CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: TWO TRUTHS, SEVERAL MINUTES OF PURE BLISS, AND AN INVITATION

"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

Mother Theresa

My heart stops.

For an endless eternity I live with the thought of Cato touching, kissing, being with someone else. For the smallest and yet longest measure of time I am no longer thawing but frozen once more. I do not exist.

But then.

Cato runs a hand over his face, eyes tightly shut as he continues. "Clove was my district partner. Obviously. She meant something to me because we were brought here together. There," he amends quickly, flicking a hand behind him to encompass the bustling Capitol and, presumably, the arena where the Games were held. "She was younger than me by two or three years, but our minds worked the same way. We were both so bloodthirsty, so set on not just surviving but winning. That's all that mattered to us. We liked the same weapons and planned similar strategies. I felt like she was truly my district partner. She was the one who would help me get through the Games."

Cato shakes his head, and I merely sit, lips parted, wondering if this is the most I've ever heard him speak at one time. I think it is, and needless to say I'm not too happy that the subject is Clove.

"But when push came to shove, we didn't work so well together. Our personalities, our attitudes, were just too similar. There came a point when we started to tear each other apart." Cato stops talking abruptly.

Two thoughts hit me simultaneously:

They did tear each other apart.

He doesn't love her.

As if echoing my thoughts, Cato says, "I didn't love her, just as you didn't exactly love Peeta. But she was close to me, even if that closeness was forced. In the end…"

"What happened to her?" The words are out of my mouth before I can censor them, and my whole body seizes. I hope I'm not about to regret asking.

Hands falling to his sides, he looks up at me, eyes anguished, and in them I see his answer.

"You killed her."

As if I suspected any less.

Yet a part of me burns for him. A part of me aches to know that he was faced with such a decision. That he's had to live with it all this time.

"I don't blame you," I say, but he doesn't hear me. Words pour out, and it's like a dam deep inside him has finally broken apart.

"Taking you in as my prisoner was the worst course of action I could've taken. I was so goddamn selfish." He laughs ruefully, running a hand through his hair. "You could have survived by yourself. Of course you could have. Hell, the Games would've ended so much sooner if I'd just left you alone. But even then, I couldn't." His eyes are tortured.

"The other Careers didn't like you because I did. They knew that. You probably knew that. I was the only one who didn't get it." His words come faster and faster. "None of the Careers were particularly threatening. I knew I could take any one of them out if they became a concern. Marvel did exactly as I predicted," he adds, hands balling in and out of fists. "He was always a fucking maniac, so no surprise there. Glimmer was too overwhelmed with herself to really poke at you. But Clove…

"She was going to hurt you," he says with certainty. "If I didn't do something, if I didn't intercede in some way, she would've found a way to kill you. I knew that if she fought me one-on-one, there was no way she could win." A pause. "And she didn't."

He reaches for me, and I let him, even as a cold ball of ice forms in my chest. His eyes latch on to mine, holding me in place. I allow him to run his hands up my arms and around my neck, allow him to release a hot, shuddering breath over my skin. He breathes in the scent of me, and I struggle to organize my thoughts. The ball of ice won't go away. Not until I say what's on my mind. Even as Cato teeters on the brink of something terrible, I have to make myself clear.

"Cato," I say, my throat tight. "Please don't say you did it for me. I can't –" Swallowing painfully, I look away, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. "I've already been burdened with too much death."

"I didn't do it for you," he says, laughing harshly, "and I'm not saying that to appease you either. I did it for me. I said before that I acted selfishly in forcing you to live with the Careers. My selfishness has become the rule rather than the exception when it comes to you." He grips my wrists, squeezing until I look up at him again. "I wanted to protect you, and I wanted to have you all to myself, and I wanted you to win."

My mind races, trying to make sense of this new information.

"I wanted, I wanted, I wanted," he breathes, eyes burning. "You had to live, if only so I could keep you close to me. You were mine, even then."

"Even then," I repeat faintly.

"Yes," he says, and it's nearly a gasp.

"I don't blame you," I repeat, knowing he can hear me now. He's expunged most, if not all, of the horror within him – I recognize the signs. His gaze is no longer quite so distant. I also know that the power of words is so much stronger than anything else I have to offer, and so I say to him the three simple words that have begun to heal me.

"I forgive you."

Cato stares at me. And stares. And stares.

And then he says, "When I killed Clove some piece of me broke. Her bones snapped and something in me did too." A light kiss on my forehead, my cheeks, both corners of my mouth. "But you are helping to heal that piece."

And finally, on my lips.

Later that night when we're lying in bed, our limbs and breath intertwined, I ask him one last question. I think he's recovered enough to answer it. In fact, since the confession of Clove's murder, Cato has been downright energetic.

After sucking face for nearly twenty minutes, he'd hopped to his feet, gathered me in his arms, and raced upstairs with the speed of a bullet train. He hasn't let me leave the bedroom for four hours, and now that it's dark out I doubt we'll be seeing Feldspar or any aspect of the downstairs until late tomorrow morning.

"Okay, so…" Not sure how exactly to bring this up, I pause and seriously consider waiting until some other point in time that's not now.

Cato shifts a little between my legs. Not long ago he lay his head on my stomach, and for the last half hour he hasn't moved a muscle. I vainly hope he's fallen asleep, which will really help my tell-him-later plan, but then he slides up my body and props himself on his elbows. Face hovering inches above mine, Cato grins wolfishly.

I sigh.

"What is it, babe?"

My eyes are rolling before I can stop them. Like I said – he's been in an obnoxiously good mood since his confession. Not sure what to think about that.

Cato leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips, lingering just long enough to leave me aching and breathless. My body pulses with heat. I murmur for him to stop, and – after one more mind-numbing kiss – he obliges.

"I hate to do this, but there's something I need to know. Since you told me about Clove, I've… I just need to know."

"What is it?" he asks, his pleasant demeanor shifting, but only subtly. Slightly less cheerful, slightly more…worried, I think.

But then, I can hardly think at all, what with his body pressed down on mine and his lips so tantalizingly close. If I just lean forward, I will taste him. Then we can forget this whole conversation until much, much later…

"Katniss?" Cato's eyebrows pop up, his eyes searching mine.

"One, um, one more question," I say faintly, trying and failing to keep my hormones under control. This is important. Also…scary. But aren't most things?

"Anything."

All in a rush, I blurt, "You saved me from Clove. Even though you were under no obligation to do so."

He makes a noncommittal sound.

I fight past my fear. "And…w-with Rue…? Why did you save me after she died? You know, when I was…" My chest aches to think about it. "When I gave up."

Cato's eyes remain fixed on mine for a few more seconds, and then he rolls off me. I tilt my head to the side so I can see him.

"With Rue it was different," he says softly. "I didn't feel so overwhelmed by you at that point. I'd just brought you to camp. But I was still protective of you, and when Rue died I saw… I knew… Ah, god." He squeezes his eyes shut, but before I can so much as brush my finger against his arm, he continues. "If I didn't do something, you would die. Maybe Glimmer would make a half-assed attempt at strangling you, or maybe Clove would stick a knife in your back."

"Two very definite possibilities," I mutter, hoping to coax a smile from him. But I get nothing.

"I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd done it yourself," he says so, so quietly. "You were gone for a while. For a few hours there I didn't want to let you out of my sight in case you…tried something." He clears his throat. "I didn't doubt that you would come back, though. You're a fighter, and I saw that from the first. I never considered for a moment that you'd truly give up. Besides…no way would I have let you."

After a moment, I whisper, "You're too good for me." Then I blush because I meant to keep that to myself.

Cato shifts on his side and wraps his free arm around me, pulling my body tight against his. "I am just right for you," he murmurs between kisses. My neck tingles every time his lips leave my skin. "And vice versa."

"Says you," I grumble, but I graciously accept his kisses anyway. They make me feel better.

"My opinion is the only one that counts," he replies, his lips quirking in an amused smile.

"Have you ever considered maybe you're a little too opinionated?" I tease, tracing his jawline with my finger. It is so chiseled and smooth. I want to lick it.

So I do.

Cato moans, his eyelids heavy, and the sound tightens my core. I arch against him, our hips bumping, and my heartrate goes through the roof when I feel his erection. Because of me, I remind myself. I did that.

My tank top and shorts are long gone, and Cato's only wearing his (still damp) swimming trunks, which, combined with my very thin underwear, are the only two things separating us. My thigh muscles clench. I want him inside me. Every time I have this thought there's a little less fear and a little more anticipation. We're getting there.

Cato's hands slide up my body and yank at my bra. Pulling aside both cups, he lowers his head and plants his mouth firmly on one exposed nipple. A half-gasp, half-sob rips from my throat, and although it might not be the best idea I've ever had, I arch against him again, my legs hooking around his waist as he pushes himself on top of me.

I grind against him, moaning for more, more, more. He switches to my other nipple, and I nearly cry out with frustration. I want him there, yes, but I also want him kissing my stomach and sucking on my neck and sliding down between my thighs. He has to be everywhere, all at once, to keep me sane.

Maybe what I really want is insanity.

Cato's mouth covers mine then, suppressing yet another loud moan. I slip my tongue around his, tasting all my favorite flavors, and bite his bottom lip so deeply the coppery tinge of blood floods my mouth. Animalistic, that's what we are. Consumed by our primal instincts, we're intent on devouring each other until there's nothing left.

It will be a pleasure to not exist, as long as he is not-existing next to me.

My thighs are dripping wet now. I can feel the wetness running down my legs, and just as Cato's hand slips beneath my underwear, his fingers on the edge of my slickness, there's a quiet knock at the door. A gasp startles out of me, and Cato pulls away, his body coiling with muscle. I scramble off the bed, my mind flickering through the room's potential weapons.

"Katniss?" A muffled curse. "Are you well?"

It's Feldspar.

Goddamnit. I squeeze my eyes shut, a hot blush blooming on my cheeks. I was being way too loud, wasn't I? With all the…noises I've been making. It's too dark in the room, so I can't see Cato's expression, but I bet he's probably about to burst into gales of laughter.

"Yes, Feldspar," I call unsteadily, "everything's good. Fine. We're just –" Oh, no. Why did I say we're?! Horrorstruck, I clap a hand over my mouth. Way to make it obvious, Katniss!

"Oh, um, I see, uh…" Feldspar stutters and takes a slight step back. I can hear the floor creak a little.

In the dim light filtering from the window I see Cato's quivering body. Thank god we didn't turn on any lights. My face is one degree away from bursting into flames.

"Well, that's fine, then. I'll leave it on the kitchen table for you to peruse at your leisure."

What is he talking about? Leave…? "Wait!" I call, frantically searching for my shorts. Cato throws me one of his tee-shirts; it's three sizes too big, but it covers everything that needs covering. Yanking open the bedroom door, I pick out Feldspar standing in the dark hallway, half-poised to turn away.

"What is it?" I ask the butler, hoping he can't hear how breathless I am. "Did you have something for me?" A letter? I nearly shout. From my family?

My guess is nowhere near close.

"An invitation," Feldspar clarifies, and hands me a slim envelope that's obviously made of some outrageously expensive paper. He gifts me with a tiny smile and then swivels on his heel, disappearing down the hallway in seconds.

I shut the door with a soft exhale, wondering what's so important about this invitation that Feldspar needed to interrupt us. Also, an invitation to what? I don't know anyone in the Capitol. Unless…

I whirl around and jab my finger accusingly in Cato's general direction. Now that my eyes are adjusting to the dim room, I can see a little better. His shoulders are no longer shaking with suppressed mirth, I note with satisfaction. He's disturbed too.

"Have you been making friends behind my back?" I demand, only half-joking.

"What?" He sounds genuinely confused.

Stepping closer, I thrust out the envelope. "Feldspar gave me this. Apparently it's an invitation. Which is weird, considering I haven't talked to a single person inside this city besides you and Feldspar." Oh, and Snow. And maybe Haymitch, wherever he is. "So who have you been talking to, huh? Am I boring you, Mr. Popular?"

I speak these words teasingly, but we both know I'm serious. If he didn't know me so well, the unsteady note in my voice would give me away. I mean, when has Cato had time to make friends, for Pete's sake? We're together ninety-five percent of the day…and night!

No, no, that's just my innate paranoia and insecurity talking. Cato hasn't been talking with anyone. This invitation probably came from Snow.

Swallowing, I shake my head a little and try for a laugh. It sounds forced. "Sorry. I hate that I always attack you like this without reason. I'm obviously insecure or something." Another false laugh, this time louder because my observations have hit a little too close to home. "Anyway, open it and let's see what all the ruckus is about."

Cato considers for a moment longer, making me not just nervous but impatient too, then tosses the invitation aside. I make a small sound of surprise. The cream-white envelope, a stark contrast to the room's pitch blackness, disappears under a chair. (Even the aim of the great District 2 Victor is affected by the dark, I note smugly.)

"It can wait until tomorrow," he says with a shrug of his massive shoulders.

I blink at him in the dark, which doesn't do anything but make me dizzy. "Aren't you curious?" Despite my stupid, irrational jealousy, I want to know what horrifying social event we've been invited to attend.

"Not really. You know, I was actually in the middle of something before the interruption…" He licks his lips. "Something I'd like to get back to," he says, his voice rough. Strong arms wrap around my waist, yanking me right off my feet.

My heart thumps in my chest like a gavel pounding wood. Of course he cares about the invitation. But he knows I'm insecure as hell, and he wants to do everything in his power to alleviate my fears.

Damnit. I really don't deserve this boy.

"One," Cato says, laying me down on the bed, and a second later his mouth brands my neck. He likes to keep track of all my hickies. It's like a game. But unlike all the others, it's innocent, harmless.

Unlike all the others, I want to play it again and again.