Written for Isabelle (littlefuhrman on FF net) x
Twelve
No one remembered Clove's twelfth Birthday. It's the first one that she actually has any kind of clear recollection of. Mostly because no one remembered it but for other reasons as well. She had just transferred to a new orphanage earlier that year so didn't know anyone too well but for some reason she'd been expecting them to already know.
Clove had woken up, as early as you'd expect an over-excited twelve year old to on their Birthday, secretly wondering if anyone had organised a surprise party for her or made a cake or even blown up some balloons overnight. Of course not. Her room was still completely dark minus the slight tinge of yellowy morning light streaming through the open window, not a person in sight or anything that hadn't been there the night before. She tried to swallow the lump of bitter disappointment in her throat, knowing how stupid it was to have gotten her hopes up the first place.
"Who would care about me?" she muttered to herself, as she got dressed despite the ungodly hour. "I'm just the girl with no parents, no friends and no one. Stupid for thinking otherwise."
She wished most days that she had some kind of family that she could talk to instead of just other depressed kids and patronising staff at the orphanage but on her Birthday it was always especially bad. Clove had never been an especially lonely person – after living her whole life being labelled a freak because of her naturally private and snappy nature, she'd pretty much grown used to it – but she couldn't shake the unwanted feeling that was churning through her stomach morning of her Birthday.
She ignored the few people who said hi to her while she was getting her breakfast or passing her in the hallways that day. She felt betrayed by even those who she barely knew for forgetting her on the one day in the year that was supposed to be special. Even the stupid staff. Surely they must have had her details in some kind of database or something? Did they not care about her that much that they didn't even have her date of birth recorded? Or did they know and just choose to ignore it? Either way, no one said anything and it made her much more irate than she knew it should have.
By the time it got to mid-afternoon people were beginning to grow tired of her bad-temperedness – even more so than usual – so she decided to leave the building, ignoring the rules of asking permission first. It was a hot day out in District 2, the sun beating down on the large town square and making the masons jobs even harder than usual. The air was thick and humid; every breath took more effort than usual. It was usually warm on her Birthday as it fell on the first day in July, but this year it was especially sweltering. Before long, she'd grown so worn out by the overhead sunshine and her palms were sweating so she made her way over to a small patch of land just behind the large training centre where she would be attending next year with any luck. She couldn't wait to start training for the Hunger Games. Everyone said she was going to be epic when her time came – it was the only occasion that anyone ever acknowledged her, really, when she showed how well she could fight naturally.
Clove made it to the desolate area, finding a large oak tree and collapsing down on to the inviting shade that it provided. Once she was away from the blistering heat from the sun, she was able to think straight again. She leaned back against the thick tree trunk behind her, her eyes suddenly stinging. She wished she wasn't so vulnerable and sensitive when it came to being forgotten – God knows she should be used to it by now – but it always managed to hit her harder than the last time. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine what her days would be like if she actually possessed a normal life with family and friends. She would get presents on her Birthday instead of disappointment and ignorance; she would get a special Birthday meal complete with a round of singing and of course cake with twelve flickering candles. Clove barely even noticed the tears that had spilled out of her eyes, only registering them when she tasted the salty water on her lips. Sniffing, she sat up, scrubbing at her cheeks.
"You're being pathetic," she reminded herself with a shake of her head. She knew that she needed to get a grip but sitting there with the warm breeze fluttering past her face made it easy to forget where she was and for her mind to wonder. Wonder what everything would be like in a different universe…
"Um, are you okay?" a voice suddenly came out of seemingly nowhere, making her snap her head up so fast it spun.
There was a boy just a few meters away, standing tentatively as if he was too scared to come any closer. She wiped at her face again to be sure that there was no trace of any tears left. She could not have this boy seeing her looking so idiotic, no matter who he was. If anyone found out that she'd spent her Birthday alone and in tears, she'd become a laughing stock overnight.
"I'm fine," she insisted, clearing her throat.
The boy smiled lopsidedly when she spoke for some unknown reason, taking another step forwards.
"You don't seem it."
She actually looked at him properly for the first time, confusion clouding her features. He had a mess of dirty blond hair, slightly bronze-from-the-sun coloured skin and a pair of inquisitive cerulean eyes that were so piercing it made her blink self-consciously. He was probably older by at least a year, she decided. She wondered how she had never seen this boy around before but didn't bother stopping to ask.
"I'm sorry, but why do you care?" she barked, not bothering with politeness. Her bluntness was often mistaken for being rude but she never particularly worried about it.
To her surprise, the boy smirked more at her response, inching further forward until he was standing directly above her.
"Mind if I sit with you?" he asked, ignoring her question.
She narrowed her eyes in annoyance, suddenly wishing she hadn't been so upset about her earlier loneliness. She was pretty sure she'd rather be lonely than sitting with this idiot.
"Yes."
He sat down anyway and she scowled, crossing her arms across her chest and shuffling away from him.
"I'm Cato, by the way," the boy said pleasantly, choosing to disregard her obvious aversion to him. She wondered why he was so persistent.
"And I'm leaving," she declared, beginning to get to her feet and maybe just head back to the orphanage. Before she could stand up, though, Cato grabbed on to her wrist and pulled her firmly back down. He wasn't too rough but she winced anyway, infuriated that he was able to overpower her so easily. Goddamn her small size.
"What do want?" she snapped.
"I'm sorry," Cato immediately allowed, holding his hands up in defence and giving her some space. "I shouldn't have done that. It's just – you look upset."
She continued to glare at him, emotionless.
"And?"
"And I wanted to cheer you up," he shrugged.
She almost smiled at that. Seriously, this guy must have been insane or something.
"I don't want pity from anyone, especially not strangers."
"Okay, fine," he replied, nodding in agreement. "Absolutely no pity here. You could still tell me what's wrong though?"
She turned away from him but still shot an occasional sideways glance in his direction, curiously. She couldn't figure out what this guy wanted from her. Was he being genuine? Or was he trying to aggravate her further? She could never tell.
"Why do you want to know?"
He shrugged.
"Why don't you want to tell me?"
She refrained from growling at his irritating answer.
"Because it's none of your business!"
Cato sighed at her unreasonableness.
"Fine, if you won't tell me I'll just guess."
"Why won't you leave me alone?" she groaned but he ignored her.
"Did someone you know die?"
Her eyes widened at that.
"No!"
"Okay. Um, did your pet die?"
Her eyebrows rose without her meaning for them to.
"No," she finally answered.
"Are you dying?"
"No."
Cato seemed pleased with that response.
"So, whatever it is, it can't be that bad."
She rolled her eyes at his logic, cursing herself for not seeing that conclusion.
"Right."
He grinned over at her.
"Are you going to tell me yet?"
Clove had to exhale heavily before speaking, too frustrated to deal with this boy at the moment. There were a few moments of silence while he waited for an answer and she debated whether or not to say anything. If she ran away now he would probably let her go and she might not even see him again. Something about him sort of made her reluctant to move, though, which she hated.
"It's my Birthday," she finally told him, hating how pitiful it made her sound.
Cato seemed taken aback, clearly not expecting such an outcome.
"Um, and that's a bad thing because…?"
She looked down, suddenly self-conscious. She wished she had just stayed at home.
"Because no one knows it's my Birthday."
He nodded slowly, starting to comprehend but still slightly perplexed.
"Why don't you just tell them?"
"They should already know!" she shot back, her voice rising in annoyance. God, it was like talking to the mentally handicapped. Was that not obvious?
Cato didn't say anything for a little while, thinking over her words. It made her nervous for him to be so muted after all the jabbering he'd been doing.
"You don't need other people to have a good Birthday, you know," he stated at last.
Clove turned so that she was facing him properly, intrigued by what he was saying.
"Don't be stupid. Birthdays are about spending time with other people – and getting presents and attention and cake."
"Not necessarily. They're about being happy. You're supposed to enjoy the day."
She swallowed, wondering if he might be right.
"Well what if being alone is making me unhappy?"
"You're not alone," Cato grinned which made Clove sigh exasperatedly. He was hardly her idea of ideal company. "And anyway, how do you expect to be happy if all you do is sit here crying about it?"
She scowled at that comment, letting out a small huff of protest.
"I wasn't crying."
Cato immediately realised that he said something he shouldn't have and held his hands up innocently.
"Okay, okay, you weren't crying. But you weren't making an effort to have a good day."
"Seriously, why are you still talking?" Clove inquired, tiredly.
He let out a low, throaty chuckle at that which made him sound older than he looked.
"Maybe we should hang out more so I can cheer you up when you need it?"
Clove had to fight to keep her mouth from hanging open as he said that. She wasn't exactly popular; it wasn't every day that she got offers like that.
"Don't you have anything better to do than pester me all day?"
"I might do," he answered mysteriously. "I think I'd rather spend time with you though."
"You don't even know me," she pointed out.
"Not yet," he winked, getting to his feet suddenly.
Clove looked up at him, squinting against the sun which, although bright, seemed to be much dimmer than before. She wondered how long she'd been sitting out here and whether she was going to get into trouble when she got home.
"I'd better be leaving then," Cato told her. "I'll see you soon, Clove."
Before she could get a single word out, he turned and jogged away, pausing just before he disappeared around a corner.
"Oh, and Happy Birthday!"
She just blinked as his voice vanished with the wind and then she was left alone again. She shook her head to herself, wondering if that entire conversation had just happened or whether she'd dreamt it. That was not exactly her usual kind of exchange with people. Still, she did feel a little better after having spoken to someone properly for the first time all day, not that she'd ever admit that to him.
It wasn't until she got back to the orphanage that she realised that she'd never told him her name before he called her Clove. She paused, frowning a little to herself and wondering who Cato was. If he stuck to his word she might even get to find out soon.
He was the only one to wish her a Happy Birthday that year.
Thirteen
On her thirteenth Birthday, Clove had woken up just as excited as she had been on her twelfth – only this time she knew it wouldn't be wasted. It was much cooler than the year before so she grabbed a sweater before leaving the orphanage, shouting to the woman who was standing in the entrance of the building that she'd be back soon. She didn't care if people forgot her Birthday this year – well, minus one exception.
A lot had changed over the course of twelve months.
She'd taken up knife-throwing and now went to the training centre religiously. It had taken a little while but once her trainer, Brutus, had found out how much natural talent she had with a knife, everyone knew it would be her weapon of choice. She worked all day every day to get her technique right, knowing that she'd have to be the best if she was going to win the Hunger Games in years to come. Her hair had grown a little longer – it was still ebony black but now brushed just below her shoulders which made her look older. She'd grown, too, although maybe not as much as she'd have hoped.
She and Cato had started hanging out regularly, just as he had promised the year before. They saw each other almost every day; whether it was to train or catch up on schoolwork or just mess around. He was fifteen already but he didn't seem to mind hanging around with an aggressive little thirteen year old like her. Cato seemed to be one of the only people in the entire District who got her. He knew how to cheer her up when she needed it, knew her strengths, her weaknesses, she opened up to him like she'd never done with anyone else.
She wondered off down the street, crossing her arms to keep herself warm. It was a lot milder than last year which was irritating. Cold weather made her cranky.
Clove made her way to the training centre where she knew Cato would be, along with the other annoying kids from District 2 who felt the need to invade her personal training space. She shoved the door open when she arrived, grinning as it slammed into the back of the wall with a thundering crack. Everyone's head snapped up to look at her as she entered.
"Morning," she called in the most blasé fashion she could manage which, let's be honest, was pretty damn good.
Everyone returned to their training, some rolling their eyes, some eyeing her in fear, some completely ignoring her. She didn't really care either way.
Clove made her way over to Brutus who handed her the set of knives that she usually practiced with, grinning.
"Happy Birthday," he smirked at her which she just raised her eyebrows at. She wasn't entirely sure how he knew about it but didn't care enough to ask. When it was clear that she wasn't going to say anything in response to that, Brutus carried on. "I want you to work with these today. If we really focus on your knife work I'm positive that you'll be hitting every target in no time."
She wanted to smile at that thought but fought to keep her expression neutral, nodding once.
"Sure."
She took the knives and made her way to the section that she'd been training at a lot lately, laying them out on the counter carefully. She glanced to the left of her through her lashes, noting that Cato was across the room. He was surrounded by his idiotic friends and was messing around with a spear. She just shook her head, turning her back to him and focussing on the blades in her hands. If he wanted to ignore her completely that was fine. Two could play that game.
The first target wasn't too far away so when she stood in position – feet apart, slightly sideways-on, chin up – and threw the knife, she was hardly surprised when she hit the bulls-eye first time. She exhaled in happiness, marching forward to collect the knife and gripping it in her palm. The next target board was a little further away but she didn't mind too much. Having a challenge was part of the learning.
This time when she got into her throwing-stance and flung the knife out of her hand, it thudded into the soft board slightly to the right of the target. She growled under her breath, glaring at the knife in irritation.
"I need you to be hitting targets perfectly!" Brutus called through the open space to her, much to her aggravation. "That inch could be the difference between injuring someone and killing them."
"Yes, I know," she snapped back, stalking off to collect her knife and cursing to herself.
I'm only thirteen, she reminded herself. I can't be perfect yet. She ignored her infuriating brain, shaking her head to focus. She should be able to do this by now. She'd been learning for an entire year for God's sakes.
Before she could get back into the swing of throwing the small blades, she heard some noises coming from behind her… almost like laughter. She cleared her throat, turning around slowly. There were Cato's asshole friends, of course, standing in a small huddle and looking over at where Clove stood. Some of them were standing with their arms folded across their muscly chests, attempting to look menacing; others were just snickering away to each other mockingly.
"Problem?" Clove demanded, her voice straining in anger.
One of the biggest ones stepped forwards, a sardonic grin on his face.
"We were just wondering why they're letting kids train here now."
Clove's lip twitched in ire.
"I'm thirteen," she stated in a low voice.
"Could have fooled me," the boy replied, venom seeping into his tone.
"Shouldn't you be able to throw by that age, anyway?" another of them asked innocently, causing the rest of them to dissolve into immature laughter once more.
Clove just stood and glared at them.
"I'd like to see you do better," she spat.
"Anyone could do better," one of them claimed with a chortle, turning and slapping Cato on the arm. "Isn't that right, Cato?"
Cato's eyes flickered to Clove's and when they met for just a fraction of a second, she could see the panic which had suddenly appeared in them. Just as soon as it came though, it completely vanished; replaced by bitter, cruel hardness. He let out a bark of laughter, looking right at Clove.
"Of course. Maybe it's because she's so small and weak she can't throw as well as us?"
His friends let out a series of grunts of agreement intermingled with harsh laughter.
Clove tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, turning away from them and grabbing a knife up off of the table beside her. She spun around and let the knife fly out of her hand, watching it sail through the group of boys – just skimming the side of Cato's head – and landing in the solid wall behind them with a crack. A blanket of hush fell over the entire room and she took is as an opportunity to leave, grabbing her stuff and steaming out of the building. She didn't turn back to look at Cato or any of his moronic friends as she made her exit, worried of what she might do if one of them said just one more thing.
She didn't say anything or even think anything really, her mind spinning in fury as she stormed her way through the town centre. No one paid her much attention which she was grateful for because she wasn't exactly in the mood for dealing with people at that particular minute. Clove briskly made her way to the large oak tree that she had met Cato last year – it had become somewhat of a meeting place for them or a place to go when they wanted to be alone. No one else in the District knew about it, as far as she was aware.
The second she collapsed in the shade of the tree, she'd been intending to scream her lungs out with insults about the stupid boy that she called her friend but instead found herself hugging her knees to her chest and crying. Since being friends with Cato, sure they'd had the odd disagreement and they definitely squabbled more than they should, but she'd never felt so betrayed by him. He knew it was her Birthday yet he chose to make her feel worthless for the sake of impressing his friends. Clove could feel her trousers being soaked through with salty tears where she rested her cheek on them but didn't have the energy to do anything about it.
She wished she hadn't expected Cato to be nice to her on her Birthday. Maybe then it wouldn't have hurt so much when he was completely and utterly uncaring.
"Stupid, stupid," she breathed leaning back against the tree stump. She wasn't entirely sure if the words were aimed at Cato or herself but it didn't seem to matter.
She was only supposed to close her eyes for a few minutes, at least until she calmed down, but she must have fallen asleep because the next thing she was aware of was a chilly breeze pulling her from unconsciousness. When she unclosed her eyes and blinked a few times, she was a little disorientated but soon remembered what the hell she was doing lying under a tree. She rubbed her eyes, frowning. Another great Birthday for Clove. At least it was nearly over. The thought of going home and getting into bed almost made her smile. Clove glanced at the sky which was currently in a state of peachy sunset. She wondered how long she'd been asleep for and clambered up nervously. She hoped she wouldn't get into trouble for it.
Just as she was wiping at her face and brushing the dirt off of her clothes, Clove noticed the shadow of another presence and froze.
"Hey," greeted a deep, gruff voice sheepishly – it could only be Cato.
Clove immediately scowled, turning around and glowering at him. Cato's face was red and covered in a sweaty sheen from having been training all day. Good. She hoped he pulled a muscle.
"Go away, Cato," she snapped, forcing herself to keep a grip on her anger.
"Look, I'm sorry," he began, holding his hand out to her which contained a battered bunch of flowers, made up predominantly of daisies and lilies which were the most common flowers in District 2. Clove just glared at him, not bothering to take them.
"Your apology is not accepted, now please get out of my way."
Cato just looked at her, hurt.
"Come on, Clove, it was just a joke – you know that."
"Whatever."
"Why are you being like this? It's your Birthday, you may as well enjoy yourself."
She didn't say anything.
"Are you really going to just stand there sulking?"
She took one last look at his messy hair and pleasing eyes and scoffed.
"You really haven't got a clue, have you?" she muttered to him.
Then, before he could work out what she was talking about, she shoved him out of her way and made her way home.
As she walked, she tried to decide whether this year got the number one spot for worst Birthday ever.
Fourteen
Becoming fourteen seemed like a kind of milestone for Clove. She wasn't sure why but she'd always thought that it made her sound older, more mature and just better.
She would have been happier about it if she knew that something good was going to happen to mark the occasion. Instead, she knew that the day ahead held nothing but disappointment and loneliness and, mostly, boredom. Cato had told her the day before that he wouldn't be able to see her on her Birthday, much to her frustration. He'd proceeded to give her an extra-long hug though and promised to drop by whenever he next had the chance which had reassured her a little.
Cato was sixteen now and would be volunteering for the Hunger Games soon. Even though she was planning to do it herself someday, the thought of him being in that arena made her stomach churn painfully. He was her best friend – if she lost him now… she wasn't sure what she would do. Over the past couple of years she'd become closer to him than she'd ever been with another person in her entire life. It scared her a bit but was mostly just nice.
So, since he had to get all trained up for the games, Cato was being pulled away for long days of full workout and he was being fed up with energy bars and protein shakes. It made Clove slightly nervous to see him being treated like an object by the trainers but there wasn't anything she could do about it anyway. She lay on her bed on the morning of her fourteenth Birthday, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what Cato was doing at that moment. Maybe he was practising with his sword or even a spear or maybe doing some weights. She didn't know how was able to do it for the entire day without being able to see anyone in case it 'distracted him'. She knew that if she was told to do that she'd have refused without a doubt.
As she traced the lines of the dusty ceiling with her eyes, she mused over how selfish it was of her to want Cato to be with her instead of being dragged away for training but couldn't really help it. She wasn't sure why it felt so important that she saw Cato on her Birthday but she couldn't shake the feeling that he should be with her. She sighed, turning over and closing her eyes.
It was nearly twelve noon but she didn't feel like leaving her room and facing the rest of the idiots who occupied the orphanage that she lived in – the younger ones irritated her, the older ones wanted nothing to do with her and the staff always avoided having to deal with her, shooting her wary looks in the hallways. Clove wanted to be able to enjoy her Birthday without needing Cato but it was hard not to laze and mope around.
She sighed to herself, wishing there were more things to do in her District other than train. It was all that Cato seemed to care about these days which put her off of it more and more. She was already one of the best knife-throwers in the entire training centre and Brutus had told her that he was sure she would go on to great things.
Curling up slightly she allowed her mind to drift to what she would do with Cato if was actually with her today. She imagined that he would have forgotten that it was her Birthday or at least woken up late and left her waiting. She'd have sat under their oak tree and prepared to shout at him when he finally showed up, an hour past the time that he was supposed to but then he'd appear with a guilty smirk and she'd feel the anger drain from her.
"You're late," she'd say, raising an eyebrow and waiting for his grovelling apology.
He'd just laugh and grab her into his arms which would be kind of nice but she'd pretend to be annoyed, shoving him away from her and crossing her legs under her on the ground. He'd join her, staring at the grass beneath her, absently.
"Happy Birthday," he'd grin at her while she appraised him warily.
"What's wrong with you?" she'd ask.
"Nothing."
But she'd be able to tell from the way he was acting that there was something more to it.
"Just tell me."
He'd sigh, trying to avoid her eyes.
"I didn't have time to get you a present," he'd admit, glancing up at her and hoping that she didn't hit him.
She'd let him sweat for a few more seconds but then burst into laughter, shaking her head.
"It doesn't matter," she'd tell him.
He'd look at her in confusion.
"What? Really?"
"Yes. It's not like I was expecting anything else from you," she'd shrug. "Anyway, I'd rather just spend time with you."
They'd both look at each other for a moment and then erupt into laughter, Clove would slap a hand to her forehead.
"Okay, okay, that sounded cheesy."
Cato would nudge her, still chuckling.
"I think it was sweet."
She would roll her eyes and the rest of the afternoon would pass with them being idiots together as usual but it would be perfect. She can't think of any other way that she'd rather spend her Birthday.
Clove blinked, snapping back to the present with a deep breath. She was hoping to cheer herself up by imagining what she was missing but honestly it had just left her feeling more depressed. It seemed as if her Birthday seemed to be doomed into going horribly wrong every single year.
Fifteen
This wasn't like last year. The year before, Cato had told Clove that he wouldn't be able to see her on her Birthday and, although it had been hard, she had at least been prepared. The day she'd turned fifteen, Cato had told he would be round to see her as early as he could so that they could spend some time together. He told her that this year he would make it special. She'd sat and waited for what felt like hours but was probably not that long, tapping her foot impatiently and wondering when he would show up.
Nothing.
She knew she should have seen it coming. When did anything ever go right for her? Still, as she stood in her room, looking out of the window at the sunny day outside she couldn't help the disappointment that swam through her chest. She should have known better than to rely on other people but she did it again and again.
Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she made her way down the stairs and out of the building, deciding that she may as well enjoy the hot day even if Cato couldn't be bothered to show up. Just as she was walking out of the front door, she almost rammed straight into another person; tall enough to make her feel minute and solid enough that she practically bounced off.
"Cato? What are you doing here?" she huffed, crossing her arms.
He shrugged in apology, offering her a hug which she batted away.
"I'm sorry, okay? I just – I got caught up with training and family stuff and I just forgot-"
"You just forgot?" she snarled.
He winced at her expression which she was glad about.
"You know I wouldn't do it on purpose-"
"I guess I just don't mean that much to you," she nodded, cutting him off. "Fine, whatever."
"Don't be like that, I never wanted to-"
"Save your breath for someone who cares!" she growled, finally pushing him aside and making her way through the exit.
She continued to walk away at a hurried pace, hoping that he wasn't following her, not stopping until she rounded a corner and ended up on a deserted patch of land behind the training centre. She sat down on the ground heavily and breathed out in annoyance.
"Ugh!" she groaned out loud at Cato's idiocy. Seriously, how much was it to ask to have just one decent Birthday without being forgotten or abandoned or laughed at?
Much to her utter dismay, when she glanced up, squinting against the harsh midday light, she saw that Cato was in fact jogging over to where she was. Was it really necessary to follow her when she clearly didn't want to be followed? She sometimes wondered if that boy knew what taking a hint actually meant.
He skidded to a stop in front of her and sat down opposite. She remained where she was, glaring right at him.
"Why are you still here?" she wondered a moment later, exasperated.
He leaned forwards to grab her hand in his and, even though she flinched, he kept it there.
"Look, will you just listen to me. I'm sorry. I swear to you I am. I shouldn't have forgotten your Birthday, no, and I deserve a slap for it, I know. But there's no point in ruining the rest of the day now, surely?"
She sighed, looking away from him.
"You're not supposed to forget your best friend's Birthday."
"I know."
"You are the worst friend in the world."
"I'll try harder next time?"
Clove bit down on her lip to stop from smiling. Goddammit you're supposed to be mad at him!
"You know we are behind a building and no one will be around for ages."
Cato raised one eyebrow, perplexed.
"Um… and?"
"I'm just saying, I could easily kill you right now and probably no one would even find your body for months."
He let out a throaty laugh at that and she broke her stony mask for just a second, smirking.
"Okay, point taken," he allowed, holding his hands up.
"Serious question though," Clove asked.
"Mmm?"
"Has there ever been a time when you haven't ruined my Birthday in some way?"
He hung his head, ashamed.
"I swear, I do try to be nice."
"Sure you do."
Cato grinned at her sarcastic tone, suddenly sliding his backpack off of his shoulder where it crashed onto the mud.
"Anyway, do you want to see what I got you?"
Clove's mouth dropped open without her meaning to.
"You got me a present?" she gaped.
"Hey! Don't look so surprised!" he scolded, pulling the zip open. "I told you I do try sometimes."
She shook her head in disbelief, wondering why it was so shocking to her that Cato had actually made an effort. Maybe because no one she cared about ever did.
After rummaging around in the bottom for a little while, finally he produced a package and handed it to her. Clove took it guardedly, weighing it in her hand and shaking it a little. It wasn't wrapped in paper of any kind – it was just a long, thin box as small as a mockingjay, made entirely of expensive-looking wood from the way it shined. Looking up at Cato once, she carefully unlatched the opening and unclosed the lid to reveal a fancy, velvet lined interior. In the centre of the fancy surroundings lay a small knife; solid metal handle, sharpened chrome blade, perfectly arched for maximum accuracy. She gasped, picking it up and sighing at the feel of it in her hand – more natural to her than walking or talking. Cato was grinning massively.
"You like it?"
"Oh my God, Cato," she breathed, still slightly awe-struck. "How did you even afford this?"
He just laughed.
"I've been saving up. I noticed how crappy those ones at the training centre are and I thought you might like your own to practise with. I mean – you'll need others, obviously, but I figured that would make a good start."
"This is amazing," she stated, unable to conjure up any other words to express her wonder. "Thanks," she exhaled, but then didn't think that it sounded right, so she added. "Thank you. A lot."
Cato just beamed, proud of himself.
"Wow, could I get that in writing please?"
She glared at him, unamused.
"Don't push it."
He didn't stop smiling though.
"Hey, did you even see the side of it?"
Clove's eyebrows knitted together in confusion but when she held the small knife up and twisted it at an angle, she couldn't help her eyes from widening. It was so tiny that she barely saw it at first but when she did it felt like her entire heart was shattering. 'CLOVE' it read in letters so miniscule she could hardly make it out, carved right into the flawless silver blade. It looked so perfect there she almost choked on her breath.
Cato noticed and nudged her teasingly.
"You better not start crying on me."
She turned and scowled at him fiercely, offended by even the suggestion.
"As if."
He smiled.
"Anyway, Happy Birthday."
His voice was so quiet and gentle that she couldn't help leaning forwards to rest her head on his shoulder and just staying like that for a while. It was the most sweet and blissful moment that she could recall for a long time.
"Thanks."
It was still only early afternoon but she felt like she was definitely having a Birthday that would be worth remembering.
In hindsight, she should really have known what was coming next before it happened. But being the naïve fifteen year old girl that she was, of course she didn't. Cato pulled away from her slightly, although not far; just enough distance for her to be staring him in the face, his clear sapphire eyes making her lose focus on everything else. He placed each of his hands on either side of her face and pulled her closer to him, his touch more gentle than she'd ever thought possible. Clove barely even registered what was going on until he was pressing his mouth against hers, tender and soft yet there was an unmissable wild edge which sent her heart beat into a frenzy of erratic thuds. Her lips seemed to move in perfect synchronization with his, her hands automatically reaching up to run through his matted hair or wrap around his neck. Cato's sweet breath on her face was enough to make her almost pass out.
It was such a ridiculous thing that she was surprised. She and Cato had pretty much always been more than friends. There had always been a spark of chemistry between them that she didn't experience with anyone else. But, despite considering him in this way before, she'd never for a second considered that he could possibly feel the same. Why should he? He could do so much better. Yet, in that single moment she could have sworn that they were perfect for each other – it may have been cliché but it certainly felt like it.
It was the strangest, most unsanitary and most magical thing she'd ever encountered all at once. After all, it was her first kiss – isn't that what you're supposed to feel?
"Best Birthday present ever," she whispered against his lips when they both paused for breath and she could feel him grinning.
"Better than the knife?" he breathed back.
She giggled, making a quick mental comparison.
"Oh, yeah."
Sixteen
It's Clove's sixteenth Birthday today. The second she wakes up the first thing she does is swallow nervously as the truth settles in her stomach like a hunk of rock. She's sixteen. Cato's eighteen now. He's going to volunteer for the Hunger Games this year.
This could be the last Birthday she ever has with him.
The thought is enough to make her want to crawl back into bed and curl up into a ball and never leave the house because, as much as she hates to admit, it chills her to the bone. Thinking like that will only make everything ten times harder, though, so she snaps out of it with a shake of her head, forcing herself to get dressed and braid her hair back and get on with the day as if it's just the same as the others. It's the only way she'll get through it without going mad.
Despite the fact that it's her Birthday, she doesn't get a day off of training. Of course not. But to be honest, she doesn't really complain because training is actually one of the only things that she's enjoyed lately – it's just slightly harder knowing that soon she'll be training alone as Cato goes off to the games and she is left behind.
Cato shows up late to the training centre that day, much to Brutus's annoyance. He ignores the aggravated trainers, though, jogging straight over to Clove and grinning at her. She feels her heart fluttering and curses herself. Damn, stupid feelings.
"Happy Birthday," he smiles, not reaching down to hug her or anything embarrassing because there are people everywhere. "I've got to go," he states, as if she doesn't know. He's being a pulled away all the time for extra training and weapons work now. "I'll see you later, though? Meet me after."
She nods quickly, letting him walk away into a separate room where he'll be forced to work until he has practically no energy left whatsoever. Once he's left, she allows herself to smile to herself while no one's looking. What with his mind full of other crazy, much more important things at the minute, she was half-expecting him to forget.
She turns her attention to the knives laid out on the table in front of her, already prepared for her session today. Over the past couple of years she'd become easily the best knife-thrower in the entire District, taking to it easier than a duck to water; it was clear this is going to be her weapon of choice. She sometimes wonders if people wouldn't be as scared of her if she wasn't a deadly knife-thrower but then she tells her brain to shut up because she is so it doesn't matter. Cato's become a lot better with a sword as well. Lethal as her, maybe even a little more (not that she would admit that to him).
Still, she practised at least six days a week, paranoid that if she took too much time off from perfecting her skills, someone else would catch up or even take over as the best knife-thrower around. Unlikely, but it haunted her dreams. There were already some of the younger kids trying to throw knives as well as he but she wasn't exactly intimidated by their lack of knowledge or natural ability.
It must have been hours and hours of throwing blade after blade at the targets but it really doesn't feel like that long. Without having Cato around she doesn't have to worry as much about what she looks like or if she misses slightly because she knows if he was there he would have mocked her for it for the rest of the day. Instead she just goes with her natural instincts and it ends up being much better than she was expecting.
It takes her a while to actually get worn out but that is a good thing – it means she is getting better at least. Eventually, though, she feels herself grow tired and puts the knives down on the table with a heaving sigh. She knows that she is probably red and she can feel the hair sticking to her neck with sweat but she shrugs it off, deciding that she doesn't really care and it's not like anyone would dare to say anything about it anyway.
After clearing her stuff away, Clove begins to make her way out of the training centre, wondering just how much time has passed. She is surprised that the sun is still beaming iridescent rays across the town square, kaleidoscopic splashes of light reflecting off of the mason's equipment. She groans, having been hoping for it to grow a little cooler while she was training. No chance. When does she ever get what she wants for her Birthday?
Although, she knows that she can't really complain. For once nothing has gone dramatically wrong – yet – and Cato hasn't even forgotten. It must be some kind of miracle. Clove trudges across the path and makes her way towards the oak tree where they'd first met with a sigh. She told Cato that this is a stupid place to meet because it is so boringly cliché but of course he insisted that a bit of nostalgia would be good for her. Right.
Cato's already there when she arrives – another abnormality which makes her narrow her eyes in disbelief. It's not like Cato to be so… reliable.
"You look tired," is the first thing that he says which doesn't exactly make Clove feel any better.
"I'm not," she snaps back, collapsing down beside him.
He just grins, clearly amused by her annoyance.
"Hey, you're not allowed to be mad. Not when-" He doesn't finish the thought but he doesn't have to.
Not when this may be the last Birthday we spend together.
Clove's expression softens as she blinks the anger away. He's right. There really is no point wasting this time they have – not even a second of it.
"I know," she confirms, frowning. She wishes things were different, so badly; but she also knows that if she says that to Cato she'll just make herself look like a pathetic idiot.
"Don't pout," Cato insists, cheerily, nudging her. She wonders how he can be so animated but guesses that it's probably the right attitude to have. At least he's happy.
"I thought you were supposed to be making this a good Birthday," she reminds him with one eyebrow raised, unimpressed.
"Oh. Right, yeah," he remembers, looking a little panicked. That's enough to make Clove smile. Cato's always looked cute when he's worried – not that he's aware of it. "What do you want me to do?"
She laughs, rolling her eyes.
"I don't want you to do anything. I just want to spend time with you."
He grins at her, shuffling closer so that she can lean on his shoulder.
"Now that I can do."
She relaxes against him, glad that no one can see then in the privacy of their secret location but also not really caring if anyone does. Cato is the one thing that she actually cares about, that properly makes an impact on her pitiful life. She doesn't see why she should be embarrassed or self-conscious of the fact that he means everything to her.
Maybe because he's her weakness. Because knife-throwers like her shouldn't have fallen into the trap of 'love' so easily. Maybe just because she knows from experience that putting so much of her faith into one person doesn't ever seem to end well.
Even though there are reasons that she probably shouldn't be with him, there's no way she can stop relying on him now. He has become her literal reason for existence.
She closes her eyes tightly shut, trying to block her thoughts out. She hates them. They make it sound like he's never going to come home from the games, like she's preparing to say goodbye. Well, if there's one thing she's sure of it's that there is no way in hell that she's letting go of Cato any time soon. She has to believe that he'll come home. If not… she'll go mad. Undoubtedly, incurably, terminally mad.
Instead, she focuses on the musky wood-smoke scent that she's breathing in off of his training clothes. She listens to his placid breaths and the thudding of his heart and allows it to let her relax further, forgetting everything that's not relevant like stupid arenas and goodbyes and the inevitable loneliness that will follow.
"So, it's my Birthday," Clove murmurs a while later, as a reminder.
There's a tremor of laughter that passes through his frame.
"I know."
"Did you get me a present?"
Cato sits up sharply at that, almost making her face-plant into the solid ground beneath them.
"Oops, sorry," he mutters, helping her sit up again. "But yes, I did."
He seems immensely happy with himself. She had just been saying it as a distraction from herself but now that she's seen his enthusiastic expression, Clove can't help but feel eager as well.
"Come on then, we haven't got forever."
She winces a little at the phrasing of her words but she doesn't think he notices. He's too busy fishing around in his pockets until he comes out with a small square box about the size of his palm. It's extravagant looking and has a velour coating and when he hands it to her, she suddenly feels her stomach turning nervously. She had been expecting him to get her some dead flowers or a generic gift but this looks expensive.
She swallows, tentatively unclosing it to reveal the contents. The inside of the box is just as elaborate-looking as the outside, with silky, navy coloured fabric cushioning the sides. Lying in the box is a thin, long silver chain, looking as delicate as a baby bird – so much so that she's almost too scared to touch it in case it falls apart in her hand. At the end of the chain is a small oval shaped pendant with a clover flower etched onto the front; she only realises that it's a locket when she takes it out to examine more closely. The white gold opens like a miniature door and locks back shut with a click. She drops it back into the box, turning to look at Cato with her mouth open like a goldfish.
"It's got a clover on it," she states like an idiot, wondering how he managed to find something so perfectly fitting.
"I thought it would be a good thing – you know to remember me by."
Suddenly a lump forms in her throat and she can barely breathe. Her eyes sting with unshed tears but she refuses to cry in front of Cato, not on her Birthday.
"Don't."
He seems to realise what he's said and quickly shakes his head, his eyes widening in horror.
"No – no – I didn't mean-" It's funny because they are both trained to kill people and use weapons expertly like some kind of manic ninjas yet it would seem that neither of them are able to even utter the words that Cato might die in the games. Not out loud. "I just meant for when I'm gone. So that you can remember me while I'm gone."
She exhales heavily, forcing herself to nod.
"Okay."
She's not sure how confident he is in his own words but she forces herself to at least be optimistic.
"I'm coming back, Clove," he growls a moment later, his voice strained as the determination behind his words becomes clear. He reaches over and takes her chin in his hand, twisting her face so that she's unable to avoid his fierce gaze, his cerulean eyes sparkling with passion. "I belong to you. Not the trainers. Not the gamemakers. Not the capitol. You."
She really wishes she had the strength to hold her tears back but a few of them spill over anyway, blinding her momentarily. She doesn't think she's ever heard him speak so surely or resolutely in the entire time she's known him. It's too much for her to handle. She's just poor, orphaned little Clove. No one's ever cared for her the way Cato does.
Overwhelmed and mortified for looking like an idiot, she reaches forward and throws her arms around his neck, connecting their lips hungrily. His mouth is warm under hers, tender and caressing yet simultaneously wild enough to make her gasp. She grabs a fistful of his hair to pull him closer, shivering when she feels his arm snake around her waist and down her leg. She's rough and ferocious and everything she feels inside comes bubbling to the surface when she's around him, but that's okay. If this could be her last Birthday in his arms, she's sure as hell going to make it worth remembering.
She notes every aspect about him, rejecting the idea of forgetting even the tiniest of details while he's away. The way his breath tastes so sweet to her and makes her heart thump erratically in her chest; the smoothness of his skin when she runs her fingertips across his jaw; the burning hunger in his eyes when he pulls away and looks at her and reminds her that he's going to come home.
"You're coming home," she repeats in a breath, the words tasting so right on her tongue it's hard to comprehend.
And even though it's stupid and tragic and unrealistic, the moment is so perfect and he seems just so stubborn that she's momentarily convinced that he's going to win. He has to.
After all, what else does she have to live for?