Cato and I decide to stay at the Cornucopia for the night. After we've treated his skin with the ointment we found in our backpack, Cato feels much better. He offers to keep watch and tells me to rest as long as I need.

We don't talk about our argument the other day, though. It seems no longer necessary to discuss what happened. Cato seems to know that I was sad about our separation, and I'm pretty sure he felt the same way. Besides, the feast has shown us that we're better off together: We need one another to give us rear cover, to fight as a team. Without the other, we're just usual tributes, giving their best in attempt to survive. But when we're together, we are Careers, vicious and deadly, giving everybody the creeps with our mere presence.

Cato and I only work as a team. It has almost cost me my life to remark that.

It's late afternoon when I curl up in the protective shadow of the Corncucopia; Cato sitting a few feet away with his back on me. His hands are playing with the ointment while he's staring off into the distance, probably sunken in thought. I watch him until I'm too tired to keep my eyes open any longer.

Sleep is enfolding me like cold, thick fog. It's dreamless at first, but then, as if I was inexorably pulled down by quicksand, images began flashing in front of my eyes. They appeared slowly, one after another; images of Cato's swollen face, of our argument. And I understand that they aren't just images, but they're memories.

They come faster after a time, bringing feelings with them. I can see the night sky above me while my heart is drowning in worry and solitude. It has to be the night before the fight…

Images keep replacing each other, moving faster and faster, until they start blurring, merging. A whole illusionary world is built up in my mind, swallowing the last gaps of reality. The quicksand is pulling me down with high speed now, and it feels like I'm catapulted back in time.

Suddenly, I find myself hiding in the underbrush. The sun begins to rise at this very moment. I can see the Corncucopia and a table appearing in front of it. The feast. I am reliving it.

There's Foxface, coming out of nowhere. And then I start running. And there's Katniss.

In my dream, the events of the day are passing even faster than in reality; as if somebody was just pressing a key to fast-forward the whole scene. I am completely overwhelmed by everything that's happening around me, and for a moment I'm afraid I might choke on all those impressions.

I don't know why I keep running. Then I remember that I'm only a marionette, and the Gamemakers are pulling my strings.

I endure everything without resistance. I lunge at Katniss for the second time, press my knife to her throat for the second time, and I try to kill her for the second time. Then, there's Thresh. And with him comes the pain.

Time seems to stop for a moment; I am reliving my torture in slow-motion. Thresh seems even taller, angrier and more terrifying than in reality. The pain he causes by pulling at my hair is more intense, too. But I am just as weak and helpless as before. This time, I don't try to free myself, because I know it'll only increase my misery.

I cry, though. I beg Thresh to stop, to let me go, and I cry that it wasn't me who killed Rue. I yell at him with all the power I have left.

Thresh lifts his hand, the one that's holding the lethal rock. It's worse than I remember it. The pain is so much stronger than in my memory, and it's tearing me apart like a hundred knives…

But there's one last hope, one last resort.

"Cato!" I scream in agony, pleading for him to hear me. "Cato!"

"Clove", he answers softly.

His voice seems to stop the flashback. I'm no longer in Thresh's arms, but from one second to the other, I'm looking into Cato's worried eyes.

I straighten up, completely startled, and notice that my heart is pounding heavily in my chest. I gasp for air like a drowning.

"Clove", Cato repeats. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

I open my mouth, but I'm not able to say anything. I feel like I'm having a fever. When I wipe my hand across my forehead, it comes back covered in cold sweat.

"You're shaking like hell", Cato states, already taking off his jacket. "Here, take this."

With trembling fingers, I reach for the jacket. The fact that I can't even thank him makes me feel like a complete jerk.

But my mind is still spinning with illusions, feelings… the unbearable pain I've felt only moments ago is still haunting me, and it seems so real that it's making me shiver even though it's just a memory.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Cato asks quietly.

I look into the gray of his eyes and feel a bit safer. "Think so", I get out.

My voice sounds so hoarse that Cato immediately hands me his water bottle. I take it gratefully.

"So, what did you dream?" he goes on.

I take a sip of water. "Thresh", is all I can give him as an answer.

Cato nods. "Of course", he mutters grimly. "Who else?"

Then his face softens again, and he's looking directly into my eyes. "But he's dead, Clove", Cato tells me with the voice of someone who's talking to a small child. "He's nothing but a ghost now."

"And I'm haunted by that ghost", I whisper, dropping my head in shame.

Nightmares. Another thing a Career isn't supposed to have.

"It's okay", Cato says. "That'll pass. Just remember that he can no longer hurt you."

His words sound so good, so soothing. I actually manage to calm myself down a bit.

"How's your face?" I ask Cato, partly to distract myself, but also because I'm still worried about him.

He just smirks. "I feel like a new man! Too bad you can't see it closely."

Yeah, too bad. I blink a few times, but Cato's face remains dark. Only his eyes are overcoming the night; brilliant like black diamonds and bright with recovered elation.

This is probably what induces me to do what I'm going to do now. Intuitively, I draw nearer and reach out for Cato's face. When my fingertips have found his skin, he doesn't flinch or pull away. This time, Cato simply closes his eyes and leans in to my touch.

I feel his cheek, feel its smooth spots and those still swollen and spots damp from the ointment.

Little by little, the pain from my flashback is leaking from my body until it's almost gone. What remains is an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach; probably rather a foreshadowing than an actual feeling. But it's enough to keep the memory alive inside of me. It's enough to let me know that I'll never be free.

I draw back my hand, and Cato opens his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" he asks cautiously, but I shake my head.

"No. I'm really happy for you, Cato. I'm glad you'll be healed."

He can be healed, but what about you, Clove? What about the kind of wounds you have? They can't be treated with some primitive ointment.

"My skin is recovering so fast that the process should be over by tomorrow", Cato announces proudly. "Which means we can hunt down the rest of those weaklings, and then we'll finally go home."

I can tell from the sound of his voice that he's smiling, but to me, the idea of going home isn't so comforting anymore. Wherever I go, I'll carry the memories with me. Even in District Two, the ghost of Thresh will be able to haunt me at any time. There's no place throughout Panem where I'll be safe from him.

"Clove? What's wrong?"

I don't want to tell Cato about my fear; he probably wouldn't understand it, anyway. So I just sigh.

"I thought you were happy about my recovery", he says after a while.

"No, you're getting that wrong", I object. "I'm so glad you're gonna be fine, Cato, like I told you!"

"You know what I'm really glad about?"

I stare at my hands. "That we'll win these Games soon, I guess. That's what we came here for."

To my surprise, Cato shakes his head. "No, Clove. I mean, yes – we came here to win, and it'll be fantastic, I'm sure – but at the moment, I'm just really glad you're alive."

I don't know what to say. I raise my head to look at him, trying to figure out what he means. Wasn't it only two days ago that he told me we weren't friends? That I was nothing to him?

"You're just saying that", I reply. "Look, you don't need to make up for that argument. It was also my fault. And it's already forgotten."

Cato laughs a little. "If this was supposed to be an apology, you would know", he assures me. "What I wanted to say was: You were unbelievably lucky today. I did what I could to save you, but you were still so lucky. One strike with that rock and you would've been dead. That's why I'm so happy to have you here, okay? I don't know what I would've done without you."

I hesitate, silently analyzing his words. "You would've gone on", I say then. "You simply would've done what you're here for. You would've killed the others and won. It would've been more dangerous without my rear cover, but that's all. In the end, you'd still be the victor."

"That sounds so easy, going on", Cato replies thoughtfully.

"Isn't it easy for you?" I ask. I imagine how hard it would be for me to go on without Cato, but I know it's not that hard for him. I'm not important enough for him to waste time mourning my death.

"Going on is never easy", Cato answers. I bet he's thinking of Glimmer.

"What if there had never been a rule change?" I ask. "You would've killed me, wouldn't you?"

Cato shrugs. "I wouldn't have had a choice. Winning has always been first priority."

"I would've killed you, too", I admit quietly.

"But that's different", Cato protests.

"What's different? We were just lucky there was a rule change!" I point out. "Otherwise we would've –"

"Everything's different!" he interrupts me. "And this is not about the rule change! Things aren't the same anymore, don't you understand?"

I stare at him in confusion. "Things aren't the same anymore? What do you mean? What has changed, Cato?"

There's a long silence between us. I don't know if Cato is just thinking or if he's ignoring me. Maybe I've upset him and he's not going to talk to me any longer. However, I keep fumbling with my hands while I wait for an answer. And I'm surprised when I actually get one. It's not very precise, but it's still answer.

"I can't tell you yet", Cato says. "We have to wait until the time has come. But I promise I'm going to tell you when we're home."

"That's already the second promise you've made in the arena", I tease him. "Are you sure you're gonna keep it?"

Cato smiles at me. "Absolutely sure. – Listen, Clove, I know this must sound very confusing to you, and it's probably not making the situation any better, but you can rely on me. I swear, I'm gonna tell you."

I have to admit that he's right: This is confusing. But then again, he is wrong when he says this isn't making the situation any better. In my opinion, it is.

I'm still aware of the memories that could haunt me at any second, and I still know that my return won't be as glorious and untroubled as I've imagined it. Too much has happened since the beginning of the Games: my feelings for Cato, the tears I've cried because of him and the pain I felt when I was facing death from Thresh's hands… I'm going to take everything with me when I come home. The Games will never truly be over.

But now I have also something to look forward to. Whatever Cato wants to tell me, I think it'll be something good. And it's a reason to go home; otherwise I will never know. The promise Cato gave me does not only mean he's going to share a secret, a part of his privacy with me, but it also means that he's going to be there. Whenever I feel weak, whenever I'm overwhelmed by the events of the arena, Cato will be there for me. Always.

"Tomorrow, we'll finish them off", I say, my voice as determined as ever.

Cato smirks. "I'm so glad you're here, Clove", he says.

Then he turns his back on me again, and I cuddle up on the ground to return to sleep.