"Dude...it's just you and me now."
I pretend not to hear him and wipe the blood off of my knife with the hem of my shirt. I don't care about the stain it leaves. They're Capitol clothes anyway.
"Raph? Did you hear me?"
"The hovercraft is gonna be here soon," I say. "We should move." Casey just stares at me, even as we hear the hovercraft's huge turbines nearby. I know what's going through his mind—something I'm trying to avoid thinking myself. I shove his shoulder. "Let's go."
We take shelter in one of the partially collapsed buildings as the bodies of the tributes are collected. They leave red stains in the dirt; blood from the wounds that I inflicted, but I don't feel sick to my stomach anymore. I glance at Casey and find that he's already watching me.
"I told you I hate being stared at," I say. He doesn't reply, although I know he heard me. Of course he's not going to take his eyes off of me. I'm the only thing standing between him and victory.
The hovercraft picks up the last body—the boy from Five—and moves away, stirring up mini dust devils as it goes. I'm forced to squint against the dirt, and I cover my eyes with one hand without thinking. I know it's a mistake even before Casey tackles me.
My head hits the ground hard and I lose track of the situation for a few seconds as my vision goes white from the pain. Before I know it, Casey is on top of me with his knee braced against my chest, pinning me down with all his weight—not a lot after two weeks in the arena, but it's weakened me too and I can't throw him off. He grabs my knife and aims the blade at my head, but I manage to stop him before he cleaves my skull in half. The tip is barely an inch from my left eye, and Casey seems bent on getting it all the way in.
"There's only gonna be one winner," he grunts. His face is turning red from the effort of trying to fucking murder me, and anger is starting to replace my initial shock.
"What happened to being friends?" I spit the words at him, even though I know the answer. I have to get out from underneath him if I want to win. Do I want to win? I know the answer to that, too, I've known it from the start. Of course I want to win.
I wrap my free arm around his neck and pull down sharply. His arm slips and the knife slashes across my eye socket, but adrenaline blocks the pain and I'm determined to go through with my initial move. I can't see out of my left eye anymore, but that doesn't matter—I hug Casey to my chest and roll until I'm on top of him and my blood is dripping onto his face. It's like I have no control over my own limbs as I wrestle the knife from his grip and plunge it up to the hilt into his chest, then again, and again, and again.
I raise the knife for the fifth time and stop. The cannon goes off, but I can barely hear it. My heart is beating wildly in my chest, and I feel powerful. I've survived. I'm the victor.
I don't feel good about it.
I throw the knife aside and climb off of Casey—Casey's body—and try to stand, but my knees wobble and I sit down in the dirt again. I hope there's a camera nearby. I hope the Capitol can see just what they've created.
That's the last thing on my mind before I pass out completely.