family and friends to come say their goodbyes. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the cold parting words my father will send my way. I can't afford to get angry over the things he says, or let it pray on my mind. I have to force myself to focus on the days ahead.
"Cato!" my mother's desperate voice calls out to me as they burst through the door.
"Hey, Mom." My arms wrap around her, surprised by her tone. She's known I would volunteer for the Games since I was a little boy. I hold her in my arms for a few minutes until my father's gruff voice breaks the silence. He clears his throat and begins to speak, spitting his words out at me. "Son," He says. "Don't go screw up in that arena. You've trained for this. You've trained to be the best. Do not disappoint me. You screw up, you disappoint the whole District." I nod, looking into my father's cold eyes that show no hint of remorse or fear of me going into the arena. I guess that means he has confidence in me, I think. He knows I'll come out a winner. A hint of doubt still plays on my mind, however. I have to prove myself to him, and not let him down, not once, in the Games. When I come home, things have to be different.
"Now, hon. We both know how well he'll do. We'll see him in a few weeks," my mother says. She's trying to tiptoe around a fight. My father grunts in response, and we sit in silence until a peacekeeper comes to take them away. "I love you, Cato. Please be careful," my mother says, her eyes shining with tears. I give her one last hug and shake my father's hand. As our eyes meet, I'm again reminded of the conversation we shared when I was young. Memories flood my mind as my parents walk out the door.
It started out easy. My father encouraged me to eat right and stay strong, to train as best I could. But every year I got closer to the first age of eligibility, my father changed more and more. He would force food down my throat and force me to train for hours on end. After each training day he would drill me on what I worked on, every single detail of what had happened. Then, he began following me to training, watching my every move. I would come home exhausted and he would demand that I work on things he saw me slip up on that day. He would watch me do them in our yard. If I didn't do it right, I could expect a punch. A kick. An elbow to the jaw. It terrified me when I was younger. As he would hit me, I would beg him to stop, promise to do it right the next time. But he wouldn't stop until he felt I had "learned a lesson." I would clench my teeth until the beating was over, then run to my room and silently cry, careful he didn't hear me. Tears would only make him think I was weak.
One particular memory comes to the surface of my mind. It was after a long day of training. My father had me throwing spears at the training center long after everyone had gone home. I threw one at a target board, and I missed. My father screamed. I had retaliated by slapping him across the face. He looked taken aback at first, but then anger consumed his features. He had run up to me and knocked me unconscious. That was the day I realized I didn't know who he was anymore.
After that, I learned to guard myself. I trained until I was the best, until I saw a smile cross my Dad's face. It came to a point where it wasn't so bad anymore. My Dad hasn't beaten me in a while, because he has had no reason to. But he changed me. I've trained so hard that the whole district expects great things from me now. And it all rests on my shoulders. I have to win The Games.
"Hey, man." I hear someone say. I look up to see that my friend Jason had slipped through the door without me noticing. Jason and I have been friends since we were little. Our parents are close and he's always been around when I needed him, even after I became so irritable. These past few years, we haven't been as close as we used to be. But I'm glad he came to say goodbye. "Hey, good luck in the arena. Don't come home too scratched up, alright? You'll want to look good for the cameras," he says. I chuckle at his comment and look up to find his eyes trained on me.
"What?" I say, defensively.
"What are you going to do about Clove?" Jason says.
"What do you mean, what am I going to do about her?" I yell, and it comes out more viciously than I intended. "Look, I'm gonna be fine. I'll ally with her, we can form a pack with some of the other tributes. It won't come down to the two of us. And if I have to kill her, I—I will."
"Look man, you're my best friend. I don't doubt your abilities, there's no way you're losing the Games. But just watch out with her. You've been in in love with her for three years, even if you think I didn't notice. I just don't know if you'll be able to turn your back on her."
"It's gonna be fine, okay. It's not love, what I feel for Clove. And love isn't going to get in the way of me winning this thing. You know that."
"Alright, Cato. Take care of yourself." We exchange one quick hug and then he's gone.
As I watch Jason walk out the door, the words he shared with me sink in. I find myself pacing the room, muttering to myself. Because I've just realized that killing Clove in the arena would be one of the hardest things I'd ever have to do. I just realized that killing her would be something I'm incapable of. I've just realized that Clove is my biggest weakness. And this horrifies me.