Song Suggestions: Nikisha Reyes—"So cold" (For the beginning of the chapter)... and Alt-J—"Breezeblocks" (For the end of the chapter)

A/N: Prim doesn't always make the best decisions. She also doesn't have all the information. The third book explains what happens with attractive victors, so this wasn't such a surprise to some of you. Prim doesn't know this, even though we do. It's called dramatic irony.

A/N: Sorry about the long wait but…I'M GETTING MARRIED IN TWO WEEKS! This summer has been crazy: traveling, no time, etc., which is why the updates have been sporadic. I'll try to update next weekend, but I might not be able to. Be patient with me. In August, I'll get back into the rhythm of weekly updates.

Perception

Cato came to pick her up several hours later. He walked through the double glass doors as if he owned the world. And he did in a way. At least, this world. The younger trainers and sponsors gave him a wide berth, and the older ones showed him deference from afar. He carried his reputation like a gleaming sword. It didn't have to be visible for the danger to show.

"Prim," he called out.

Her heart seized. She was hiding, though it was futile. Her tears had stopped long ago, and she doubted they would resurface again. She did not know if she had the courage to face him.

For that reason, she tried to stay out of sight, standing behind a curtain like she had for the past thirty minutes. The larger part of embarrassment had worn off, but every time a woman snickered or a sponsor stared, she couldn't help but blush. Avoiding it all seemed the best recourse.

Cato found her ten minutes later. She turned her back to him.

"Prim?" Cato said again, this time a question.

He touched her shoulder, and she shrugged him off.

Cato wasn't the type to be ignored. He put his fingers under her chin and turned her face towards him. His eyes widened for a moment, and his face went blank. Even after all this time, sometimes she had a hard time reading him. It was like he chipped his emotions out of stone. He stared at her a long time, running his fingers up and down the dyed skin. She stared back until she had to look away from the scrutiny.

"Please don't turn away." He said, "It happens to every girl. One initiate was forced to run naked on the stage. Another was made to eat a live fish. That's why I wanted you prepared with Manniola so that they wouldn't find any fault in... "He trailed off, "It doesn't matter. They shouldn't have done it. It's over. And from now on, they'll never do anything to you again, I promise."

It barely registered to her that he knew some sort of hazing would happen, yet he never warned her about it. She should be upset by that, but all her emotion had dried up, a gummy sap on a tree that had stopped running, still sticky but crystalizing.

He thought her sadness, her pain, came from the dye, the cruelty. He didn't understand that she couldn't stand to look at him. The betrayal stung her like a fresh slap. Each of the pictures played behind her eyelids like a movie. She grasped her clutch to her side. In it resided the proof of his treachery.

How could he? Her mind said, How could he do that to me?

Determination played across Cato's features. something she was used to seeing.

"I'm not going to let you lose," Cato said.

"I don't care if I win," Prim said. Not anymore.

Cato didn't listen to her. He led her out, gripping a hand around her wrist, tugging her around like an obedient dog. And she had been, hadn't she? For the longest time, she deferred to him, afraid of him, of his anger and temperament.

No more.

She tugged her arm out of his hold. The anger built inside her. The emotions a storm.

Cato glanced back at her and glared. They had entered the middle of the dance floor, except nobody danced any more. They all sat at the edges. The music was dim, and they were the center of attention, a place she hated more than ever, a place she couldn't escape with Cato by her side.

"I'm not going to let them win," he said.

He gave two determined steps and gripped her face again, pulling her into a crushing kiss. It tingled everywhere down her arms and shoulders, her heart forgetting to beat, her lungs refusing to breathe. The world stopped. She tasted the salt on her lips, a stinging sensation of longing and desire and loss.

How could he?

She flinched and pulled back.

He noticed. He tilted his head to the side, anger flashing, confusion bunching the crease between his brows.

"It's time to go," he said.

He twisted and walked away, and for the first time she noticed the crowd watching. She had forgotten it in the intensity of the moment.

Mrs. Manniola clutched her wine glass between her fingers, her eyes glowering. The rest of the ladies either mirrored Manniola's expression or they sighed with the romance.

Their plan failed. The plan to make her ugly and weak and undesirable.

She almost felt triumphant until she saw Persephone. And all she felt was her pity.

How could he?

Two days Later

Prim wiped away her tears and got back to work. She held up the beaker in the air to see better in the dim light of the basement. The room smelled like burnt skin and eggs.

The dye on her skin had started to fade within a day. Now it was only a faint crimson glow.

About half a cup. She placed the beaker on the table, letting the water settle then stared at it again to make sure of the measurements again. It was important it was exactly so or it wouldn't turn out right. Her mother's notes stated it twice, so it must be imperative to the outcome of the product.

And her product had to be perfect, or her plan wouldn't work.

Have you forgotten who I am? Cato had threatened her after her last botched escape. She had then. But she remembered now. She knew the consequences to her person if she ever messed up. How could she forget?

"If you ever think of running away again,"he stated as if he were discussing the weather, "I'll lock you in this room all by yourself, for the rest of your life, with not even Coral for company. I'll be the only face you'll ever see again. Don't you ever forget it: If you run away again, I'll make sure you hate me."

Either that, or he could snap like he promised her from the beginning. He could kill her; a natural reaction to expect from someone who made his legacy by it.

Satisfied by the level of liquid, Prim picked it up, pouring it into a small cauldron where several other liquids already bubbled, watching it until it simmered, and then boil, stirring only when necessary. The flames under the pot leaped up to touch metal, playing acrobatic gymnastics.

Once it boiled, she picked it up with a pot handle and let it rest on the stone ground.

All she had to do now was wait. Wait and wait.

Prim no longer enjoyed empty time.

She tried to stop herself. But like the last several hundred moments in the past few days that she'd been home, she failed and gave in. It was starting to become an obsession, a sick one that made her feel anxious and nauseas. Prim walked over to the table where the plant book was laid open on the table, it's content open to a sleeping potion.

She sighed heavily and turned a page. Hidden within the pages she had imbedded the photographs that Persephone gave her. She had found one that had turned to proof. At first glance, it was exactly like the other ones, but in this particular photograph Cato wore a small chain on his wrist.

It wasn't until she got home that it occurred to Prim that Persephone could have lied to her, manipulated her emotions to suit her needs. After all, the only thing the photographs proved where that the events had happened, not when. Prim had felt a moment of relief until she secluded herself, gathering enough bravery to look at them again.

She had pulled out the packet and reviewed each photograph like a peace keeper determined to put a man in chains. It was a furious and frantic search that ended with the photograph that she now held in her hands.

The chain on his wrist had been given to him by Coral about a month ago.

A month ago.

Prim resisted the urge to crumple the photograph and throw it in to the fire.

But instead, she sat on a small chair and stared at it.

For he was tangled in another woman's arms, naked and intimate

And it wasn't until she saw it that she knew she loved him.

Deeply.

Brokenly.

Later that Day

Prim busied herself with stashing items away in a bag in Coral's closet when she thought no one would watch. She was wary though. He had filmed her to gather Manato evidence, but Prim was unsure whether or not he had stopped filming. Maybe he always filmed the insides of his home.

The sleeping potion was finished. It sat cool and unnamed in a cupboard, a pale liquid that would leave no trace, except a slight nutty, bitter flavor. Enough of a bite that Prim hoped Cato didn't notice it. It was potent enough for a full day, thanks to a special addition of capitol medicine that increased the effectiveness of her mother's recipe.

Prim went over to the bag and slipped in some peanut butter and some crackers, high energy and protein snacks for the long road ahead.

This was the plan: give Cato a sleeping potion so he doesn't notice, take Coral to see Persephone in the location they agreed upon, let Persephone see Coral, and then never return. Persephone had connections that were willing to hide her until after the games. She also had contacts that would hide her family at the same time.

It was a risk she was taking, Prim knew that, but she was backed into a corner. Either option, leave or stay, was unpalatable, but at least leaving kept her dignity.

Prim zipped up the bag and walked out of the closet, and then she jumped, unable to hide the guilt.

Cato sat on the edge of Coral's bed, legs spread, chin in palm of hand. Coral sat at his feet, quietly playing tea party where she had left her.

"What have you been doing?" It sounded like an accusation, though that could have been her beating heart playing tricks on her.

"Umm, trying to find some clothes."

"Didn't you already move all of your clothes to my room?"

"Yes... well..." Prim faltered, "I left a few. I'm sorting through them."

Prim's heart missed a beat and then two, waiting for him to respond. A lot rested on him not discovering the duffel bag. She had hidden it under a spare blanket, but it would only take a smidgen of curiosity to uncover it.

Cato stood and arched his back with a stretch, his hands above his head. Pop, pop, pop. His back cracked into place.

"I can help you," he said after returning to a normal state, "I've had nothing to do all day."

He walked towards the closet and Prim jumped in panic. She did the only thing she could think of to stop him. She kissed him, reaching her hands up to anchor herself, running her hands through his hair.

When they pulled apart, Prim tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach, the feeling of wanting to grasp to a moment, hold it against her heart against the coming storm. Loss didn't always come after you lose someone, sometimes it comes before, and it aches and tears holes into the spirit. Your brain tries to memorize every moment, every scent.

Cato smiled and rested his head on her forehead.

"I'll never tire of that."

"I'll ask you that in thirty years when it has become old."

Her comment seemed to please him. For a moment, she saw his wish, reveled in it herself.

"Like I said."

He went back to hold her, but between the violent pink on the walls, and her thoughts of him in another woman's bed, she felt sick. She flinched and pulled away from his touch.

The life he wanted was a fantasy.

Cato frowned.

"You've been flinching since you came back from Tea Time."

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have. You've changed," he responded, "And I'm going to find out why."

Cato twisted and walked out without looking at her, in a fury of motion she barely saw.

Coral still played at her feet, unaware of the tension in the house.

"Come on, Buttercup, you finish your tea. It help build your bones." Coral said to the lazy, fat cat sitting next to her. He gained an unexpected affinity for the toddler and seemed to love her more than Prim on some days. Coral had laid a man's jacket on top of Buttercup's lounging body, and she placed a top hat on his head so he could be a gentleman. It kept falling off, and she kept putting it back on. She picked up the tea and brought it close to his mushed face, but he turned his nose up.

"Mommy, he won't drink."

"Kitties don't drink tea," Prim responded absently. Her thoughts swirled, making her feel tossed around at sea.

"Sure they do." Coral said.

Prim could no longer respond. She felt choked and had to leave.

"Mommy?" Coral asked, concerned.

"I'm fine, hunny." Prim reassured.

But she wasn't at all.

Tomorrow she would have to enact her plan.

And Cato was already suspicious.

The Next Morning

The next morning came fast. Prim intercepted his breakfast early in the morning. The sun just started to peek over the mountains. Cato woke up at ungodly hours every day, a habit he retained from his training days. The platter contained eggs, bacon, toast with jam, pancakes, and a large glass of fresh-brewed coffee.

"I'll take this to him," Prim told a maid she was fond of.

"Are you sure, ma'am?"

"Very. You take a break this morning. Go and enjoy the sunshine, once it comes up."

The maid looked ecstatic and didn't think to ask her twice. Prim was always doing kind things like this for the staff, and she was known to let them off on random breaks. It wasn't out of her ordinary.

Prim walked with the tray. She glanced both ways, making sure no one could see before uncorking the vial of sleeping potion in her hands and dumping half the contents into the coffee.

Five Minutes Later

She found him in the breakfast nook, a small alcove off to the side of the kitchen on the lower-level of the house. He drank his coffee in seclusion every morning, staring out a picture window. The stream lay close to this side of the house, and it could be heard gurgling its happiness to the rising sun.

Today she would join him for the first, and maybe last, time.

When she pushed through the swinging door, Cato sat in a pensive state, studying the world around him. He seemed distracted by deep thoughts, deep enough to drown. The frown decorating his mouth told her this. Whatever his thoughts contained, they weren't simple or pleasant. They were thoughts that chipped at the soul.

"Hungry?" She asked.

He jumped a little and turned, which was odd. Something flashed across his face before vanishing, too quick for Prim to examine it.

"I'm always hungry."

She set the food on the table. It steamed in the dim light. The overhead light only gave enough light to glance off their faces. The rest of the light came from the horizon. Each second that passed, the earths contours became clearer.

He didn't eat any of the food, continuing to stare out the window, contradicting his statement. Prim went ahead and took the extra seat beside him. Nervous energy buzzed inside her, having nowhere to go.

Drink the coffee. Her attempted telepathy failed. They sat in silence for several seconds. They ticked like hours in her mind.

"Have you ever made a choice you didn't want to make?" He said, making her heart jump with the abruptness.

"I guess."

Didn't she, though.

"I mean, one with no good outcomes. The choice was between bad or awful."

"I'm not sure what you're getting out."

He sighed and picked up the glass of coffee. He drained it in two large gulps then set it down and rubbed his lips. His face puckered in concentration. Her heart leaped.

"That was awful." He glanced into the glass. Prim knew she had to draw his attention away and fast.

"The choice?" She placed all her innocence, all her charm into her voice.

"What?" He asked, "No, not the choice," he said once he understood what she asked. "But yes, I guess. The choice. It was awful. Or bad, and the other one awful... am I making any sense?"

"Not in the slightest."

All she could think of was the coffee, of how it ran through his veins. There was no turning back. Choice, he asked. Well, she had made hers, and now that she made it, her nerves tingled. Did she make the right one?

He sighed as if it pained him, as if it would be easier if she was omnipresent in his thoughts and motives. After a moment, he turned and rummaged through a bag she hadn't seen before. It hung from the side of his chair. A duffel bag, the one he toted around with him to training.

Out of it, he took several white pieces of paper, indiscernible in the semi-darkness. He turned them around and laid them on table. They splayed across the worn-wood surface: image after image of himself in other women's arms, in other women's beds.

"Care to explain where you got these?"

Prim clammed up. If he knew about the pictures, did he know about the plan, did he know about Persephone, did he know about the coffee?

Of course he doesn't, she corrected herself. Or else he wouldn't have drunk it. The coffee cup was drained, not even a drop left. Unless he sabotaged the sleeping potion, the thought popped into her mind.

She forgot that the threat of Cato still sat next to her in a dark room, so muddled in thoughts and fears, until she was reminded again of his presence. His hand covered the top of hers, and he squeezed.

When would the potion start working? It hadn't been in the notes.

"Explain?" Prim said, in a dumb stupor, "Me explain? After you... that's just so typical. You do something awful and somehow want me to give you an explanation."

The coffee in his system spoke against her. He did have a very real reason to be upset with her he just didn't know it yet.

Her rebuttal only made him angry. The hand covering hers tightened. She managed to slip it away, and he didn't reach for it a second time.

"I will fucking explain. And then you are going to accept my reasons. And then you are going to forget about them completely. After this morning, I never want any of this brought up in my house again."

He was angry now. His usual standby when things didn't go his way.

With nothing productive to do, the adrenaline in her body made her feel slow. She slugged along in the conversation, unable to refuse his offer.

"I will?"

"Yes, you have to understand, there was no other option. Not for me, anyway. When has Snow or the Capitol ever given me one? They gave me a happy ever after in the papers, but it hasn't stopped them from consuming what they desire. These women," he pointed at a random photograph, "Mean nothing. They aren't you. The entire time I imagined—"

"Fuck you," Prim cut in, her wits and emotions catching up to her, "If they fucking meant nothing, then you shouldn't have touched them."

"You're not listening to me. Winning the games isn't the end of being a victor. We are all made to do things. You lived in District 12, didn't you? The worst of them all. You, of all people, should understand." He ended his sentence with a snarl directed at her. He was like a caged animal, cornered and aggressive.

Her mind worked hard to understand like he asked, even though the betrayal she attempted to see things from his perspective.

We are all made to do things. We are all made to do things. We are all made to do things. That sentence stood out from the rest of them. And something else nibbled at the back of her mind, something that had been said a long time ago. Right before they had sex for the first time, she had confronted him with the words that he didn't know what it felt like to be forced into sex.

And he answered: "More than you know."

The sensation of Jace came back to her. The smell of cat piss, mothy sheets, the rust dribbling down the side of the sink. After giving her vice, he touched her cheek and she felt burned.

"It's a smart little Captiol invention for victors who aren't quite so compliant with their orders. I hope Cato appreciates the touch."

Orders? What orders?

Cato had recognized it immediately, hadn't? Her mind clicked along, fitting the puzzle pieces together that had been there all along. The big picture her mind stumbled upon was horrifying.

"You don't expect me to believe—"

Because if she did believe… well, then she just made a very bad decision.

"Fine," he threw back before she could finish, "Don't fucking believe me. What do I care? It doesn't change anything." He jumped to his feet, knocking over the rest of the food and slamming his chair to the ground. The wood clattered against tile.

The violent energy shook the air in the room, rattling Prim. One hand flew to her breastbone, as if to protect her heart.

Cato looked manic in the moment. She knew without him telling her that he did not sleep the night before. Dark circles made his eyes seem sunken into his skull, a step closer to the grave. The creature in front of her was the sort that could drink blood and enjoy it. Prim understood the danger. It rippled, alive, able to be touched.

"You're mine." He said, "And I'm yours. I'm losing you, and I've never lost. I can't lose. I don't know how…" the manic in his eyes increased, "I'm not going to give you a choice in this. You think I'm ever going to let you go?" He paused, and his face took on a new light. He tilted his head, as if trying to find out something important. "How did you get these photos?"

So we are back to that, are we?

Prim scrambled to her feet, a reaction to fear. The adrenaline in her body could no longer be ignored. It rang alarms down the pathways of her body, warning her of Cato's unsteady mind.

It was the right time.

For at that moment, Cato stumbled. He righted himself and shook his head, his body, as if trying to shake off cobwebs he ran into. When he steadied himself, his hands went up to his throat and then touched his head. One hand shot out and supported his body against the remaining chair. Prim pressed herself further against the opposite wall.

Cato stood still for a moment.

"Why do I suddenly..." he stumbled again, but caught himself, "Prim," his eyes snapped up, "What did you do?"

Prim bolted. She gave no time for his reaction, for his condemnation, for his punishment. In just seconds, she dashed through the empty space between the window and the table, going to the opposite side of the breakfast nook.

If she could only get to the...

She hurdled to a stop to see that, even with the potent sleeping potion slowly working its magic, he was still faster than her, with better reflexes. Despite the speed, his hand hit the sugar and creamer, in an uncoordinated movement, smashing them to the ground. The white liquid oozed out of the cup like lava, a wet puddle on the ground.

She jolted around, tilting back and forth, placing the table between them, a barrier.

"What did you do?" He screamed.

He lunged for her again, but she dodged just in time. Her dress fluttered just out of his fingertips, the silk slipping past.

"I had no choice!" She screamed back, using his line against him.

It became a game. Prim didn't know how long it lasted. All she knew was that she was beginning to win. His lunges became slower, less coordinated, until he finally slipped on the creamer and hit the floor. He rested there for a second before speaking.

"I'm-I'm-going-to-kill-you. I swear. Run. You better fucking run." He tried to raise himself, and then he dropped the back of his head against the ground, panting, in defeat.

Prim wanted to do just that, but Cato lay between her and doorway. To get to it, she'd have to step over him. She waited until the sun edged its way above the mountains, yellow rays striking the interior of the nook, illuminating both their deeds. The pictures still lay sprawled out on the table, mocking her, and he hung unto consciousness by threads, cursing her, threatening her.

"Run," he kept hissing under his breath, "Don't let me catch you. I'll kill you. I can't believe you did...I'll kill you. Run"

After a while his threats grew softer, more morose.

"Why?" he gasped in a deep breath and held it for a second, "I mean I know… but you don't mean it do you? I want to hurt you right now. Press the veins on your neck until you stop breathing… please, fuck, don't go. Don't run. Don't listen to me."

Soon he grew quiet, unable anymore to speak with clarity or intention.

She believed him, as she always had, but she refused to show him fear. After several moments of silence, she decided it was the right time to make her way out. She tiptoed around the table, stopping to stare down at him for a second.

It had all gone off plan. Prim should have given him his coffee and then jetted out. He would have fallen asleep at the breakfast table, and maybe, just maybe, she could have turned around the situation if she wanted to. But not anymore. Right now the only exit stood in front of her.

He brain clicked along, wondering what to do.

She had made him out to be a villain when he had been a victim. Prim wished she could turn back the clock hands, roll the sunlight back up and tuck it away.

Tears pricked her eyes as she looked at him, drinking him in. The way his hair stuck up on the back of his head no matter how much he tried to tame it. The scar across his face, a delicate line of white after so many years.

She couldn't help it. Prim leaned down and placed her lips on his, a need, not a want. They were warm and soft, and she felt lost.

His hand came up and cupped her cheek, and it felt so natural that she forgot that he was supposed to be asleep. When she noticed, she jumped, but his grip found a hold on her wrist before she could rise, still vicelike and unbreakable.

She had been stupid to kiss him.

"You're not leaving" His grip tightened, and when she looked at him, she found his eyes open and aware, round and heart-breaking, "Please don't... stay... please... I can't." He stopped for a few seconds gathering strength.

"Let me go," Prim tugged her wrist, to no use.

"No!" He tugged her down hard, and she tugged back, "Please don't. Fucking-"

Prim snapped. With all her force, she leveraged herself backwards. With the force and his lack of energy, the grip loosened enough that she hurtled backwards, catching herself against the tile. Cato tried to reach out with his hand to grasp her foot, but she wiggled away.

In no time she was on her feet. Cato flopped around, so that he was on his belly, and with what must have been tremendous effort, started a slow slide towards her, one powerful arm dragging his body.

Prim couldn't take it any longer. Everything broke her heart. And she was afraid of what would happen if he trapped her again, if he held her hard through his sleep. She could see herself throughout eternity roaming these halls, a prisoner, miserable, without friends.

She'd wait for hours, knowing he'd be in another woman's arms, and he'd start to blame her for his misery as well. They would become bitter and jealous.

And...oh, god... she loved him.

She choked back a sob and refused to look backwards.

She heard his body sliding on the tile slowly towards her unmoving form. One hand on the doorknob. A sick slap of his hand on tile and creamer. Making her mind, she turned the knob and stepped past the doorway, the line in the sand.

"Wait, don't! Come back. Don't leave. Prim... Prim!"

But she didn't listen. She sprinted up the stairs and to Coral's room, grabbing the bag with her and coral's necessities. She tugged out some of the car keys in the bag, letting them jingle between her fingers. Then it was time to collect the little girl.

"Are you ready to go on an adventure?"

Coral brightened and followed her without question.

It wasn't until she ran outside and jumped into the car, shakily missing the ignition with her keys, when she realized her mistakes.

"What have I done?"

She stopped for a moment, letting her head rest against the steering wheel.

And then she sat up with determination.

This is the only way.

And then she made her way towards freedom.