It's a Love/Hate Relationship

by Anna-Morgause

Description: Clove has oh so many reasons to hate the female tribute from District 12.

Chapter 1: Reaped

We've already been in the Capitol nearly a whole day when the recaps of all the reaping play. Two isn't very far away, so the train ride was short and Cato and I had all that time to relax . Not that we used it to relax. Every moment is used to it's fullest potential – training, exercising, strategy planning, coaching from our mentors – having that extra time is just another one of our advantages.

For the most part, we really only pay attention to the main three Districts: One, Two and Four. Those are the only ones that matter. In District 1, as always, the two volunteers that win have the most ridiculous names: Glimmer and Marvel. Glimmer pouts her lips and waves to the cameras and I can only hope that I get to kill her; she's making us, as female tributes, all look stupid. Even though we know the results, we pay extra attention to the District 2 reapings, I think because we all want to savor the moment. Cato volunteered, but I had the luck of getting reaped. I planned on volunteering next year, but when they called my name, everyone knew better than to try and volunteer for me. This is my place; I was born for this. A fit, tan girl gets reaped in District 4 and I make a note to watch out for her, along with a boy who must only be 13. I'd be worried about him if he looked anythign like Finnick Odair, but he's scrawny and covered in freckles and there is no way he's going to get anywhere near as many sponsors as his mentor. Lyme briefly mentions to not count out all of the other Districts, but even she only barely watches their reapings. Brutus laughs loudly when a cripple is reaped in District 10. The male tribute for District 11 is large and might pose some threat, but when the smallest little girl I've ever seen gets chosen in Twelve, we all stop paying attention.

"I volunteer!"

Everyone's eyes fly back to the screen. A dark haired girl who looks stronger and bigger than anyone from Twelve should is standing protectively in front of the tiny twig of a child. She volunteered. In District 12. That doesn't happen.

I study the girl who is willing to die for such a miniscule, shaking little thing. She's not tall or short; her features aren't particularly striking; she blended into the crowd and no one noticed her until she threw herself in front of the blonde girl. She made us all notice her. I hate her for it. One of the commentators gushes in excitement and then I hate her even more. I don't even listen when the other tribute it reaped and the cameras only leave the girl for a couple seconds at a time. All it took was two words from her mouth to capture the entire world's attention.

"I'm going to kill that one," Cato growls.

No. He's wrong. It'll be me that kills her.

Anger bubbles up in my stomach. Anger and determination and hatred all mix together, along with some other feeling that I can't name, pushing me one. I'm going to be the one that watches the life leave those steely gray eyes of hers – the thought of it gets me excited. The last think she sees, the last thing she hears, the last thing she thinks, those will all be me; in death, she will be completely under my control. Oh, yes, I'm going to be the one that kills her. I'll die before I let her live.