Right from the start

You were a thief

You stole my heart

And I your willing victim

I let you see the parts of me

That weren't all that pretty

And with every touch you fixed them

Just Give me a Reason, The Truth about Love; P!nk

...

I see the faint trail of air escapes from the part in her full lips that tells me that she is surely alive, the sharp edge in her eyes which contain no small amount of hostility tells me that no, she isn't intimidated by my roar of an outburst. I ignore the stares of the surrounding, their eyes resting on the two top trainees, flinching at every contact, at every move. My eyes scour hers, for just a moment, searching for the wanted weakness as she firmly grips her beloved knives, her tense knuckles turning white at the pressure as she raises her head.

My hand equally clenches onto the metal sword that has also brought many unforgiving wounds. It's clear that Clove is not going to give up, as if my anger had sparked her determination, which I hated most. When I leaned close enough, I could see the freckles that sprinkled across the bridge of her nose, if I tried, I could smell her equal hunger for my death, just faintly on her every time we fought our battles that never seemed to end, hidden in the innocent scent of flowers that trailed her, trapped in her aura of ice that was fire.

"Clove."

She doesn't answer me, her full lips clenched as she stares back, her fair green eyes void of emotion that held the faintest specks of gold.

"You have a real talent for pissing me off."

Which she scoffs at, her dark chocolate locks falling to her shoulders as she raised a knife to my face, the blade close to piercing the skin. I smirk as she undoubtedly imagines what my face will look like when she presses a little harder. My hand reaches to her small wrist, feeling the soft skin against my calloused hands before I turn the knife back to her, against her neck, feeling her indignation burning into my eyes.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, princess."

"Because you're a moron that's going to die when you volunteer, who, if was put in the body of a small girl would be afraid of the brainless idiot standing in front of her. So fuck off."

Fury flashes through my eyes, but instead a grim, sickly smile is plastered on my face as I slowly turn my head sideways, hot blood rushing to my face as she wipes the beautiful red liquid off the faint piercing indent my sword left in her neck. Her footsteps echo as I feel her hands on my chest, pushing me away, picking up her fallen knife. And I can't believe I let her.

Whispers sailed from mouths, trainers nodded at the short, brutal confrontation. No doubt we will be shipped off to the blood bath known as the Hunger Games, in which I will enjoy every moment of tearing her from limb to limb, savoring her blood, smiling at her chilling screams. The collection of scars she leaves on her marble white skin will be mercilessly added to.

Some wonder why I want her dead so badly. It is because her presence has already left a mark, a scar on me that will not go away. The fact that she is right drives a hatred within me. I need to vent my anger, or it boils into something worse.

Sweat trickles down my broad shoulders, dampening my bright blonde hair. I tear away Savena from her crowd of chattering friends, my lips pushing roughly on hers, biting, drawing blood from the soft skin. We get to the house in merely minutes, my house's tall shadow looming upon us as we clumsily fumble inside.

It takes only seconds to undress before I grope at her breasts, soft moans uttering from her lips as she nibbles on my ear. Pleasure fills me as she fits me into her tiny mouth, but it's not enough as I claw at her hair, relishing the soft gasp that is released as I pound into her, hard against the white walls that now bear a faint trail of my blood. But, when I imagine Clove instead of Savera, I see her malicious eyes begging me to give her pain. If only I could hear the agony in her voice when I destroy her.

Savera leaves quickly after we finish. There's not much that I want with her afterwards, even if it means I get to tear that stupid red lingerie that she always wears.

The wood creaks as I open the cupboard of fine District Two wine, dressed in a fine, clear bottle, a remedy for my burning desire, a temporary one.

The spicy liquid soothes my consciousness, and drives my mind elsewhere, away from thoughts of the bitch that now seems to be the cause of all my fury. Her grey-green eyes sparkling with challenge arouses my anger, her sickly laugh ringing through my ears brings me hatred that, like her, never leaves me.

In my dreams she haunts me, and in the day she carves scars onto my skin, but I'll wait. Until the very moment when she begs me to let her go, when I crush her stubborn, vicious spirit.

...

Wow! Another very short chapter in a month! This is so terrible I am considering dropping this. Sorry, just another emotional, tense chapter.