It's been almost a week, but this chapter is finally done! I had a hard time trying to figure out what to do with this one, but I think this works. It may not be my best chapter, but it was certainly the hardest fought.
Thanks to all my reviewers! There were so many of you the first day I didn't know what to do with myself. Raven Writer, Nelle07, HermioneandMarcus, Nel, ferb, hazu23, Anon, Franlucylucci, Vix04, and anon, you guys rock! I can't tell you how great it is to see a new review and hear what you all think. Please leave me some reviews for this chapter! I really hope it lives up to everyone's expectations.
Disclaimer: Hunger Games = not mine. Cool.
Azalea found herself at the amphitheater later that night. She was jittery and unable to sleep, having tossed and turned for nearly an hour. The argument with Cato tormented her and refused to fade into the background. Clove and Titus had noticed how she went tacitly through dinner and gave little evidence of noticing them at all, but only Clove had been brave enough to ask what was wrong.
"What did he do this time?" Clove had said, sitting on her bed with a sigh.
"Nothing," Azalea had replied, having had enough for the day. "Go to bed, Clove."
"It's only eight o'clock. Besides, how am I going to sleep when I'm wondering what that dick did to my big sister?" Clove had smiled, albeit a rather frightening expression, and kicked at Azalea's shoe fondly. "Just tell me, okay?"
"Nothing happened. Forget it, please." Azalea had lay down on her bed, wishing that time would speed up until the entirety of her life had flashed before her. Clove had grumbled something unintelligible, probably vowing to castrate Cato or something in the same vein. Ignoring her had been the easy part for Azalea; forgetting the argument, however, was a more difficult task.
Now, Azalea was content to sit on the cool bleachers and relive every moment like a child picking at her scabs. It had occurred to her that she had guessed correctly in the matter of Cato's pride. Perhaps she was being unfair or failing to understand something vital about Cato, but she really wanted to wring his neck and tell him how stupid he was. No matter how hard she tried to get him to trust her, to see that she wanted to know everything about him, he always shied away at the last moment. She had thought the previous night had been a breakthrough, but now she knew she was wrong.
Despite all the terrifying things she knew about Cato, Azalea still managed to find it in herself to want to be his friend. For every display of anger or uncontrollable sadism, Azalea could come up with another instance in which she had seen a kinder, gentler Cato. For every bruise he had given her he had also shown a bit of himself that she guessed no one else had ever seen. The trouble with her relationship with Cato was that she had no idea what the nature of it was. He never stayed in the same mood long enough to make it clear to her.
Azalea shook her head to rid herself of all the confusing, jumbled thoughts that were piling up. The lack of sleep of the previous night was finally taking its toll on her, urging her to return to the comfort of her bed. If she hurried, she would be able to get in at least eight hours of sleep. She walked quickly away from the Academy, finding it suddenly eerie in the darkness of the night. There were no lights on in any of the buildings, and even the outside floodlights had been turned off.
She rushed toward her house, hugging herself to keep warm, and barely noticed her surroundings. However, just as she was passing Cato's house, she heard a round of shouting break out. The lights were still on but the curtains were drawn, concealing whatever was happening behind the dilapidated walls. She crept closer, wondering what on earth could be going on that required shouting, and crouched at the base of the steps.
"You're a stupid bastard! I thought I taught you a lesson yesterday, but obviously I didn't do my job right," Cato's father yelled threateningly. "I ought to smack the hell out of you."
Azalea flinched in horror, putting a hand over her mouth to muffle the gasp that threatened to come out. In any other situation she might have thought Lucius was joking, but the tone of his voice shook her down to her very bones. The man meant business, as evidenced by the cracking sound of flesh striking flesh that came moments later. Afterwards everything was silent, save for the crickets that chirped on happily, and no other blows were dealt out.
Torn between leaving to get Titus and staying to make sure nothing else happened, Azalea was just standing up as Cato burst through the front door. He was livid, his entire neck and face burning red as he stomped down the steps and kicked a potted plant across the tiny yard. His nose was bleeding, which Azalea guessed was the result of the slap, and his lip was split again. She wanted to help him but wasn't sure how he would react to her spying on him.
"Cato?" she said timidly, straightening and bracing herself against the porch railing. He turned to look at her slowly, as if in shock, and she saw his face go white as a sheet.
Cato was unable to say anything as he caught sight of Azalea standing by his porch. The anger he felt toward his father focused itself on her, urging him to grab her by the throat and demand to know what she was doing there. It took him several long moments to collect himself and be sure he wouldn't do anything rash. When he had finally gained control, he wiped a bit of blood from under his nose.
"Hey," he said in a strained voice, grimacing as the cut in his lip stretched. "What are you doing here?"
"I was on my way home from the Academy and saw your lights on. Well, that and I heard your dad yelling." She walked over to him slowly, afraid he might change his mind and leave. "That looks ugly, Cato. Can I help you clean up?"
"I'm okay," he replied, swiping away more blood as it threatened to run into his mouth. "I'm just going to go for a walk and then I'll clean it up myself." He turned to go, broad shoulders straightening themselves proudly. Azalea rushed across the last few feet that lay between them, grabbing his arm and refusing to let go when he tugged away. "I'm fine! Just…leave me alone."
"Stop trying to run away from me," she ordered, doing a little hopping step to get in front of him. "I'm not going to let you ignore me anymore. Now, I understand that you don't want to talk about what just happened, okay? All I want to do is help you get rid of the blood and disinfect the cuts before they get something in them. Can we do that together?"
Cato looked down at her, an expression of incredulity spread across his features. This girl who he had attacked and ignored still wanted to help him after everything he had done to her. Unable to express the immense gratitude that was welling up in his chest, Cato said, "You're talking to me like a kid, you know."
Azalea cracked a small smile. "Yeah, I know. Now come on, let's get you fixed up."
They walked to her house, Azalea holding onto his arm the entire way. She had him sit on the front steps, not wanting to have to explain to her father or Clove what she had been doing or why Cato was there. When she reemerged from the house with a medical kit, Cato frowned and propped himself against the railing.
"Seriously? Can't we just pour some peroxide on it?" Cato asked tiredly.
"Be quiet or you'll wake my family," Azalea chastised, settling down beside him. "I promise this won't take too long."
She set about finding some gauze and pouring a disinfectant over it. Knowing it would sting, she muttered an apology before putting the wet gauze to Cato's cuts. He let out a quiet curse as the burning liquid hit his lip, wanting to throttle someone. No, not someone—his father. The beatings were becoming more frequent, and now Lucius was trying to involve Diana.
Azalea finished wiping away the blood and inspected the clean cuts. She thought they would need sealing, so she grabbed a nondescript white jar out of the kit and dipped her finger into its contents. Cato jerked away from her when he saw the clear gel, but she grabbed his chin and applied the sealant all the same. He glared at her resentfully, knowing the gel would harden and annoy him for weeks.
"Finished," Azalea announced, closing the jar and replacing it.
"Did you have to do the sealant?" Cato grumbled, poking at his already-stiffening lip. Azalea nodded, smirking at the expression on his face.
"Let's call it payback for this morning. Now that's forgotten." She held out her hand, waiting for him to shake on it. He did so grudgingly, gripping her hand a little tighter than necessary. The smile fell from her face, turning the situation more serious. "Are you okay, Cato?"
"I don't really want to talk about it," he replied quietly, looking out across the lawn. Azalea nodded, running her fingertips across his back comfortingly. He seemed content to let her sit with him, so she leaned her head against his arm and closed her eyes. They breathed together in silence for a long time, Cato lost in thought and Azalea feeling very connected to the moment at hand. Neither of them wanted to break the calm that had settled around them.
Finally, after Cato had felt Azalea yawn multiple times, he reached for her hand and squeezed it softly. She sat up and looked him in the eye, waiting for any sign that he was about to let her in.
"I've kept you up late twice in a row now." Cato grimaced tightly. "For the same reason, I guess. You should go to bed, though. I'll be okay for tonight."
"Will you?" she asked skeptically, noticing the haunted look on his face. "Because I kind of get the impression that you won't."
He sighed and pushed himself to his feet tiredly. "How about we pick this pity party back up tomorrow? I'm sure everything will still be there then."
Azalea frowned and got up as well, not wanting to leave him when he was so obviously in need of company. "Cato, are you sure? I feel bad going to bed when you're like this." She moved in to hug him, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist and pressing her face against his thin t-shirt.
He nodded, resting his chin on the top of her head for a few moments before backing away. "I'm fine. I'll see you at the Academy tomorrow."
"Is it even okay for you to go home?" she asked, putting a hand on his chest.
"Really, it'll be fine." He smiled quickly and without humor, wanting to get back to his house before the anger bubbled up again. When she nodded in understanding, he turned and began the short walk home.
"Don't kill any more plants!" Azalea called after him, causing him to crack a real smile. She saw him toss up a rude gesture and grinned in spite of herself. When had she ever had so much excitement in her life? Just hanging around Cato for a couple of months had shifted her world so much that she thought it would never be the same.
The next day in the amphitheater, Cato took a seat next to Azalea, who smirked happily. She didn't say anything about the night before, just nudged him with her leg and reclined against the bleachers. He wanted to thank her, to mention how much he appreciated what she had done, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he leaned back next to her and sighed heavily. The Capitol seal appeared moments later, flashing to Claudius and Caesar at their news desk.
Two more tributes had been killed overnight by the band of Careers. They showed quick replays of the deaths like they were a particularly good moment in a sporting event, which Azalea supposed they were. The girl from 12, armed with her backpack that contained only an empty canteen, had been slashed to ribbons by Talia as she lay under a rusty, gutted car. She hadn't even woken up before Talia took the first swipe, forcing her to scream herself awake as blood flowed into the sand. The boy from 5 died at the hands of the male from 4, whose name was Callum. His end was not particularly bloody, which made a few of the trainees at the Academy cry out in disgust. They wanted a bigger show, more carnage. Callum, everyone was saying, lacked flair.
Cato watched the Games absently, his mind drifting to what he was going to say to Azalea about his father. There was no way she wouldn't bring it up again, even in passing. He could see the hurt in her eyes when he had turned around with a bloodied face, which meant that she would want to know how long and how often this had been going on. She had seen his split lip before and would put two and two together before long.
Meanwhile, Azalea kept herself forcibly engaged, hoping it would keep her mind off Cato and his abusive father. She watched as the Careers went on small patrols through the bombed city, some of them staying behind while others searched buildings for hiding tributes. They came close to the boy from 7, who was hiding underneath the floorboards of a burned house. Julius stepped right over his hiding place, shown in a split screen, and kept going until he felt the house was secure. The boy was lucky and had managed to keep his breathing quiet, which was a miracle considering the large amount of fear and adrenaline that must have been coursing through him.
Around one in the afternoon, the Careers gathered at the Cornucopia to discuss strategy. None of them had made a kill that day, which angered some and suited others just fine. Talia was content to sit atop a mound of empty crates and eat an apple. Julius, however, was storming around with a look on his face that would curdle milk.
"You're all worthless!" he shouted suddenly, whipping around to glare at the tributes from one and four. "Why the fuck do I keep you around, huh? All you're doing is eating my food and drinking my water."
"It's been a day, Julius. Calm down." Talia hopped down from her perch and strode over to him, propping a hand on her hip as she chewed the last bit of apple. "We'll find the others soon enough."
"Who said you were the one keeping us around?" snapped Callum, the boy from 4. "I don't remember putting you in charge here. Any one of us could kill you in a second."
Julius turned his burning gaze to Callum, his jaw tensing as he stared at the ignorant tribute. "Fight me, then." He grabbed a knife out of his belt and shed the thin jacket he wore. Squaring off against District 4, he let out an angry snarl. "Go on. Fight me."
Callum picked up the barbed club that had become his weapon of choice from where he had dropped it upon arriving at the Cornucopia. He tested the weight of it in his hand, looking at Julius as if to judge the outcome. The boys began circling each other, inching closer and closer until they were within arm's reach. The other Careers stood back and watched the spectacle, sticking close to the small weapons cache that lay just inside the Cornucopia's mouth.
Azalea inhaled sharply, watching the boys lash out at each other at the same moment. Julius dodged Callum's first blow and slashed with his knife, creating a long cut across Callum's stomach. Callum grunted and struck again, this time landing a solid hit on Julius's left arm. The barbs on the end of the club caught and tore into the skin, creating ragged gashes down Julius's forearm. To his credit he didn't flinch, managing to keep his composure even as small ribbons of flesh hung from him.
In a rage, Julius grabbed the club with his hand and wrenched it away from Callum, tossing it aside like it was a piece of debris. Now, unarmed and with little obvious hand-to-hand skills, Callum's mouth gaped like the fish his District was responsible for catching. He looked as if he was about to speak, to call everything off, but Julius was in no mood to hear anything. With one clean motion, Julius stabbed his knife into Callum's skull, pushing until the hilt slammed against bone. Callum didn't even have time to blink before he slumped to the ground, dead. The cannon went off seconds later.
"Come on," Julius said, spitting on the body. "Let's move out so they can collect this piece of shit." He strode away, not bothering to look over his shoulder and see that the other tributes followed him. If it hadn't been before, his reputation as leader was firmly cemented with the knife that protruded from Callum's shocked face.
The rest of the day had been taken up with more searching, which hadn't yielded any results. The boy from 7 was still safely hidden under the floorboards, though he couldn't remain there for long. Soon he would have to find food and water, but his strategy was obviously to lull the Careers into a false sense of security about the house he was staying in.
Azalea was happy to get away, having seen four replays of Callum's death in just a few short hours. Claudius and Caesar were unable to stop talking about the "furious, graceful power" with which Julius had killed Callum. They said it reminded them of the 61st Games, in which a tribute from District 8 had killed a member of his alliance.
Julius had wowed everyone, it seemed, because soon after the killing he had received his first parachute. Inside was a healing cream, which he quickly spread over the gashes in his arm. They looked to be infected, but the cream would soon solve that. Azalea wondered where it had come from but knew that she would never find out. The Academy had a policy of not sending parachutes to its tributes, deciding that it would be unfair to whichever tribute did not receive a package. Though there was always a possible winner in mind, the Academy did not like to choose favorites.
As Cato and Azalea walked slowly toward Quarryman's Row, Azalea put out a hand to stop their progress. Cato looked down at her, a slight twinge of fear shooting through his gut, and prepared himself for the volley of questions that would surely follow.
"Your lip looks better," Azalea said quietly, reaching up to inspect his face. She had to stand on tiptoe to see the cut on his nose, but she was rewarded with a scab that meant it was healing properly. "Does it feel okay?"
Cato nodded. "Thanks again…you know, for helping me out." He looked off into the distance for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to say. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to anyone. I wasn't really planning on letting anyone know."
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." Azalea bit her lip. "You wouldn't have told me, would you? If I hadn't found out on my own, you would still be acting like you and Jacob were having boxing matches on the sly."
"Probably," Cato admitted, cracking his knuckles distractedly. "Look, I don't want this to change anything. I'm not looking for pity."
"Good, because you won't get any," Azalea said, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Not that I'm supporting any form of unnecessary violence, but you could totally take your dad! Why do you let him do that to you?"
"Because…I guess…," Cato began, trailing off. "I don't know, okay? I guess I just figure it's easier that way." He saw that she was about to retaliate and held up a hand to cut her off. "I'm done with this for today. I mean it."
Azalea bit her tongue, keeping her comments to herself. As much as she wanted to scream at Cato and punch his father in the groin, she knew that what he needed was a distraction. "Fine, I get it. I don't like it, but I understand. Do you want to go into town for a while? Get your mind off things?"
"Maybe some other time," Cato replied, shifting his shoulders. "I have to go meet Marcus at the quarry."
"Okay," Azalea said, nodding. "Have a good time with your brother."
Cato smiled wanly, turning to go. As if just remembering something, he glanced over his shoulder. "Can we start training this weekend?"
"You really want to do that now?" Azalea asked incredulously. When he nodded, she sighed and shook her head. "You beat anything, you know? Fine, how about Saturday morning?"
"Eight o'clock it is." He waved and took off at a jog toward the quarries. "See you tomorrow!"
"Yeah," Azalea said quietly. "Tomorrow."
There you have it! Hope you all liked it. Please shoot me some reviews, they make my day!
