Here's the second chapter. Thanks sooooo much for all the reviews and favourites, it means so much! It made my day. I hope you enjoy this chapter and there's another one coming next week, though I'll be busy for a while and probably won't get around to it. All right goes to the amazing Suzanne Collins and please review again. Thanks!
When I feel as though I'm going to go crazy and jump off the cornucopia I feel Peeta's hands snake around my back and encircle my waist. He holds me tight into his chest as I cry for my friend Cato. I think of for how long I pinned him as my enemy, as a target to kill. But tonight he saved my life more than once. If only there was some way I could repay him.
"There's nothing you could do Katniss," Peeta whispers in my ear, brushing the hair back from my face. Fresh tears trickle down my cheeks and Peeta reaches up and wipes them away with his thumb. I bury my head on his shoulder, Cato's cries echoing in my ears.
"Do you have any knifes," I manage to choke out finally. My throat is raw from crying.
"The only one I had is buried in the back of a beasts skull," he replies finally. I nod and wrap my arms around Peeta's neck again as my eyes overflow with tears. I try to make sense of my thoughts as Peeta rubs my back comfortingly. Cato wasn't a bad person; he didn't know any better. He had been raised his whole life to do one thing; kill. He was no different than Peeta or I or anyone in these games. The Capitol had turned us against each other and used us as a warning to all the districts. We had all been taken advantage of and manipulated, including Cato. I sit back in Peeta's arms, looking into his eyes. He looks seriously back at me and I see the dark lines under his blue eyes. His hands continue to trace soothing patterns on my back.
I begin slowly. "I keep wishing…." My voice wavers and I can't finish. I look furiously at the ground, fighting back tears. Peeta tilts my chin up to look at him.
"Katniss?" he says, echoing Cato. I swallow.
"I keep wishing I could think of a way to show them they don't own me. Or you, or Cato. Show them that-"
"You're more than just a piece in their games," Peeta finishes. He gives me a knowing smile I can't return. I think back to when Peeta said that on the roof before the games and how I couldn't understand him. Now I fully comprehend and I feel the same way. I want to show the Capitol what I think of their Hunger Games. And I want to do it now. I jump to my feet.
"Peeta, the nightlock," I whisper excitedly. Before he can respond I'm sprinting to the backpack I retrieved on that first day in the arena. I find the pouch we put the leftover nightlock in after Peeta unknowingly outwitted Foxface. Perhaps we can outwit the Capitol too. Peeta catches my hand before I can pour a few of the deadly berries into my outstretched palm.
"Katniss, don't," he says harshly. I shake him free.
"Trust me Peeta," I say, tipping a handful of the nightlock into his palm. I look meaningfully at him. He looks unsure but nods, holding the berries out for the cameras to see. I do the same and hold them tightly in my closed fist. There are still some berries in the small pouch. I approach the edge of the cornucopia. Below I can see Cato's face, shining with crimson blood. Amazingly, his eyes focus on me and he bares his teeth in a forced smile. His face is stoic but as a mutt bites deeply into the soft flesh of his neck I see him wince and his forehead crease. I gulp.
"Cato," I call and he looks back at me. I wave the pouch at him. "On three." He nods in understanding. With precision, I throw the bag to him. It lands lightly on Cato's chest and with his ruined hand he feebly reaches for the bag. I can see his hand quiver and the effort it takes to lift it. Even beneath the layer of blood and grime I see the grey tinge to his skin. His face knits in pain and he empties the pouch into his shaking hand. I turn back to Peeta who has put his life in my hands, who trusts me completely, who loves me unconditionally. He is willing to die for me. He holds out a hand that I take it in mine. "One." His blue eyes warm as they settle on me. I feel a soft glow spread from my fingers all the way through my body. I'm no longer scared.
"Two." Peeta grips my hand tighter. I look over my shoulder to Cato. A dark brown mutt is tearing into his neck but he looks more peaceful than I've ever seen him. His blond hair is flecked with tiny droplets of blood and his face is covered with dried blood. His once magnificent body is a shadow from of its former self; his limbs are all mutilated beyond repair of any normal healer, even my mother. The Capitol doctors might not even be able to restore him. Death is the easiest way out for Cato. He looks younger than ever; his once icy eyes are dim and almost unseeing; I'm surprised he's still conscious. He's raises his head slightly. I meet his eyes and watch his lips move. I read the word," three."
In unison Peeta and I raise the berries to our mouths. Peeta never takes his eyes off me. I've resigned myself to death as, when the nightlock reaches my lips, the booming voice of Cladius Templesmith rings across the arena. "Stop, stop!" His voice is anxious and hurried. I see a glint of hope in Peeta's eyes. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are proud to present you the winners of the 74th annual Hunger Games, Cato Stone from District 2 and Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen of District 12." Peeta shares an incredulous look with me and sinks to his knees, still holding my hand. I let the nightlock tumble from my palm onto the cornucopia. Numb, I stamp it expressionlessly into the ground until its purple mush. Peeta gets to his feet and pulls me aside. He grips me by the shoulders, forcing me to stop and look at him. His blue eyes are shining with happy tears.
"Katniss," he says. "We've won. We've won the Games. We're going home." He envelops me in a tight hug and I stare blankly into the distance. This doesn't feel real. I promised Prim I would win but I never really believed I would. I thought I'd said goodbye for the last time. Now I'm going to see her again. An unfamiliar smile spreads across my face. I'm really going home.
Suddenly I realise the arena is quiet; there is no growl of the mutts or cries from Cato. I pull away from Peeta and sprint to the edge of the cornucopia. The mutations have silently disappeared and left Cato lying alone in a pool of his own blood. He is moaning weakly. Without thinking of my own safety I hurl myself headfirst off the cornucopia. I land hard on my right arm and roll to dull the impact. I hear a thud as Peeta lands nearby. My arm throbs dully and I clutch it to my chest, hissing through my teeth. Peeta is at my side in an instant.
"What were you doing?" he snaps, helping me to my feet. I scowl darkly at him and am about to yell back at him in defence when I realise he is just worried about me. I instantly feel guilty. He looks me up and down and sees me holding my arm awkwardly.
"Here-"he starts but I brush him away.
"I'm fine." I'm looking past Peeta, to Cato. He's motionless. For a half a second I think he's dead but I realise there was no cannon. I run forward, Peeta following disgruntledly. I drop beside Cato, whose eyes are half open. He recognises me straight away and his hand searches for mine. His hands are sleek with blood. I hold his hand loosely.
"They're gone, the mutts are gone," I whisper in a soothing voice. Speaking like that doesn't usually come naturally to me; with Peeta I always had to try, had to copy the tone my mother used with my father. But with Cato, it is effortless.
"Good." Cato forces the word out and a river of blood gushes from between his clenched teeth. I can't stop my hands trembling.
"Don't talk Cato," I beg, brushing the blond hair from his face. He sighs deeply and closes his eyes. His body convulses and more blood dribbles down his chin. I force myself to speak in a neutral tone.
"Peeta, where are the hovercrafts?" I'm proud of how even my voice is, despite my distress.
"It should be here by now, they've never taken this long," he wonders. He's sitting cross-legged under the shade of the cornucopia, looking anxiously up at the sky. He's fidgeting impatiently with his hands, wringing them together.
"You don't think…" I can't bring myself to finish the sentence. I look over my shoulder at Cato. His chest is barely rising and blood is flowing freely from his multiple wounds. His eyes are clenched shut.
"That they're trying to wait him out?" Peeta finishes spitefully. "I think that's exactly what they're doing."
I shake my head in denial. Peeta just tilts his head to the side and gives me a pitiful look. He turns away to face the wall, drawing patterns in the clay with his fingernail. I'm still shaking my head back and forth. I won't give up on Cato that easily.
I rip the bottom of my cotton shirt into long strips and soak them in what little water Peeta and I have left. I don't want to leave Cato alone to go refill them by the lake and Peeta is in no condition to walk. Although I won't admit it, I don't want to leave for fear I hear the cannon boom while I'm gone. I search the bag for the burn medicine Haymitch sent me but the small container is practically empty and I'm not sure how much good it would do Cato anyway.
"Sorry Cato, this is going to hurt," I say reassuringly. He doesn't seem to acknowledge me but as I press the bandage to his raw wound he hisses loudly and digs his fingernails into the palm of my hand. I feel the blood trickle down my arm but I didn't pull away.
"Katniss," Cato moans, grabbing my wrist. He twists, arching his back in some unseen nightmare. I bend closer to him.
"I'm here," I whisper. Cato immediately relaxes and his grip loosens around my arm. I sit back on my heels, trying to stay calm. My breaths are quickening in panic, my hands shaking.
Suddenly Cato lets out a chesty cough and warm blood spatters my clothes. His eyes roll into the back of his head. I freeze, watching his chest for the familiar rise and fall of his laboured breath. But Cato is still. I frantically find his wrist and as I've seen my mother do a hundred times check for a pulse. But I can't find one. I'm painfully aware of how cold his skin feels against mine.
"Peeta," I cry, my voice rising in panic. "Peeta do something." Peeta immediately looks up from his drawing and races over. He knows I'm being serious. Dropping to the ground, he too checks Cato's pulse. Swearing, he pushes me back behind him, blocking Cato from view.
"Don't watch Katniss," he says gently. He kneels over Cato's unresponding body and rips Cato's ragged shirt in two, revealing his bloody chest. Peeta begins pressing hard on his chest, across his breastbone. I cough back tearful sobs and clench my fists until my knuckles are white. I can't take my eyes of Cato, his face so innocent in death. Seeing him die before me, being helpless to stop it, brings me back to that meadow with Rue as the life drained out of her. I couldn't go through this, not again. My vision swims before me as I watch the boy with the bread vainly try to save the ruthless Career.
Peeta is barking out numbers as he works. His usually serene face is a mask of concentration; sweat is trickling down his face and into his eyes but he's determined to keep going. When he reaches the number thirty he bends down, holds Cato's nose shut and presses his lips to his. I looked horrified for a minute before I see Cato's chest rise. Peeta is breathing air into him. Peeta repeats this again and still Cato doesn't respond.
That's when I see the hovercraft, drifting towards us. "No!" I scream, launching myself over Peeta and wrapping my arms around Cato's torso. Peeta follows my gaze and lowers his head in defeat. He steps back from Cato's body and ends his compressions. The hovercraft comes to a stop over us.
"No," I cry again, my tears mingling with Cato's blood. His once sparkling blue eyes look blankly ahead. I bury my head in his neck, screaming uncontrollably. My wails echo across the arena in finality. Peeta looks grimly at the ground. I feel myself being lifted into the air and I experience an alien sensation of weightlessness. I am aware my hands are still folded around Cato's dead body. A sudden white light forces me to snap my eyes shut. I feel hands pry me away from Cato and men grunt with exasperation as they unfurl my stiff fingers.
"Let. Me. Go." I scream, thrashing and hitting out blindly. I squint and can make out vague shapes. I see two men in white coats stretcher Cato away into an adjoining room. I leap after him but strong hands hold me back.
"Help him," I shriek, tearing my vocal chords. I'm still lashing out with my feet and fight my way loose. I chase after Cato but an iron enforced door blocks my way. I bang repeatedly on it, tears leaking down my face. I can see through a small square window
"Cato, Cato," I scream. They have him on a bed. What are they doing to him? I try to smash open the window with my fist but instead several of my fingers pop out of place. I howl in loss and pain until a pair of hands sweep me effortlessly into their arms. I recognise Peeta's strong arms and relax into his chest. I'm still trembling uncontrollably.
"It's okay Katniss, it's over. The games are over." He lays me in a soft bed and helps peel off my dirty arena clothes. A capitol doctor tries to help but I attack him, snarling like a provoked animal and Peeta forces them all to leave. I feel a pinch in my arm as Peeta injects me with a dose of morphling. It immediately relaxes my muscles and I melt into the bed, my limbs to heavy to move. Peeta kisses me on the forehead and is about to leave when I catch his arm. He looks back at me.
"Is he dead?" I whisper. Peeta pulls up a chair beside my bed and takes my hand.
"I don't know," he replies. My lip trembles.
"Stay here Peeta. I'll have nightmares if I'm alone."
"Of course." He climbs into the bed beside me and I snuggle into his chest, like we did in our cave. He stretches out an arm and lets me use it as a pillow. It's much more comfortable than any pillow the Capitol could offer. Despite Peeta's heat I'm shivering. He puts my hands to his mouth and warms them with his breath. I eventually fall into a troubled sleep involving Rue, the tracker jackers, mutations and Cato. I can't get the image of Cato's bright blue eyes locked with mine as he fell to the mercy of the mutts. I wake screaming his name and Peeta rocks me back to sleep, humming a lullaby I would to sing to Prim to help her sleep. He does this three times during the night and I wonder if he got any sleep. The dark rings under his eyes tell me he didn't