confessional hymns for the devil, himself
Disclaimer: I own nothing that has a copyright attached.
Chapter Six
If Clove could snap a picture of Glimmer's face at this moment and preserve it in a time capsule, she would. The room has fallen into an awkward silence after Cato breaks the news to the two other Careers. That they aren't going to be in charge. That they aren't even going to be runners up to the runners up in charge.
"Well-well that's just...asinine!" Glimmer sputters, pretty face splotching red with anger and disbelief. Clove absently thinks about how long the other girl has been waiting to throw that fifty-cent word into casual conversation. She probably doesn't even know what it means.
"We just feel that you two are too explosive and impulsive," Cato calmly explains further.
Clove takes it back. The look on Marvel's face is even more hilarious.
"Me? Explosive? Me?" He says this with a very pointed look in Clove's direction.
"If we find a task for you that is better suited, we will. Just...leadership is not one of your innate abilities. Just take a look at the other afternoon; half the Tributes weren't even paying attention to you and the other half were outright disobeying you." Cato has both hands raised in a sign of submission. Though not as hotheaded as Cato, Marvel possesses a wicked temper at times, and it is wise to break the news to him standing at least fifteen feet away.
"So that's it then: Careers to the back of the line, as it were?" Marvel states, suddenly calm. He has a slight build, but even Clove locks her core to brace for a fight. "You and those degenerates from District 11 think you can do this, have at it. I would just watch your back if I were you when the time comes. We'll see who takes what side when shit gets heavy."
Marvel spins on his heel and stalks from their house, slamming the door behind him on the way out. Glimmer pauses there for a moment, and Clove can almost physically hear the gears turning in her curly blonde head. "Yeah!" she shouts before following Marvel, opening and slamming the door emphatically.
Cato whistles loudly next to her. "Yikes! That could have gone so much differently."
She scoffs, busying herself with packing her knives inside her jacket and pants leg. "What response were you hoping for, exactly? I felt like that went just as I expected it would. They don't appreciate taking orders, never have, and now they especially won't when it's District 11 giving them."
"I meant you could have been mopping up quite a bit of blood after," he jokes, a twinkle in his mischievous eyes.
"What the fuck do I look like to you? A housewife?" Clove bristles. It's still hard to speak amicably with Cato, and he's pushing her too far too fast.
The smirk drops off his face in record time, and his eyes smolder at her response. "My, you're testy today. I wasn't trying to imply you were indebted to me or something."
Clove falters. She didn't expect his rebuttal; he typically backs off when she snaps at him. Unsure of what to say, she retreats to the kitchen to fix a bite to eat. It's quiet for a few moments more as she licks peanut butter off a spoon.
"You're the only one who can stand as my equal," she hears from the other room. It isn't a whisper exactly, but Clove knows it also isn't meant to start another conversation. Cato is just simply stating fact. She hears his heavy footsteps down the hall and the soft squeak of his bedroom door as he closes it behind him.
The next few days are a blur of activity for everyone. Clove tries to hold onto whatever sliver of optimism she felt in the beginning when she first asked for Rue and Thresh's help, but the other Tributes' abilities are downright abysmal by her standards.
You would assume that once the Districts caught wind that the Hunger Games were to be an annual event, they would initiate some sort of training program for the youth so as not to put them at such a striking disadvantage. That's how the children in the Career districts are taught.
She has to give it to him; Thresh is excellent at keeping morale up when several begin complaining after a few days of nonstop training. Her first instinct is to berate and yell, but he quickly steps in and works alongside them, pushing and encouraging the kids every step of the way. She finds herself catching his eye after one session and he, honest-to-god, tilts his mouth up in a half-smile and nods his head imperceptibly.
Given their history, Clove is utterly surprised. The bitterness of her pseudo-death still stings sharp, but she finds herself ceding instruction to him when he steps forward happy to take a break. Many of the Tributes catch on quick, but she is not known for her patience even at the best of times.
Rue, for all her quietness, is overwhelmingly full of great ideas on what techniques will benefit whom and who are the lost causes. Even Marvel and Glimmer joins begrudgingly after spending the first day haughtily observing from the sidelines, as if training is somehow beneath them.
The most shocking, and she will not dare breathe this out loud, is Cato. His enthusiasm for leadership practically oozes from his pores and knocks her for a loop.
It is during a moment of this flabbergasted analysis that the sickly sweet smell of roses reaches her nostrils on the wind. Without notice, Snow has joined their training session and is standing calmly at the edge of the gravel and surveying the scene through slit eyes. One by one the Tributes notice his presence and stop what they are doing. Cato is the last one to realize and only clues in once he realizes the quiet that has descended over the group, coming to a quick halt from sparring practice and panting heavily.
"Good afternoon, Tributes. I have to say I am fairly impressed by what I've seen so far." He smiles a snake-like smirk and continues. "Unfortunately, I'm sorry to inform you that today's training and days hereafter are to be cut short."
A wave of confusion ripples through the crowd. Even Clove feels herself tense with anticipation. Why stop training so suddenly after they've just begun?
"I consider the Tributes standing before me my greatest asset in Panem's time of need. There is upset and turmoil amidst us. Terrorists have threatened our great nation and seek to destroy the peace of our way of life and our families. These evil individuals have camped out in the ruins of what was once District 13."
Snow exhales loudly, frustration and discontent marring his features. "The Capitol's hovercrafts cannot safely land in the terrain to wipe out these malevolent forces. Ground troops are already heavily guarding and supporting the Districts for their safety."
Clove sees Cato shift uncomfortably. Like he, she understands where this particular speech is headed.
"The talented teenagers standing before me are our only resource left. I need everyone to begin the march on District 13. Since it is quite a journey, training will commence along the way." Snow pauses, looking out over the faces staring intently back at him. The smile on his face is obviously forced; they are his last resort and the prospect terrifies him as much as it does Clove.
"These rebels will want to kill you solely because you are affiliated with the Capitol," he continues.
This statement finally sends some life through the crowd. A few begin to sob. Clove assumes these are the ones who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would not survive the Hunger Games let alone armed, dangerous and angry adults. Snow quits talking, a frown settling on his lips and staying there.
Clove scoffs under her breath at him, flashing Cato a look of disbelief. Was Snow really so oblivious to how untalented and pathetic the majority of these Tributes are? For Christ's sake, they were the losers of the Hunger Games!
"You are to depart immediately at dusk tomorrow. Travel will only be allowed at night to conserve energy and supplies. That is all," Snow finishes monotonously.
Clove swears he ages another decade before her as he surveys the group one last time and stalks off towards the clinic. Docere meets him at the front entrance, trembling, yet invites him inside nevertheless. The Tributes loiter uselessly, processing the news Snow left them with.
Cato, ever the optimist these days, claps his hands together loudly after a moment of awkward silence. "Okay gang! Tomorrow will be spent obviously resting for beginning our hike, but that doesn't mean we can't finish what we've started today. Back to the grind people!"
He picks up the padded wooden pole he had been sparring with previously and twirls it in his hands. "Any takers?"
Thresh sighs heavily, shaking his own head in barely-concealed amusement before bounding lithely to his feet. "I'll spar," he tells Cato, a competitive gleam twinkling in his eye.
Clove briefly wonders if they'll fight to Thresh's demise (clearly Cato is stronger, faster, and more capable). Instead, Cato surprises her by barking out a jovial laugh and tosses Thresh the other padded stick. Clove's jaw metaphorically hits the ground.
Since when did Cato do anything jovially where Thresh was concerned?!
A dark bubble breathes low in Clove's gut. She was not ready to change her perception of Thresh. Yes, she might be able to work benignly with him, but respect and forgiveness of his transgressions is out of the question. A sting of betrayal pierces her with the realization that Cato could overlook Thresh bashing her skull in so easily.
The next hour passes and the Tributes pick up where they left off after much encouragement from Rue and Cato, alike. As each minute comes and goes, Clove feels more alienated, more alone, more angry. Cato moves from tribute to another and corrects their technique without spite or shaming, a smile lighting up his face the entire time.
Clove is unfortunately paired up with a shy, soft-spoken boy whose special talent appears to be absolutely nothing in particular, unless you can count cowering shamefully and repeatedly murmuring "sorry" for so much as breathing the wrong way.
Clove, in her agitated state, can only take so much of his pitiful behavior. Finally, she snaps as he throws a knife and misses the log he is aiming for by a whole fifteen feet and mutters out one more blasted apology.
"Look here, you better shape the fuck up quick! The only thing you should be sorry for is squeezing your stupid, misshapen skull out from between your mother's thighs! If you don't stop whining, I'm going to give you something worth whining about," Clove screams, brandishing her knife in the boy's face.
He shrinks back from her, terrified, and whimpers miserably. Just as Clove starts to feel satisfaction from witnessing the color drain from his face, Cato's large, sweaty torso steps directly in front of her and blocks her view.
"Hey, hey! Take it easy, Clove! He's learning so there's no need to yell at him like that." Cato's level-headed tone only serves to piss her off even more.
"If you don't get the hell out of my face, you'll be next! Where do you get off thinking you can tell me what to do, huh?" Clove lays her hands against his chest and pushes, hard. Cato stumbles slightly and raises his hands, palms up in a show of submission to her anger.
"Woah, no one is telling you what to do, Clove. Just that there is no reason to yell at the poor guy like that."
Clove sees murder-red in her vision. How is telling her not to yell not telling her what to do? In fact, by stamping down her voice, he is about to see how loud she can get! Fuck Cato. Fuck Thresh and Rue and all the rest of the godforsaken tributes. Fuck Snow, especially, for not allowing her to die in that arena and stripping her of her dignity by forcing her to coexist with the rest of these worthless human beings. All in the name of carrying out his grand suicide mission!
"Is this who you want fighting beside you when you drop dead? These-these hopeless, bottom-feeding losers?!" she spits maliciously. She watches an evolution pass over Cato's face as facts begin to slide into place.
"I'd rather die alongside these losers then live next to someone as heartless and self-serving as you."
His statement, spoken calmly, renders her speechless. Clove feels the dark bubble that had been brewing patiently inside her before grow stronger, rise up, and consume her very soul. Her fingertips tremor and shake in a white-hot rage she has never felt before. Words find her, and she opens her mouth to curse his very existence. Except no sound escapes...
The bubble of rage that had filled her gut shoots suddenly to her head. Clove feels as if her skull is being shoved between a vice grip and held there, pressure slowly pushing in from all sides. The pain is so intense she has no control over the physical reaction of her own body.
She hits the ground heavily with a broken scream, hands clutching helplessly above her ears. Distantly, she is aware of Cato kneeling beside her, feels his hand on her back. But its weight feels no more substantial as if she felt it in a dream. Gravel digs in and sticks to her cheek as she breathes hotly into the dirt.
However, finding a breath is difficult in this state. Each sweet gulp of air feels like a bribe accepted from the Devil, himself. In return for the essence of Life, Clove begs for Death. She staggers, first, to her knees and wobbles precariously. Cato swims before her vision, but his expression is blurred.
"G'way," she gurgles out, swatting feebly at hands reaching for her to steady her. She is certain being set aflame would be less excruciating than this.
Finally, she makes it to her feet and clumsily trips in the direction of the nearby trees. Underneath the crushing pain, shame and embarrassment begin their torment of her psyche. Cato's pleading for her to stop only fuel her shaking legs faster. She crashes through the undergrowth with only one objective: get away and get away fast.
Like an old dog who faces his time, Clove's only wish is to die alone in the complete darkness among the tall pines for company. She stumbles, bleary-eyed, a few quarters of a mile into the woods before collapsing for the second time onto all fours. The ground is softer here, and she presses her forehead into the fallen pine needles and allows the first few tears to leak from the corners of her eyes.
The air around her is cooler underneath the canopy of the trees, but nevertheless she feels herself breaking out in a sweat. The pain continues to lick seductively at her temples, but it is almost bearable alone and away from the concern in other's eyes.
She slips her hand into her front pocket and digs out a few morphling pills. With no water in which to swallow them down, Clove crunches the capsules between her teeth. The quicker onset of them working is a fair trade off of how bitter and vile the taste is.
Clove chokes through the lightning-lit fire inside her as it slowly gives way to a dull, persistent, yet more manageable, throb. As the torment of pain leaves her, embarrassment creeps in to settle its weight in her bones. To have such a horrendous migraine in front of everyone, especially Cato, made her seem weak and child-like. The anger she had felt towards him is still present, setting her teeth to a slow grind.
Clove considers his actions in the past week the deepest sort of betrayal. Although she did not consider him her friend, he was her teammate and more importantly, her District-mate. Did he have no loyalty to his family and neighbors?
Assisting the rest of Panem scum as he was is the equivalent of turning your back on everything you know in her eyes. He was bringing such shame to their district. They would demand his explanation. His trial. His head.
She sits up finally, leaning back on her heels and staring up at the canopy of the trees overheard. Although they receive direct orders from the Capitol, Career districts are big on doling out internal punishment. They would consider what he is doing an act of treason, as archaic as that might be.
She is dimly aware of her own role in this situation, but the anger she has directed at him overshadows all rational thought processes. His actions in the last week confuse Clove. First, it seemed like he had her back. Now, she doesn't know anymore. Is Cato even worth defending anymore?
She mulls this question around in her head longer than the others as she picks herself up, dusts the debris from her pants, and begins the walk back to their share cabin. Cato is nowhere in sight despite it being close to dusk now and training having ended over an hour ago. She fixes herself something to eat and waits.
He comes through the front door sometime later and halts, blinking sheepishly at her.
"Sorry, I thought you were still out in the woods. I was looking for you," he explains, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes from her penetrating gaze.
Clove is self-aware enough to know that being passive-aggressive is not in her genes. Going straight for the throat she bites out, "Why would you want to look for someone as heartless and selfish as me?"
Cato's mouth sets into a thin, pale line almost immediately and a wash of red rides high on his neck. "Your behavior today was uncalled for and deep down you know I'm right."
Clove bristles at his words, feeling the seething anger and hate from before consume her once more. "I didn't realize you appointed yourself my new guardian. Trust me asshole, if I wanted to adopt some daddy issues, I would go talk to Snow."
"Clove, we have to work together on this, our personal differences aside."
"What personal differences are you talking about exactly Cato?!" she yells, feeling her restraint begin to wear thin inside of her. "You and I are exactly the same. We come from the same place."
"For starters, I'm trying to overcome that, and you're stuck doing what you've been brainwashed to do. I don't have to be a killer," Cato tries to explain, moving away from the door and towards her slowly. "Don't act like you're too dumb to understand that."
Her patience, so slippery and thin in her fingers before, snaps violently. She is fed up with how condescending his tone is with her. She lunges at him, whipping out a knife from her pants where they sit low on her hips.
Although she is much smaller and lighter than he, Cato is not expecting her to charge him. His back slams up against the glass pane of the window behind them with her knife pointed at the soft flesh of his abdomen. Just a few inches forward and it would sink home.
The only thing that holds Clove at bay is his strong hand around her wrist. He's gripping so hard that she can feel the bones creak under the pressure and any moment now they will give way. She registers the pain, but the anger has bubbled up so large that it consumes her. It ebbs in violent waves at the forefront of her vision, and Clove realizes that the enraged noises she hears are coming from her.
"Look how weak you are!" he roars, accompanying the loud rush in her ears.
Clove twists her hand despite the pain of his grip, pushing the knife centimeters closer. He suddenly kicks out with his leg, and she's being swept off her own. Cato straddles her, scraping her hands across the rough floorboards where he's pinned them up above her head. She hisses up at him, writhing and bucking to dislodge his larger frame. He has her pinned like a moth to a corkboard. A thick sludge of obscenities rise up and leak out of her mouth.
"We can't keep doing this!" Cato's face is contorted in fury, but his blue eyes are pleading with her. "We can't keep fighting each other."
He makes the mistake of loosening his grip on one of her wrists just enough for Clove to break loose and swing up with her knife. He jerks back just in time to avoid serious disfigurement, but the sharp point grazes across his jaw and nicks his lower lip in the process.
Cato swears under his breath and pries the weapon from her hand and throws it across the room. It clatters to a stop underneath the edge of the couch, far out of Clove's reach. He gingerly licks at the cut on his lip, glaring down at her. "You. Are. Weak. Clove."
He traps both of her wrists above her head with one hand, curling her fingers in towards her palms. His voice is filled with conviction and such sorrow that Clove can only stare silently up at him, feeling the anger seep out of her slowly to melt into the floorboards. "I have to protect you. Can't you see that?"
She immediately bristles again. "No, you don't have to. I'm able to take care of myself. Your help is unneeded and, most certainly, unwanted."
Cato smirks then. "I believe you. You are the most ruthless, craziest, blood-thirsty girl I've ever met in my entire life. You are a Career through and through, Clove. But being a Career doesn't mean that you're stronger than everything you come up against." His smile drops from his face at his last admission.
"Being a Career means you are everything. You can't honestly expect me to believe you've completely turned your back on everything they've taught us?"
Clove feels his pinkie finger run along the side of her wrist and it's such a foreign, disconcerting feeling that she momentarily loses hold of her argument.
"I think I have," Cato admits quietly. "You should feel what I feel, Clove. For once in my life, I'm uncertain, and I'm the weak one, and it's the most wonderful, horrible thing I've ever experienced."
From this close to him, she can tell he's not lying, and it startles her. If they don't have to be Careers, what are they?
He drags his fingers down the underside of Clove's wrist all the way to her elbow and follows the same path back up. She jerks her arm loose, unused to a gentle touch from Cato. The implications of his actions are not lost on her, however. His head begins to incline towards hers and fast as lightning, Clove has her hand up against his mouth blocking his descent.
"Let me up," she spits lowly, feeling the silky smear of blood from his cut lip spread across her ring finger.
His eyes are unreadable inky blue pools. He stares at her mouth for a moment too long, and Clove shifts her knees in warning. Sighing heavily, he rises to his feet slowly, but not before placing a dry kiss against her palm and fingers.
In her entire seventeen years of life, Clove avoided emotional contact at all costs. She isn't going to let Cato be the one to break her track record. Her entire life is still built around a Career's life, and it offers no room for anyone else. Especially someone like Cato.
"You want to be the martyr, Cato? You want to lead everyone to their deaths? Be my guest, but do me a favor and cut the "we're only human" bullshit. Snow's original plan has backfired on him and pretty soon, he knows he'll have a mob on his hands."
"I say we play along with Snow until the very end, and then work together to save each other."
"There's no one here worth saving."
Her reply seems to shut him up for the time being. His expression is stony, and he releases a labored breath before leaving the room.
Clove's blood boils underneath her skin. Cato has no right to hold his self-proclaimed superiority over her head since he's decided to dabble in sainthood. His body masks a killer, and she doesn't care what he says. There's no running away from that.
He can turn over as many new leaves as he wants, but the other side will always continue to be withered and dead.