Cato POV

Today are the interviews. And tomorrow are the Games.

Yesterday, Clove and I trained for the interviews with Brutus and Enobaria. We trained together. The first four hours, with Enobaria, were bearable. Enobaria clearly wasn't a fan of the job – for the bulk of the time, all we did was practice smirks, sappy smiles and taunting laughs. Clove had to strut around in heels, but, because Enobaria clearly isn't one for fashion herself, she was allowed to stop after a few minutes. The next few hours – with Brutus – were.. interesting. We worked on our angles for the interviews. We aren't allowed to choose how we act – we're given a personality and expected to work with it. District 2 males are murderous, strong, blockheads. District 2 females – depending on their appearance & training score – are either like the males or … sexy. It's this same cycle, every year; we're not supposed to be original. We're just supposed to impress our potential sponsors with our apathy and callousness. Brutus tried to claim that, with our scores of 10, that it's granted that our interviews will be smooth. We're already in the center of attention, and so far, our sponsor numbers look decent. His reassurance would soothe me – and I'd be 100% confident – if it weren't for that girl from District 12. The one with the 11.

District 12 tributes always die in the Bloodbath. Always. They're weak, poor, underfed, and untrained. District 12 is the poorest district, the majority of its citizens poverty-struck, so it's a given that the tributes are incompetent. The district has 1, maybe 2 victors to brag of. But, yet, this girl managed to get an 11. District 12 is unremarkable and forgettable. Something I was counting on the tributes this year to be.

11 is a score only a handful of tributes have been given since the start of the Games. So, rather than paying attention to us – Panem is buzzing about the girl that defied everything her District stands for. She volunteered in a place where being reaped means certain death. She got an 11, when if you're from 12, you're lucky to manage a 3. She's a gem in the coal of her district. She doesn't look like much – so how she could beat the two people that have been training constantly for years is beyond me. I know I can kill her, and I will, no matter what she did to get that 11. Hopefully I can get her before she becomes too well equipped, before her mentors put those sponsor points to use. Every point she loses, Clove and I will gain. It may be hard to keep my promise to Clove – to kill the girl quickly – but as long as I'm getting rid of her, I'll be happy.

I know I'm being unreasonable, worrying about someone that, physically, isn't much competition towards me. I had always assumed that I'd be on top, that I'd be the tribute that everyone counted on to win and automatically sponsored. But now… I have an obstacle. An obstacle I never prepared for.

"Anguished?" A voice whispers into my ear. I jump, and spin around. "Clove." I murmur. "I didn't mean to scare you." She says, apologetic. "You look beautiful," I say, without thinking. She raises her eyebrows. "Disheveled hair.. dark circles.. gaunt cheeks.. I am a stunner," She says, smirking. "I'm not lying," I say. "Well.. you do know how to flatter a girl," She says softly, her smirk changing to a smile. "You're worrying about District 12, aren't you?" She says. "You know me too well." I murmur, sighing. "We have more immediate worries at the moment – y'know… thousands of people will be judging us today." She says, frowning. "Do me a favor?" I say, studying her. She looks at me curiously, and nods. "Practice with me? It'll take a lot of self control not to run my mouth off today. I mean, us making our impression on the whole Capitol population – it'll be tempting to call them twits.. if not worse," I say. "Please – don't give me ideas," She says, her eyes twinkling. "But, yes.. I'll help you.. if you help me. Three minutes of gushing, and it's over."

"So.. you have to act like a killer during the interviews," She says. I nod. "I'll brag about my insane killing skills, go on about how excited I am to be in the Games and how my kill list will be the longest." I say. My interview angle may get people in the Capitol to love me – but it'll get people in the Districts to hate me (apart from my own, maybe). ".. and, your interview angle?" I tease. Brutus tried to force Clove to go with the sexy angle – she may be skilled and trained, but she doesn't have the brutish look that most District 2 girls flaunt. After hours of arguing with him and refusing him, they eventually reached a compromise. She'll be a mix of innocence, sweetness, sarcasm, venom & deadliness. It's certainly not a dull combination. "I'm glad you didn't go with the sexy angle," I murmur. Imagining men in the Capitol fawning over her makes me sick… and envious. "Oh, my – if I attempted to be 'sexy', I'd make a complete and utter fool of myself. We can leave that to the District 1 girls," She says, rolling her eyes. "You're every girl in the Capitol's dream date – a fierce killer with plenty of muscles." She continues. She tries to be sarcastic, but her face is downcast. "They're nothing compared to you." I murmur.

Her cheeks immediately start to redden and as I stare into her eyes, I know that I love her with everything I have. This is the kind of love that lasts. I don't think I can be truly and wholly happy without her.. I can't see myself living without her.

Our moment of peace is broken when our door is thrown open. Our prep teams burst in, cooing cheerfully. "Time to get ready for your interviews!" They cry, their voices odd and high-pitched. "So much for practicing," Clove says. "Good luck… I'll see you later," She squeezes my hand and kisses my cheek, following her prep team without complaint. She spins around and blows me a kiss before leaving the room. "I can't wait to tell my friends – they'll love this – District 2 lovebirds! The Games this year will be so exciting!" One of them shrieks, and they all cheer. I don't protest – not because I'm not disgusted by them, but, because, in a day, my personal life will be broadcasted to all of Panem. I have better things to worry about than what the Capitol thinks. I rise and follow my prep team out the door, ripping my arm away when one of them tries to grab it.

They start working on me, and though it's incredibly tempting to turn violent and uncooperative, I resist and resort to cursing every few minutes. The only article of clothing I'm allowed is a small piece of cloth wrapped around my waist. My hair is cut, rinsed and spiked to perfection. My skin is scrubbed countless times; and after it's shiny and sleek, numerous powders and foundations are dabbed on. Though I'm a male – they spend an hour applying make-up to my face. I suppose they try to make it appear 'subtle' – but subtle by Capitol standards and subtle by District standards are two very different things. Gloss is rubbed on my lips, silver lines my eyes, and pounds of stuff is applied to make my features more pronounced. They glue iridescent gems to my knuckles, finger-nails and face. They use a small paint brush to paint a sword and spear on each of my cheeks, and a swirl design is carefully stenciled on my forehead. More swirl designs are detailed on my fingers, and a "10" and "2", representing my score and District, are stamped on the backs of my hands. As they're perfecting the 10 and 2, one of them starts to gush. "A 10 – I'm so proud! I'm working on the highest scoring District." As though I'm not already aggravated enough with these vile excuses for human beings, one of them chirps back: "Oh, no, you're wrong! The second highest scoring District. If only they were the highest this year.. I can't brag to my friends!" I nearly wrap my hands around their throat at the petty whining – everyone has taken notice of the 12 girl's score. People in the Capitol are more impressed by her than by Clove and I. Great.

They forcibly try to shove vivid gray contacts in my eyes. I refuse, and they have the good sense not to push me. As a finishing touch, silver is sprayed onto my skin from a can. I'm about to rise from my chair, my legs aching from lack of use, when they push me back down. Before I can even react, a syringe is shoved into my arm. Enraged, I'm about to yell at them when one of them speaks, their voice quivering. "It's to prevent the growth of body hair – on your face, your arms, your legs. It's not our decision." So, yet again, the Capitol shows how self-obsessed they really are – they can't have their male tributes looking ragged and uncivilized.

They're finally done, and I let out a sigh of relief. If it's been this agonizing for me, it's been ten times worse for Clove. My prep team files out of the room and in comes my stylist, brandishing the clothing I'm to wear for the interview. I'm forced to take off the cloth, and they size up my body before helping me into the suit they have brought. The fabric is heavy and hard. I glance down at my body – the suit's fabric is metallic and silver to match the rest of me. Gems cover most of the suit, only making room for a sword design on my left thigh and a '10' on my right thigh. I'm allowed to leave – I avoid all the mirrors plastered around the room, ashamed of how ridiculous I know I look. My stylist trails me, and we walk to the elevator. Clove and her stylist are already waiting. I avoid meeting Clove's eye. Clove moves to stand next to me and taps my hand lightly. "I see I'm not the only one that declined the contacts," She murmurs. "I look absurd, don't I?" I whisper. "You look dashing. Over-the-top, maybe; but beautiful all the same." I get a good look at her for the first time, and I gasp. Her lips are a striking red, and have tiny silver decals attached. Her skin is silver and she's covered in make-up. Designs and paintings like mine line her body. A slim coating of gems covers her chest –it's a pitiful excuse for a top, exposing her stomach and lower back. Her skirt is modest compared to her top, stretching down to her knees; though there's a slit up the thigh. Gems line its edge. Her heels are constructed completely of diamonds, and they must be at least 6 inches. An elegantly detailed 10 is drawn on her bare stomach. Her hair is up, highlighted with silver. "… wow." Is all I can manage. "Please, do not remind me how ludicrous and tasteless I look. These damn heels don't even make me as tall as you!" She growls, glaring daggers at her stylist. "Well.. we're a pair, that's for sure." I say. We're allowed to board the elevator when Brutus and Enobaria arrive. I can tell, as they look at us, that they're holding in snickers.

Clove clutches my hand. "In a minute, we'll be on stage," She murmurs, her voice shaking. "I'll be right next to you the whole time, except during your interview. But I'll be listening – don't worry, I'm rooting for you." I say. She plants a kiss on my lips and our stylists scream, tearing us apart. I don't care if I've ruined my make up – if anything, it'll make me look more like a human and less like an…. odd, shiny alien. The elevators open and we're led onto stage. Clove and I are seated next to each other. Clove will be interviewed before me. Luckily, we'll be the third and fourth to go – the audience will still be perky and excited for our interviews. They must get bored, come the 15th or 16th tribute. The crowd is massive – I can hear people shrieking my name. I spot a few signs that have Clove's picture – and my picture – on them. There must be a few dozen camera crews filming all of us. The Gamemakers are watching. The President is watching. It makes me a bit queasy – in a bit, everyone's attention will be focused on me. Everyone in Panem will be watching as I'm pelted with questions. Remember, you're a killer, Cato. A blood-thirsty killer.

Clove shoots me a nervous look and I smile reassuringly at her. "I'm nervous," She mouths. "I'm here," I mouth, and I press my foot against hers. I think it'd be a tad too scandalous to hold her hand with loads of people filming us. Caesar Flickerman bounds up on the stage, and it's a sign that the interviews will soon start. Caesar is the interviewer, and he has been, for a few decades. Trainers back home refer to him as an imbecile, and now I can see why. His appearance is childish and unrealistic. His hair and suit color changes every year; and he's always sheathed in layers of make-up. This year, he's gone blue. His hair and suit are a blinding sapphire. He hasn't aged a bit since he started as an interviewer –yet another one of the Capitol's wonders. He fools around with the audience for a few brief moments – and then the interviews finally start. Glimmer's first.

She's wearing a golden, see-through gown. Clearly, her stylist decided her interview should be aimed towards the men of the Capitol. I hardly listen to her interview – she tries to ooze sex appeal and ferocity at the same time. I don't think her interview matters. Any Capitol citizens that decide to sponsor her.. well, I'm sure what she says is the last thing on their mind.

Marvel comes next. He tries to act murderous and savage, but he comes off as dull. I'm sure his promise to kill is enough for potential sponsors to support him, however. Halfway through his interview, Clove kicks me. Her eyes are wide and terrified, and her hands are shaking. "You can do it.. you're amazing. They'll love you," I mouth. She smiles and she seems to regain some confidence – her shoulders and back grow straighter, and she smirks towards the cameras. Marvel's buzzer rings and he heads back towards his seat. Clove rises. "Go get 'em," I mouth, and she nods. She walks toward Caesar, poised; and never once stumbles in those idiotic heels. She sits down and her image is soon broadcasted on the large screen above us. She glances back towards me once, and I nod, shooting her a thumbs-up.

"How do you like the Capitol, Clove?" Caesar asks. She doesn't hesitate before answering. "The Capitol is gorgeous. The architecture and decorating is just superbly beautiful. And, the people – I don't think I've ever seen such beauty before! Everyone here is so pretty, unique and lovely." Her words are dripping with fake sweetness and sarcasm. "What's your favorite thing here?" He asks, returning her sugary smile. "Oh, honestly?" She coos. "The big, fluffy beds. They're such a beautiful display of craftsmanship – and so comfortable! Such luxury compared to what I'm used to back in District 2. And the food… magnificent." The crowd is yelling wildly – she's not disappointing them. "What was life like, back in District 2?" Caesar says. "Oh, if you must know – I trained at an academy in District 2. I've trained my whole life with weapons.. if I hadn't been reaped this year, I would've volunteered at a later point, for sure. I'm very skilled at killing.. how else do you think I got that 10?" She gushes, and points to the number painted on her stomach. She's nailing it – she's everything the Capitol wants. Sweet. Beautiful. Deadly. And, she's a rebel – technically, we aren't supposed to train, but to make the Games entertaining, it's a rule that's normally ignored. She didn't out-right say she trained for the Games, specifically. But her implication is enough. "So, you're excited for the Games?" He asks. "Very. In fact…," She stands up and shouts toward the crowd, "How would you like to have a District 2 tribute be the victor of the 74th Hunger Games?" The crowd cheers and shrieks wildly, screaming 'Yes, Please!" and her name enthusiastically. "So, you think you'll win?" Caesar says. "I know I will. Just ask the Gamemakers.. I'm sure they're very confident of my ability." She smirks and points toward the balcony, where the Gamemakers hold up their drinks, grinning. They banter a bit more about the Capitol and the Games – Clove glowing with sarcasm and charm. Her buzzer rings and she gets up, as do I. We pass each other and she smiles at me. Her success has given me confidence – I'm not the slightest bit nervous.

I sit down and Caesar smiles at me. "Are you excited to be in the Games, Cato?" He's skipping the Capitol fluff he highlighted with Clove. I'm one of the oldest tributes, I'm from District 2, and I got a ten. What I do in the arena is of best interest to the audience. "I volunteered, didn't I?" I say, a bitter edge to my voice. I smooth it over by winking at the crowd. They laugh and clap. "Why did you volunteer?" He asks. The real answer to that question? Freedom from the hell of training. Honor. I was forced to, really – the trainers made sure to ingrain entering the Games into our brains from the minute we started. I've trained for the Games my whole life – they've been what my world has revolved around. "I'm very skilled," I say. "It seemed logical to enter the Games – talent of my degree should not be wasted." I try my best to sound cold and brutal. "10. Amazing score. Would you like to enlighten us as to your strategy in the Games?" He says. I laugh sharply and icily. "Come tomorrow, all of Panem will see why I received a 10. I take pride in knowing that the list of kills below my name will be the longest," My words are a threat, a promise. We go back and forth for a bit more – he asks me questions about the Games, I fit my thirst to murder every tribute and win into each answer. I list various methods of murder, including those involving nothing more than my bare hands. The crowd is eating it up – and though I know it's despicable to act like this, if it's getting sponsors, this is my only choice.

Near the end of the interview, the direction of Caesar's questions drastically change. "So, Cato, strong young man like yourself. Do you have a girl back home?" This question catches me off-guard – it's not something you expect after a few minutes of discussing death. I glance back at Clove, and we lock eyes. Her eyes are wide and she only stares at me, waiting for my answer, like everyone else. Why should I hide our relationship? People will know by tomorrow, anyway; and perhaps this will help boost sponsor numbers. People in the Capitol will surely find us endearing, heartbreaking, desirable – cold murderers, in love with each other, stuck in a match to the death. Only one can survive. Our relationship is not a tool, and I respect it.. but if this will benefit and help us, it's worth it. I glance back at Clove again and she nods urgently – consent. "Well, Caesar, I…," My words are cut off as the buzzer chimes.

"Too bad!" Caesar pouts. The audience boos. "Well, Cato, good luck!" He gushes. "Thank you, Caesar. Though I don't need it," I growl. The audience's booing turns into claps and cheers as I head back to my seat. I sit down, and the District 3 girl takes my place next to Caesar. "Good job," Clove mouths. She moves her foot against mine – our subtle, secret way of showing care – and I settle back to watch the interviews. District 3 is unremarkable – the only words they get out of their mouths are shaky, nervous whispers. After them, it's time for the last of the Careers. Thalia tries to mimic Clove, her attempt boring and unconvincing. Ethan plays up the sympathy card, bringing tears to the audience's eyes.

I drift off as the interviews go on. None are particularly interesting or successful. I find myself thinking of my own interview. I suppose it went well. Mention the word 'kill' in your interview and you're bound to receive a flood of people willing to sponsor you. In a way, I'm disappointed that I didn't reveal… well, what Clove and I have. Anywhere else, I'd think it selfish and petty to use our relationship for publicity.. for gain. But, Panem only sees us as killers – if they saw our caring side, they'd be falling over themselves to sponsor us. As soon as we're in the arena, they'll find out anyway; but first impressions are everything (… especially when sponsors tend to bet the most money after these).

I'm about to fall asleep when Katniss' turn comes. This, I want to see – I wonder what the girl with the 11 is like. As she begins talking, I come to the conclusion that she is nothing special. She doesn't seem to have an angle – which is surprising. With an 11, you'd expect her mentors to pushing arrogance. I roll my eyes as the interview continues – it's fluff and gushing. Caesar asks her about her outfits and she actually stands up and twirls around, giggling like an air-head. At this point, I realize that I'd have to be insane to actually fear her in the arena. If this is how she generally acts, she'll be easy to finish. Lastly, what everyone's been waiting for – Caesar asks her about her sister. Family devotion. How lovely. Oh, Katniss.. I'm sure your sister will adore watching your bloody death as she sits helpless, back in the slums of 12..

The clapping she receives as she saunters back to her seat makes me want to pummel a wall – no, better… her. Peeta comes next. He's a joker, clearly. He pokes fun at Caesar and the audience, laughing and grinning at every chance. His interview's almost finished when Caesar shoots him the same question I was asked. "Do you have a girl back home, Peeta?" Peeta bites his lip, and shakes his head slowly. "Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" Caesar prompts. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her, ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." The crowd sighs sadly. I stop listening, angry – the crowd is loving this. That is, until a certain part catches my ear: after Caesar advises him to win, a guaranteed way to get the girl, he says, "Winning.. won't help in my case," Even I want to hear this. "Why ever not?" Caesar asks. "Because… because… she came here with me."

oooo

"I can't believe this!" I yell. I slam my hand into the wall, tearing a hole in it. I hardly made it off the stage without doing something rash, and now I can't control myself. "I was going to tell Caesar about us, Clove. But the buzzer rang. The damn buzzer – and now Panem loves them." If the buzzer hadn't rang, Clove and I would be the ones basking in glory, with our tragic love story. Katniss and Peeta would be forgettable and average. And, yes, everyone will find out about us tomorrow – but now we have Katniss and Peeta to compete with. People may think we're acting simply to steal and copy some of their success. "He doesn't even love her…," I growl. "It's just a clever stunt." Clove grabs my shaking fists. "It doesn't matter, Cato. It doesn't," She murmurs, soothingly. "We can kill them. I love you, and nothing can change that. If we have the Cornucopia – we won't need sponsors for food, supplies and weapons. We have each other in these Games. That's all we need. We're at a higher advantage than they are – training, our control over the Cornucopia. Who cares if a few rich idiots happen to be touched by their love story?" She says. "How do you always manage to make me feel better?" I murmur. "It's worth it to make an effort when you care about someone so much," She whispers.

We wash off the make-up – it takes a few good minutes of scrubbing – and change into normal clothes. Then, we're called to dinner. The table is piled high with food – somewhat of a parting gift, I suppose. I eat all I can – after all, this may be my last 'normal' meal. As we finish eating and settle in the lounge to watch the interviews, Brutus starts to speak. "You two did well – nailed your angles. Lots of other District 2 victors complimented you on your success," Of course they did – no doubt their interviews were similar. It's painful to re-watch my interview, to see how much of a brute I was – but thankfully, the cheering for Clove and me is massive and strong. Cheering for most of the other tributes is scattered and weak – until we reach Katniss and Peeta's interviews. Their applause challenges ours. Clove's reasoning has calmed me down a bit – but, still, listening to Peeta's sappy declaration of love angers me. "He must be desperate," Brutus says, smirking. "Haymitch has had nothing to work with since he started mentoring –he finally found a small amount of substance and potential with these two, so he's doing everything he can. Considering he's had years to pile up ideas he never has the chance to use, it's kind of disappointing that he picked the unoriginal route of… 'love'." Enobaria snarls. Brutus laughs. "Come arena-time, the Capitol will realize who the decent tributes are, and sponsor them. Don't worry about these two," He says. The interviews end, the anthem plays and the screen fades to black and falls silent. "I guess this is good-bye," Clove says, breaking the silence that has fallen over us.

"Any last words of wisdom?" I say, to Brutus and Enobaria. "Kill. It's what the sponsors and the Capitol want. It's what keeps them talking – about you. Dominate the Bloodbath. Make the deaths you cause suspenseful – that's what they like. Don't trust your alliance – I've lost a few good tributes over the years from trickery. You can sleep while District 1 or 4 keeps guard, but sleep lightly and armed. Lead the alliance, and at the break-up, take as many down as you can. Always have plenty of supplies with you – carry a few weapons on you, food, water, the basics. Camp has been destroyed before, and those unprepared have died. Don't take risks. If something doesn't seem right, it isn't. If you find a water source or plants, do not use them. Chances are, they're poisonous. Never let your guard down, at every second you should be prepared to fight and run. If the arena happens to be a wasteland of some sort, stay at camp. Tributes will find you when they become desperate enough. Ration your supplies wisely – you can run out of food and water. Take care of yourself. You must never be too weak to fight. Especially towards the end – the Gamemakers love their finale. Make sure you are hydrated, well-fed, rested and ready. You will die if you are haggard and injured. And.. always be aware of your surroundings. Don't stomp around the arena like an animal.. you never know what's coming." Brutus says. I soak in every bit of information he hands us – advice from a victor, someone who has experienced and conquered the Games, is very valuable. "Good luck. With your training, you'll do amazingly. Enobaria and I will try our best to send you what you need." He says. He pats my back and gives Clove a quick hug. "I'm sure Brutus will agree – though you've been an interesting pair to mentor, you two are some of the greatest I've worked with. You have potential – milk it for all it's worth. Best of luck. If you ever feel alone, remember that we are watching and rooting for your return." Enobaria says. She hugs both of us. I'm very surprised by their kindness – these aren't the people I've seen on the television. "Good bye..," Brutus and Enobaria both echo. And though they don't say it, both of them know that they will never see at least one of us again. I know that I will not see them again. So I savor every bit of their care.

We're allowed to go to bed, and Clove and I leave, waving our very last good-byes to them. We go into Clove's room and curl up together. "Isn't it odd…? How much you appreciate something when you know you may never experience it again?" She murmurs. "Oh, Clove…," I say. She shouldn't have to feel this way. And it kills me inside that she does. "I acted so horribly in the interviews. The districts hate us, Cato. We're villains." She says. "Who cares what they believe? You – and I – know who we truly are. That's what matters. If they want to hate us because we are in the Games and will do what we must to survive, then it's their loss." I stroke her hair and she lays her head on my lap. I'm convinced she's asleep when she rises suddenly. She traces her hand along my chest. "What do you think the arena will be like?" She says. "The Gamemakers have learned from their mistakes in the past – I'd say a desert or a frozen tundra is out," I say. "In less than 24 hours, we will be in the arena. This is surreal." She says. I nod my agreement. All of this is happening so quickly, whether we want it to or not. "Cato, this is the last time we'll have together truly alone." I kiss her lips gently and she wraps her arms around my shoulders. "If we were back in District 2…," I begin to say. "If we were back in District 2, I'd run away with you. No, we wouldn't run away – we'd just leave. Let the trainers try to stop us. We'd get married. We'd build a home in the mountains – with no television, of course. Then, we'd have twenty children – Cato Jr., Brutus, Enobaria…," I stop her. "A mini Enobaria running around? Yes, because that's what we need…," She presses her finger against my lips. "Then, we'd grow old together. Have our yearly visits to District 4 – to see the ocean, of course. Hike in our lovely mountains. Sit together in front of the fire on cold, snowy nights. See our grandchildren run around.. in a world without the Hunger Games. Die in each other's arms, when we're 100…," She finishes. A single tear runs down her cheek and I wipe it away. The idea of this future is so painfully inviting… and it hurts so much to know it can't happen. "I love you, Clove. I'd do anything for you…," I say. "I know, Cato." She says. We lay down. She puts her head on my shoulder and I can feel her tears dampen my shirt. I clutch her hand and feel my eyelids getting heavier. I try to fight it – sleep's not important when you're about to be sent into a death match. Clove kisses my cheek. "It's fine – get some sleep. You'll need it. Sweet dreams, my love." And with that I drift off, surrendering to the darkness.

Clove POV

I rub my red eyes and stare out the window. The sky is gray, and the dawn is coming. In a few hours, we will be in the arena. Our actions judged by the thousands watching us. At the end of this day, many families will be grieving at the loss of a child, sibling, grandchild, niece, nephew..

I bury my face in my hands. I haven't gotten any sleep. The nerves are consuming – I'm sure I'm not the only tribute awake right now. I have no idea how Cato is fast asleep – after tossing and turning for hours, I decided it was a lost cause. I'm sure sleep would've done me some good – I'm a mess. Worrying about the future, Cato, the Games.. it's a lot for somebody to cope with.

Tears start to stream down my cheeks as I recall our conversation last night. Lusting over a perfect future – a future I will never have the privilege to share with him. It's evident that I love him with all of my heart and always will – why else would it hurt this much? Painful questions start to flood my brain and I groan. Which one of us will die first? What will the other do when they are alone and broken? It's chilling to imagine… but in a few weeks, both of us could be rotting in the ground. A horrifying thought. Something I won't even begin to let myself believe.

I realize in an instant: I don't care if I die. I care if Cato dies. I know how much he cares for me, I know how torn he'd be if I died. He can win. He's such an amazing person – he doesn't deserve to die in the arena. I can't let him die in the arena. And as I ponder this, I make the hardest decision I've ever had to. I have to make him despise me. I have to make him believe that my love and care isn't genuine. I have to make him believe that I don't truly care about him. I don't want to hurt him… but if I can make him see me as nothing, he can win and leave.. he can have a life.. a future..

I walk over to our bed. "Cato, wake up," I say gently, trying to sound perky. His eyes open, bleary and sleepy. He smiles at me. "Something nice to wake up to," He says, yawning. I remain silent. "The Games…," He says. I nod. I lean forward and kiss him on the lips, with no warning. The feeling of a thousand butterflies in my stomach tempts me to abandon my plan… but his future and life is on the line. It's so incredibly selfish of me to do this now – when we've already been through so much together. I should've had the wisdom to break 'us' off the second it happened. Not that I don't love him… but, now, trying to save his life will be so much harder. " I love you, Clove," He says. It's so incredibly painful, knowing that I will never feel one of his amazing kisses and never hear those beautiful words again. I can't hesitate any longer. "Do you, really?" I say coldly. He looks surprised. "Of co…," He starts to say. I cut him off. "I'm sorry, Cato. But I've been lying to you." I say, my voice frigid and distant. "I don't love you. I've just been using you. I've been training my whole life! Do you really think I'd throw it away for some boy? Trust me, after I win, there will be plenty of men after me. I don't need you. I just needed your protection to help me win! But, I had a change of heart… I realized that I only need myself to win," I finish. I can hardly choke out the words. He looks stunned, horrified and hurt. I-I feel sick. I feel hollow. I feel as though I've just been stabbed in the stomach. I want to fall apart – I want to tell him my plan, I want him to forgive me, I want to fall into his arms. "C-Clove.. I love you," He says, his voice quivering. "I gave you everything – I told you everything.. I trusted you." The betrayal in his eyes is overwhelming. "Everything we spoke about…? Every time we kissed and hugged…?" He says. I nod. "If it matters, you're sort of handsome," I say. My own voice is shaking – I'm starting to break – I can't keep this up any longer. "I'm.. so… sorry," I say. He stares at me wordlessly. Emptiness in his eyes. As we lock eyes, the tears start to flow. I'm frozen in place. I can't stop them as they fall. Our eyes are locked for a full minute, at least – when he opens his mouth to say something, I run from the room before I can hear it. I lean against the wall in the hallway, fighting the urge to sob. I hate myself for hurting him – and I know the pain I have caused him will be long-lasting. But I have made the right decision. When he thinks of me, in the future, he will think of me as a horrible person. He won't love me. But if he can live and move on, my sacrifice is worth it.

The costs of my decision are high; I may have saved him, but I have destroyed myself. My rock, my life, the person I love … I have gotten rid of him. And now I feel empty inside. Truly – all the emotions I once had seem to be gone. I am a hollow person, made up of sadness and pain. Of course, I won't immediately give up in the Games. But, when it is my time to die, I will not protest. I'll just fade away..

Oh, Cato. I hope on your deathbed, many years from now, you will realize that what I did was for your own good. I hope you realize that the pain I caused you was simply because I loved you so much. I hope you can let go, and forgive me..

I know I will take my love for Cato to the grave. If only he could do the same…

Cato POV

She's lying..

In other words, I refuse to believe that she's not. This feels like a nightmare.. I'm praying I'll wake up and everything will be back to normal. All the hours we've talked, and revealed everything to each other. All the times we've kissed. All the times we've hugged. Every time I've heard her laugh.. made her smile…

I feel like a fool. I'm head-over-heels in love with her. To consider that she was acting this whole time – to consider that she doesn't love or care for me… I lose my breath. She doesn't love me. Everything we said.. everything we did.. I'm going through the Games alone. I have no one now. No family. No one I'm even remotely close to. I have no one to fight for.

I'd give up everything for her, still. I can't just… forget about her, and everything we had. I'll still watch over her in the arena. I'll still make sure she gets out. Even if she eagerly anticipates my death. Even if she doesn't care.

What would the people who trained and raised me think, if they saw me now? Mighty Cato, falling apart. But they'll never know.. how much I love her.

My room door bursts open – I'm hoping it's Clove – but it's not. It's my stylist. "Time for the arena," I nod and follow. We head into the hall and into the elevator. A second before the door closes, a hand stops it; and in come Clove and her stylist. Our stylists – as clueless as they generally are – seem to pick up the tension between us. She stares at me for a few fleeting seconds: her eyes dull, her face tear-stained. I'm waiting for her to say something – to tell me it was a joke, a prank.. but she turns away and avoids my gaze. We head to the roof. The last time we were here… I stop my thoughts, knowing that paining myself will only decrease my performance in the arena. Two hovercrafts appear, one for Clove, one for me. Ladders drop down, and I look towards Clove. "See you soon…," I say, to no response. I grab the ladder and immediately my body goes limp. A current attaches me to the ladder as I'm lifted inside. I'm inside soon, and a man wearing a lab coat approaches me, holding a syringe. "Keep still, Cato. This is your tracker." He says. A tracker – the tool Gamemakers use to log our every single movement. I feel a second of sharp pain – but then it's gone and I am released from the ladder. My stylist is fetched from the roof, and the hovercraft starts to move. I glance out the window for the whole trip, wanting to make the best of the scenery. Long, dark wilderness follows bright, crowded city – the last city and forest I may ever see.

The windows are blacked out, meaning we're near the arena. The hovercraft lands and the ladder lowers, leading into a tube underground. We go to a small room meant specifically for my preparation – we're below the arena now, in the Stockyard. The Games are beginning in a half hour.

I shower tensely, my thoughts wrapped around the arena I will be in very shortly. Hopefully the climate is something.. livable. Sweltering heat or freezing cold will be unbearable – and it won't take long for it to go to your head. My clothes for the arena arrive – and as I see them, I sigh in relief. They seem to be meant for mild weather – no extremes. Long pants and a sleeved shirt, a thin jacket, and durable boots. As I finish dressing in them, my stylist hands me something. My token.

He drops it onto my outstretched hand and I squeeze it. "I love you, Cato. Wherever we are, together or apart. Forever and always." A lie.. it was all a lie. I can't believe it was all a lie. A tear falls onto the heart-shaped chunk of wood, and I wipe it away hurriedly. I can't remember the last time I cried. I can't remember the last time something hurt me enough to force tears from my eyes. I should throw this away – tell my stylist that it's not mine and that I don't want it. But.. I can't. I want to be strong and tell myself that I don't need her. That I never actually cared for her. But it's not worth it to lie to myself in the time I have left. This token may mean nothing to her, but it means everything to me. I stick it into my jacket pocket, making sure the small space is firmly zippered so I will not lose it.

My stylist stares at me. "The Gamemakers had quite a field day with you and your District partner's tokens. Usually they're not so… interesting." They finish this comment with a smirk. "If I wanted to, I could kill you, right here. Now," I growl. Their eyes – formally alit with cruelty – are now alit with fear and horror. "N-No, you.. you.. couldn't." I mimic their prior smirk. "I could snap your neck, before the Capitol could rescue you. They'd kill me, maybe, but not before I killed you." I snarl. This game is fun. "There are cameras.. p-please, I'm begging you..," I stop as I realize the trouble I may be in. A lowly tribute threatening a semi-important Capitol figure? I'm too valuable to straight-out kill, but the Gamemakers can make my life hell in the arena if I've crossed one of their own.

I let out a fake, bubbly laugh. "I'm kidding – why would I ever hurt you? The tributes are the ones I want to kill. You're a great person – I really admire and respect you for doing such a great job on my costume. Someone with your talent should never die. I just wanted some fun before the arena. Can you accept my apology?" I try to sound genuine, but my words drip with sarcasm and insincerity. They buy it, however. "Oh, no, I understand! The Games aren't very funny, after all. Thanks! I can't wait to see you in the arena!" They gush. That was a close one – from now on, I'll save my impulsiveness for the arena. Which shouldn't be too hard, considering –

My thoughts are cut off as a voice streams from a speaker in the corner of the room. It's time to launch. I will be in the arena in no more than a few minutes. I go forward and stand on the metal plate that has appeared in the far-end of the room. It'll lift me up, into the arena. "Good luck," My stylist says. "Thank you," I say, nodding. A glass cylinder lowers, enveloping me. The metal plate starts to rise out of the ground, and in a few seconds, I am in the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

We're required to stand on our metal plates for sixty seconds – to give us a feel of our surroundings, the Cornucopia, and other tributes. I find Clove in the row of tributes – she's 5 or 6 people down from me. As soon as my eyes meet hers she looks away. I take in the arena around me – there's a lake, forest, and some down-ward leading land that I can't tell what holds the path to. The Cornucopia is shiny and gold, packed with a wealth of supplies. I spot a diamond-encrusted sword at the tip of the mouth, and I know it's mine. I recall Brutus' advice. Dominate the Bloodbath.

Adrenaline pulses through me. As the timer ticks on, going too slow for my tastes; I push everything out of my mind. My only focus is to get to the Cornucopia. Get to the Cornucopia and kill. This is everything I have been training for. Everything I know.

Dominate it, I will.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

Let the 74th Hunger Games begin..

(I'm sorry for the lack of updates. My laptop broke but luckily I was able to get it fixed and retrieve my files. Chapter updates will be once every few days now. Thank you, if you're reading! 8D … I understand that this chapter seems very 'final', but it's certainly not. You'll just have to see what happens next…)