SORRY IT IS SO LATE! I tried but there was so much writers block! It wasn't even funny ! Review and read please! ~ w&c
Thump.
I feel something tugging at my weak, trembling legs.
Thump.
I felt the midnight ravens swoop down as a flock and start tearing at my muscle.
Thump.
I felt them rip apart my tight, clenched legs.
Thump.
They each pick at a vein, encasing it in their long, narrow beaks, pulling them into so many different directions that they burst, blood coming out in different hue's. Some streams pitch black like the sleek bodies that now are flying away into clouds of ash. Others so scarlet, it looks like molten lava spewed across the horizon.
I gasp, clutching at the searing pain in my stomach, almost drowning myself in my piercing screams. But something beats me to it.
A thick, gelatinous liquid starts to envelope my body, slithering it's way over my ears and nostrils until finally finding it's way into my mouth. I'm forced to chug it down as my body bloats to twice it's normal size. I can't move my arms or even twitch my legs to push myself upwards. I can't breath, but I do manage to force my eyes open; I only see the thick mucus-colored goo of an infection swell in the empty space around me, becoming so congealed that it itself is suffocating. It collapses on top of itself, becoming more and more condensed until I can't heave my chest to allow a single drop of oxygen in my squeezed lungs...
It's the middle of the night when I wake up. At first I don't believe that it's reality, but after five minutes of starting at a stitch in my tent while whimpering at the slightest ruffle outside got, I am convinced.
A thin stream of eerily bright moonlight shines through a crack in the canvas drape, so I know must have been asleep for at least twelve hours. I sit up slowly, but even the slight movement causes me to go giddy and I flop back down again. I realize that I'm lying down, wrapped up in a metallic thermal sleeping bag, my head resting on a cushy pillow, almost totally drenched in tears or sweat. The last thing I remember was stumbling outside by the woods, so someone has definitely moved me here.
I groan as I think of this, because that means someone has seen me weak, laying out cold, and even worse, someone has taken pity on me and dragged me all the way here. It also means I've been sleeping unguarded without my knifes. Again.
It takes another three attempts before I can to sit up, and a further five to actually manage to stand on my bruised legs and now wobbly ankle. I can hear a fire crackling and laughing outside, which means that at least one other person is awake. As I push open the doors of the tent, I see that Marvel and Cato are huddled around the burning fire, Marvel spinning two large, dead rabbits, that we found in the Cornucopia, around over it's harsh glow. Great. I was the last one to come around. But where is Lover Boy?
I try to strut over looking confident to save some attitude face, but my legs won't co-operate like they should and I end up staggering my way over, flopping down next to Marvel. I wince as put my hand down on the floor to steady myself and I realize I must have been stung on the palm. Flipping it over I'm shocked to see that there is a lump, but the stinger has been removed and it's covered in some mossy chewed up leaves. Before can question anyone, Cato speaks up.
"Finally, you're awake." he mumbles, not bothering to look up from the short sword he is sharpening. "Took you long enough. It's been nearly three days."
I feel my face go scarlet. Three days? For a sting? How pathetic. I can't back down though.
"I got stung pretty bad!" I say in my defense. I begin with shouting but my head and throat protest, so I soon quite down to a hushed, raspy whisper. "Besides, I didn't see you lot making it back here after the attack! Where were you?" Good, I think. Turn my weakness into accusation. Too bad Cato has a perfectly good explanation for me to get anything out of it.
"I went back to find Glimmer and Alea. When we got there they were both dead." he says, without a hint of remorse. Wait, what?
"Fire Girl was there though, prying the bow from Glimmer's dead body." I hear Marvel spit into the flames, startling a bird in the trees. I almost blackout again. Glimmers dead. It's all clear again now. Her writhing in agony, not being able to get away. This should make me happy, elated, even. But it doesn't. It just fuels my anger for Fire Girl. She was my kill. Mine. And she stole it away.
Cato finally looked up from his sword, put it down on the warm ground by the fire, then picked up a rusty mace. I recall it as being the one Alea used. Cato is obviously unaffected by her death. Still, her passing doesn't really seem to concern an of us. District Four deserved to have a bad year.
"While I was there, Lover Boy tried to tell Fire Girl to run. Idiotic boy. He thought he could win. I stuck him pretty good in the leg before coming back to lake." So Cato cut Lover Boy in the leg but didn't kill him?
"Stupid girl thought she'd get away with it!" Marvel hissed. He was obviously sour about his district partners passing. Pointless really. She'd have to die anyway for him to win. Still, there's an itching at the back of my mind that if Cato had been caught up in that attack...
"So you killed her?" I pressed. I could just imagine her face, screwed up in pain as Marvel or Cato twisted a spear in her warm little heart...
"No." states Marvel.
"No!" I shriek, ignoring the plea's from my thumping brain and my rough throat. "What do you mean no?" He's quick to jump to his own defense.
"I didn't see you helping Clove!" he spits. "You just ran back here to hide!"
"Hide? I was saving myself! You had the perfect opportunity to kill her, and you blew it!" Imbecile!
"Oh, just like you did at the Cornucopia? And how about when she was up that tree? You're as light as a feather, you could have climbed it and stabbed her in the gut already! Oh no, sorry, you're too much of a Princess to do that! Just get Cato and me to do all your dirty work and then you'll slit our throats one night and that'll be it! You selfish little bitch!" I lunge for him, knowing there are no knives in grabbing distance and try and tackle him to the floor. He puts up a fight though, flipping me over onto my back as we struggle. We're both still a little shaky though, and we end up knocking the rabbits into the fire, charring them.
Cato stands up, towering over both of us, his voice irritated.
"Stop it!" he yells and we both freeze instantly, our heads snapping up. I'm under Marvel now, with my hands encased around his throat, his breath tickling my face as he breathes down my nose. I can tell he's been sick too, at least once, as he breath reeks of vomit. It's one of the many problems of not having toothbrushes in the arena. After a few days, everybody's breath is rancid.
"Marvel, Get. Off. Her." he says, and though it's soft the authority and venom in it is unmistakable. After a second of glaring Marvel complies, even offering me a shaky hand to get up. I just stare at it until he takes it away, shoves it into his pocket and I get up by myself.
Cato then grabs a broken branch and pushed out the two rabbits from the fire's clutches. They are burnt dry on the outside, but when he peels them open they are only slightly over-cooked.
We sit down and eat them in utter silence, Cato and Marvel having the largest parts of the rabbit for obvious reasons, and I get most of the rest. The cast-offs than none of us want are shoved into a pouch for next mornings breakfast. We may have a lot of supplies, but we're not going to waste. Cato passes me my plate last with a sturdy hand before he ticks into his own large portion.
Cato hands me a large bottle of water. "Drink." he says. It's probably the easiest order I've ever been told to follow for the past month. I guzzle down the full bottle before tossing it and greedily snatching a new one.
Despite my intense hunger, my rabbit goes unfinished. I basically strangle my plate, my stomach growling, but I can't seem to bring myself to force down another bite. I toss my nibbled portion to a desperate Cato, and he catches it mid-air and shoves it into his watering mouth. Marvel glares at him in vile jealously. We decide to sleep instead of hunt tonight. Even though we've all been out for at least two days we're exhausted. Marvel and Cato must be more injured than they let on.
"I don't know about you guys but I'm out" Marvel waves his hands semi-innocently in the air, heading over to the same tent I came from. Great.
My stomach churns at the thought of having to share a tent with Cato and Marvel but when I see a smaller, lone tent a few meters away, I can't help but look around and make a beeline for it. Cato has his back turned, stomping out the smoldering fire, prodding it with his foot.
I can barely hear my own thoughts as I yank the sleeping bag over my legs, then finally burrow into it deeply. It smells of home.
My mind starts to drift off, thinking of Hone, my mother, my proud father, when I heard the zipper of the tent being opened. I freeze for a second, cursing myself for the second time in a row for being so stupid for being without my knifes, but when I hear Cato sigh in exhaustion I let got of my breath.
I don't bother to question why he won't just take the other tent. I just let him slide into the sleeping bag, and feel his strong arms sneak around me and pull me into him. I snuggle into his chest, feeling as safe or safer than if I was back at home in bed in District Two.
_.-._
"Wake up!" Someone screams. My ears flick backwards, a subtle motion, but enough to send me scrambling for a nonexistent knife. This is ridiculous! How many times have I slept unguarded during the games?
My feet barely touch the cold, wet mulch when the person screams again.
"Wait! Clove!" I stop on my heels, already fleeing the sight when I notice that I was brought outside. How considerate.
The morning air cut through the camp like an ax through ice. Clean. Sharp. Pristine.
My mind finally alerts my body to what's going on. We're in the games, I am a Career district. This gangly, brown-haired idiot in front of me is my ally form District One. For now.
"What?" I barked, slowly calming my gaze to meet a shocked Marvel. He looked out of place in this makeshift camp. Whilst there were scattered embers, his derpy looking smile shone through his thin cruel lips constantly.
"He wants you." It wasn't hard to know who he was, but a chill trickled down my spine. Adrenaline pumped through my body still as I whipped my head back towards the golden cornucopia trying to find him.
"Why?" My body had barely woken up, I rubbed my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket, getting the crusty bits out of the edges. I really needed a wash.
"I'm not sure" I look around our campsite. There is only my tangled sleeping bag, which my eyes linger on it longingly, two tents, and the dying out camp fire. That's all. Everything else is gone.
I look up at Marvel, fidgeting with my fingers, then grab my knife belt that is strewn across a log near the fire.
"Where is he?" I growl, while Marvel grabbed a fish that he had caught with a spear, and stuck it onto long, willowy branch.
What did Cato want from me?
Marvel shoves me towards the Cornucopia and motion for me to go around. I rolled my eyes, then looked around. Nothing seems out of sight or at least different.
I stare at him, the secure my knife belt, snapping the buckle around my waist, then strut around the Cornucopia.
My ankle has healed completely, I can put pressure on it and not topple over, but there's something weird with my walking. Perhaps it will always be this way now. Until, of course, I win and the Capitol fixes me up. I lift up my shirt, and glare at the scars traced across my body. They'll be gone, I'll look like a fresh new canvas. Some victors hate it when scars are removed, they see them as reminders of hardship, and, too be honest, I can understand them Some things people go through just need to be preserved, for reasons of sanity. Others, however, must be forgotten.
Pulling the shirt back down, I freeze in my tracks. I pull it up again, and flap it around. I notice that this shirt, and jacket that Rox gave me are a size or two bigger. When I first came into the arena all my clothes were fitted, now they look like another persons. The shirt billows lazily in the slight breeze, only held in place by my knife belt.
My pants are now torn to shreds, rugged in some edges, stained in others. I can't even imagine how my hair looks, the weight of it on my head is enough to put me of thinking about it. I've never been one to care too much about my looks, but I must look like a disheveled, lost dog. Pathetic.
I run a hand through my thick tangled hair, wincing at almost every movement as my fingers get stuck in the knots and pull at my scalp. I cut a ragged strip of my pants off, tying my hair into a bun at the top of my head. That's a bit better, it keeps sweat from pooling at the nape of my neck, and I don't have to constantly move my hair out of my face. Now that my trouser cuffs are a uneven, I just snip the pants to end just above my knees. I strip the jacket off, and discard it on the floor, then tie my shirt at the back so it isn't again loose all over.
I instantly felt better, not as weighted down as I did a few seconds ago.
As I near the mouth of the Cornucopia, I take a semi-full water bottle, that was neither mine, nor Marvel's. It might be Cato's, he gave his old one to me last night.
I sprinkle some onto my face and feel it cut through dirt, creating clean trails on my cheeks. I decided we had plenty of water, so started to drizzle some on my shirt, legs and torso. I guess my hair needs some too. I haven't washed since the tracker jacker incident. I was half soaked when I heard a shout and clang a feet feet away.
"What are you doing with my water?" a young voice asked, I looked down from my 'shower', and saw a scrawny boy stand his ground a few feet away.
An enemy. He's weak and small, he can't be more than thirteen years old, but he may still be a threat. We haven't added anyone to our alliance, so he must be here to attack.
My hand instantly flicks a knife in his direction, but my aim was off due to my slippery hands, stll soaked with 'his' water. Instead of hitting him dead on in the neck, I knicked him in the shoulder.
He looked at his shoulder in surprise, then screamed when I charged at him. What is he doing here? My momentum carries me past him, so I stick out my foot to turn and pounce on him form behind.
The boy looked startled as my hands encase his neck. I slam him against the Cornucopia and his eyes sprakle with terror. I drum my fingers aganst this throat. This child will be the fiftenth tribute to die. Leaving us with only nine tributes. Only one more to die then, before the Games begin for real.
"What are you doing here, boy?" I snarl, my teeth bared close to his pulsing neck.
I could bite it out, but I've doen that once already, and I wouldn't want Enobaria to think I was trying to steal her thunder away.
Then again, maybe she wouldn't have so much thunder if people knew how easy it was to take out someone's throat. You'd think it would be difficult, to crunch your teeth underneath the flesh, to pull the veins out of the gaping hole you leave, but actually, with the aderinline pulsing around your body, and the thrill of the fight making you delusional, it's just as easy as eating a tender leg of chicken.
I'm starting to accredit her win to her amazing luck, and Brutus' never ending flow of sponsor gifts, rather than the fact she possessed any amount of actual skill. The odds were most definaltley in her favour. She's one of the 'lucky ones', like that Cecelia from 8. Not me though. I've actually got talent, beyond a nice body, a sharp tan, and long, flowing red hair.
It's a good job she can't here my thoughts, she'd wipe away those sponsors quicker than lightining. Then again, I've not even received any gifts yet. She probably just decided to let me die. Either way, she gets her paycheck. Bitch.
I draw myself back to reality, glaring into the scrawny looking face of the boy. It's little Spark, from District 3. I recognise the baby-face, the black eyes and hair are too dark for his pale skin. The ridiculous, buoyant, bowl cut he wears on his head (because Distirct 3 is functional, not fashionable) makes me smirk. Poor, hapless little boy. Oh well. This is the Hunger Games. Suck it up.
"I-I" He stutters, his bottom lip trembling in fear. I debate just killing him here and now, but I bet Cato has to know something about his. Either that, or he'll want to.
"I don't care, I'm bringing you to Cato." My voice was harsh and rough, losing it's morning drone. I give him an evil grimace.
He just gulps.
"Cato!" I bark, walking out of the mouth of the Cornucopia, dragging my trembling victim with me. Where is he?
My eyes scan the morning horizon, trying to find Cato. Instead my eyes were instantly drawn to a huge pyramid of supplies. It's like the Cornucopia recreated, only this pile is about twenty-thirty meters away from our camp.
The lesser value items are father away, scattered around the outsides, as if they'd just been thrown there. Things like empty rucksacks litter the ground, followed by half-eaten packets of crackers, and bits of beef jerky. A dehydrated hunk of pork sat at the edge, while a whole dehydrated pheasant was hung further. Fresher meats, like the rabbit we cooked last night, sit in special boxes, designed to preserve their contents. Bags of fruit like apples and pears hang off of the structure, intertwined with the nets that have been hung around.
Weapons grace the pyramid near the top, some balancing precariously on boxes of god-knows-what, others concealed deep within the mountain itself. I can see another belt full of knives dangling from a longsword, which is being used as a type of hanger for various objects.
I jog over, still grasping Spark by his collar, and go to thrust him down on the ground.
Cato's blond head whips around to me, and he holds his hands up.
"Clove!" I stop just before I release Spark. He squeals and struggles out of my grip, taking three rapid steps backwards.
Cato makes his way over, placing his feet lightly on the ground, as if it were delicate. I stare at him, the way he steps, you think the ground was going to split and send him falling to a fiery doom. He's been watching to many re-runs of the 43rd Hunger Games.
Thinking Spark is going to make a run for it, I sprint after him, spinning him into my arms. I take a small knife from my belt and press it to his neck. He is panting, scared, frightened. Like putty in my hands. Excellent.
"Cato!" He screams as I force the blade in deeper, teasing him with it. I make him wait for the warm blood to fall onto the ground. No yet. The Capitol will want some action after three days of nothingness. "Cato! Cato! I thought you said you would let me live!" He shrieks while flailing his thin arms everywhere, trying to push me off of his throat.
"Clove! Get off of him! He's one of us now!" What? Fuck that! What does Cato know about alliances? None of ours have worked out very well so far. I simply pretend to not here him as I drag the dagger across Spark's skin.
"Clove!" I felt Cato looming over me, his shadow covering me and District 3 in a blanket. Spark whimpered underneath me, but I'm not sure if it's me or Cato who's truly scaring him.
"Clove, he's our ally now." Cato says calmly. "You see that stack of supplies? Well, little Spark here took the bombs underneath the plates we came in on and re-activated them, so whoever comes close, or tries to steal our food, blows sky high."
Cato explains like I'm a child. What does he think I'm stupid or something? I fully understand that... that... that the boy in my arms is a genius that I was about to kill.
No one has ever thought about that. In seventy-four years, no one has ever realized this most simple of theories. The mines were a weapon and this kid is a whiz at mines and bombs. This is why District Three actually manages pretty well compared to the other districts, par one, two and four. They know things.
I groaned, and took away the knife from his neck, stuck in back into its makeshift shaft and got off of him.
"Cato!" I whine, starting to sound more like that deceased bimbo by the second. My tone shocks me, but the lack of blood spilled by my hands is starting to annoy me.
The boy gets up, then slinks back to Cato's side, whimpering, his eyes trained on me. I hiss and he jumps, diving for cover behind Cato's legs. I snicker.
"What are you staring at?" I asked the boy, taking my wet shirt off, leaving it to dry in the Cornucopia. I have my white tank top underneath, but it's still fairly wet, so it's pretty much see through.
I catch Cato gawking at me. "You to Cato? What?" I ask, refusing to look him in the eye. Cato shake shis head, turning back around to speak to Spark.
Marvel came nosily around the horn, causing the animals in the forest surrounding us to scurry away. Spark quickly scrambled to him, actually tripping once.
"Marvel!" he says, his voice filled with relief. Maybe he thinks the idiot will protect "Marvel, I set the traps!" Marvel nods approvingly.
"Good." replies Marvel, sauntering over to me and Cato. "You know the pattern?"
"Yes." states Cato. "Off by heart. You?" I decide to block out the rest of the conversation. It's just those three talking about the mines, and how the maximize the chances of finding the thief who's been stealing form us. Stealing? I never noticed. I bet it's either Jessaline or little Rue. They're both so fast and sneaky.
I stretch out my back, relaxing as my muscles welcome the change of composure, and I rip the tie out of my hair. Newly soaked, it falls down my back and I run my hands through it, tousling it and making the water come of it droplets. I can't help but notice Cato was standing there, staring at me, while Marvel and Spark carry on speaking. What's so entertaining about me shaking water from myself? I mean it's just water... and I.. Oh god. Cato is such a pervert.
Before I Cato the smiling reflection of Cato in the Cornucopia, my heart flutters for about two seconds, then I snatch the black, soaking t-shirt, shoving it onto my body. It hung and hugged my body awkwardly, but I'd rather deal with it until it dries than just wear that see-through white vest.
"So, left, right, step two times..." Spark shakes his head at a confused Marvel.
"No! Left, right, step one time. Two, and you'll in pieces."
Cato grabs a small pack and furiously stuffs it with dried strips of meat, a coil of wire a large knot of rope. Then, he takes a heavier one that Spark handed to him with trembling hands. It seems he only feels comfortable around Marvel, and who can blame him? We're considerably scarier than that soft idiot.
Cato mutters something underneath his thick breath, and Spark scurries off, bringing back lightly an armful of filled water bottles, one giant, squishy sleeping bag that we slept in last night, two pairs of night-vision glasses, an emergency first aid kit, a compass, and extra blanket. Where the hell does he think we're going?
I finally broke the silence as Spark scrambled away to the very edge of the circle, taking a plucked bird, gently breaking off it's wing. He stares at it, then tries to eat it raw. Marvel grbas it from him, tossing it back on the pile, and offering him some jerky. Spark eats it happily.
"Is Marvel coming?" I ask quite stupidly. Of course he won't. Who will take take watch over Spark and look after our camp if he does?
"No." replies Cato. "Come on Clove, it's almost midday, most of the tributes have probably roasted to death." He's right, the Gamemakers a re messing with the temperature again, and now it's boiling hot. We trek in the shade most of the way, to avoid getting scorched by the sun, which itself is probably fake.
When my feet reach about one hundred meters into the winding forest, some powerful force grinds into my back, causing the knives to press into my flesh, and me to gasp out loud.
My eyes flash towards and I see Cato leaning against me.
"What the hell was that for!" I yell. Cato ignores my shouts, still pinning against a tree. His hands were gripped on my shoulders, preventing me form moving. He held me in place so tightly, it was like... like he were to kill me...
"What are you doing!" I shriek as turn away, trying to reach down to my knife belt. But he's got me so tightly I can't reach, but even that doesn't stop me from squirming out of his grip and running back towards camp.
Maybe Marvel and Spark were in on this too. Or maybe they're on my side. Maybe I could make it to camp in time before he snapped my neck. Maybe his feelings for me were fake.
I feel hands close around me Cato takes my waist and pushes me up against another tree. My breath stops and my eyes fill with fear. He's going to kill me. I'm going to die. I shudder at the thought, but at least if I'm going to die, I'll die by Cato's hand. That is almost honourable.
Maybe it's better this way. For him to win, I would have to die, and I deserve it for being a fool to believe that he actually cared about me. It was Cato after all. I was even more a fool to start kindling my affections for him.
You idiot, Clove! You should have killed him when you had the chance! But it's too late now. I close my eye and turn away. I would rather die in a pool of dark than see the light fade away.
"Do it fast." I mumble.
"Ok." Cato muttered. I expect to feel his sword plunge into my gut, but instead, I feel his lips on mine. I open my eyes, shocked and startled. Cato shoves me back softly against the tree and I feel the bark grinding into my back.
I take in my surroundings, we're in a thick patch of the forest, but even the musical notes of nature can't block out the crackling fire and Marvel laughing sadistically. We're not far from camp now, perhaps forty meters. I reach forward and push Cato away. This is wrong.
He looks at me, as if he wasn't expecting me to pull back. "What?" he asks, tilting his head to the side slightly like a puzzled puppy. I can't believe him!
"What are you doing!" I hiss.
"Kissing you." he says, as if it is totally normal and obvious. No shit.
"These are the Games!" I cry, trying not to speak too loudly for fear of being detected by our allies. "We were suppo-" I was cut off as Cato leaned in again, this time, holding my face so I could not break away. He caressed my cheeks, before moving one of his hands down my face and along my collar bone, letting it travel down my back, sending a shiver down my spine.
My mind raced back and forth, my body was tense, either to run away, and pretend this never happened, or to kiss him back with equal amounts of passion. My feelings are all jumbled, and my senses numb, so I end up just getting stuck in between, just wanting for him to be done.
He notices I am not resisting, and let's his other hand travel down to the middle of my back, pulling me into him at the hips and the chest. His tongue begs for entrance on my bottom lip, which I give him without thinking. His left hand sneaks up into my hair, directing my head to move in sync with his.
The way his lips feel against mine, the way he holds me up in this mossy section of jungle, the way his hands cover my still damp body and press me against his strong figure, I feel so much better than that time he kissed me in the Capitol. Compared to this, that seems shallow, meaningless, cold, even though at the time I could not have said I hadn't enjoyed it.
All of a sudden, my feelings are released in a waterfall flowing down on my mind, drowning it in a flurry of passion. I throw my own arms (which had just been dangling limply at my sides) around him, thrusting myself closer too him, if it were at all possible.
I can feel him grin against my lips, as our tongues battle for supremacy and dominance over the other, their fluent yet muddled movements perfectly symbolizing the state my mind was currently in.
"Cato..." I moan, pulling back for just a second to stare him in the eyes. The momentary break is all I need to collect my thoughts and realize just what I am doing. "Cato!" I scream, pushing him back off me.
My mind accelerated as Cato stumbled backwards, surprised at the sudden outburst of rage from me. Her tripped and fell, his sword clattering on the ground, while his body thumped onto the dirt ground. I'd just been kissing him. In the middle of the Hunger Games, I'd just been kissing my district partner. It wasn't right! I just didn't happen! This stupid, romance-thing was supposed to be Lover Boy's and Fire Girl's angle, not ours! But then again, was this really just an angle?
Yes. It must be. Nothing more.
"How could you?" I screech at Cato, who is quickly trying to pick himself up off the floor. I back away, reaching at my belt to find a long, dainty knife.
As he starts to get up, I just shove him back onto the ground once more with my foot/ I stand on his chest, glaring into his eyes, not with passion, like I was seconds ago, but with fury and rage and malice.
Cato stared at me wide-eyed, his jaw clenched.
I lowered myself closer, couching next t him, foot still keeping him pinned.
"How could you!" I swung the large knife that was almost weighed too much for me to hold. The sun reflected off it, creating a golden shine that covered Cato's face.
"I just- I don't! I just don't know okay!" Cato suddenly burst out, a hacking cough piercing through his throat. I watch him as he lies there, staring at me with something resembling fear, but with more passion and care.
I shove my knife back in my belt and take my foot off. I do not offer him a hand, but neither do I hinder his efforts to get up I just watch, flabbergasted.
This is Cato. The one with the blue, sapphire deep pools and light, thick hair. The one that people at home feared, but is softening to become wet clay in my hands. The one who saved me that day. The one who I convinced myself I cared for, and he cared for me. This is my Cato.
But I can't let him be that boy. "Then don't do it okay!" I could almost hear the sharp intake of breath from the Capitol people. I could imagine Brutus going crazy in anger, and Rox and Tatana squealing in joy. I can imagine Enobaria either trying to desperately hold onto our sponsors, or desperately try to manage the new crowd of lovestruck citizens willing to help us out.
I'm so confused.
"I'm sorry, I just had to. Just one last time. I'm sorry." He walked over, then wiped my mouth with the back of my smooth palm. As if to wipe away the two kisses he's stolen and to stop the feelings that are now starting to warm up from the inside out.
"Don't do it ever again." I demand, staring straight on, walking towards a random path in the forest.
My fingers are clenched together as I storm away. Why must he ruin everything!
Why did you let him do it Clove, why...? I think somewhere deep down, I know the answer already...
_.-._
"Cato?" I asked. Despite me being crippled a few days ago, my ankle is fine now, and for ever 10 meters of Cato's walking I had 11. He had tried to trace me through the woods, but I'd quickly lost him in the foliage. And it pained me to say I was beginning to fret.
"Cato?" I asked again, for the forth time. Yet again, the muffled echo created by the forest is my only response.
That's weird. I haven't seen him for a long time.
A few minutes have passed when my worry began to escalate. I haven't seen Cato for about ten minutes, nor have I heard him. My heart starts to kick in while I have to grab a study branch for support.
My body doesn't listen to my mind, not one bit. I never does these days. It listens to my heart. My stupid, traitorous, treasonous heart.
"Cato?" I call, knowing I'm talking to no one, urging the trees to give me answers.
Why do I even care? One of us has to die in order for the other one to live. And Cato would gladly die for me, I think he's proved that! Maybe that's what is making me so emotionally flooded. Just that horrid guilt, that every victor has to deal with (despite denial in some cases, particularly in my own district). But something in my heart denies that. Tells me it's something more. A thick sense of wrong in my brain tries to conceal it over, but it's no use.
My head has finally caught up with my heart, succumbed to it, like the rest of my being did a long time ago.
I have feelings for Cato.
Otherwise, I wouldn't search so hard as I am now, plummeting myself against tree's broadcasting myself to the whole entire arena. Someone could easily jump out of the trees right now and slit my throat. But even the thought of me dying doesn't scare me as much as not finding Cato.
"Cato!" I scream once again.
This time I got rewarded with a flash of stark, coal dust, black. The colour of Cato's shirt.
"Cato!" I cry, just glad to find him safe and sound. The trees whip past me, creating a blur of green and brown stripes, that nick and pull at my clothes and skin. My mind doesn't control me, my legs do. My legs, powered by my thundering heart, which I can feel pulsing in my throat, filling me with a fear so strong I just feel like lying down and dying right here and right now.
Cato.
He's gone again.
Cato.
I spot another flash of his jacket now closer then before.
I spirit towards him, unaware of how much of an emotional wreck I am.
As soon as my body hits something rather hard I instantly pull it into and embrace.
Cato.