CLOVE'S POV

I wake up and see a lonely knife stuck in the wall. I'm a tribute. I'm going to be a victor. Shit. I still have Cato to worry about. What is he going to do in the arena? I have no idea. I put on a pair of skinny jeans and a red shirt. I contemplate on if I should bring my knives with me or not, but eventually decide against it since today I will be 'remade.' I walk out to the dining area, and see that no one is up yet. Just me. I put bacon, ham, and some other unrecognizable meat on my plate, along with some eggs, toast, and pancakes on another plate. Sometime soon after I officially begin eating, Cato comes in. It feels extremely weird, but I'm going to have to get used to that, because quite frankly he's my ally. And I'll be spending quite some time with him, so I better just suck it up. Cato, like always, is looking very attractive. He has a rough and tough appearance, and his scruffy facial hair definitely makes him look even more attractive to me.

Cato piles food onto three plates, and I continue stuffing my face. And then, out of nowhere, Cato speaks, "So, how have you been?"

I want to tell him that I've missed his company, greatly, but that would make me sound weak. And I'm not weak. So, instead I say, "Well, recently I've been reaped as tribute for the Hunger Games."

"How strange, I'm a tribute, too," says Cato lightly. He then adds, on a more serious note, "and only one of us can live."

I want to tell him about my realization yesterday. About how no matter what I would have been put in the Games, but I can't. I can't tell Cato anything anymore. He's not my friend. He's my enemy. So I say, "Sorry to burst your bubble Cato, but that will be me."

"Oh really cause I already booked my ticket back to District 2." He says giving me one of his classic smirks.

"I've already picked out my house in Victor's Village," I tell him, giving him my own little smirk.

"Don't get too cocky now Coleman, you haven't won yet," says a voice I know belongs to Brutus. I send a death glare in Brutus' direction, but he doesn't see it, because he is too busy picking out the food he wants to eat. Cato sees the look, though, and he shakes his head slightly at me, holding back a smile. Oh, Cato. Why do you have to make it so hard to kill you? Enobaria walks in the room with Mace Medallion tagging along.

"Oh good," says Mace, "They're up. They've got a big day ahead."

The three adults fill their plates. There is a light amount of chit-chat while we eat that is mostly due to Mace. Once we finish eating, Cato and I are brought to the Remake Center. I let my prep team do whatever the hell they want, since my remake process will probably go faster that way. After listening to their annoying chatter and gossip for about five minutes I zone out into my own mind.

I think about Cato, how only one of us can live. I think about our short conversation this morning. It seemed easy and just playful banter, even though only one of us will live. Can live. Then I remember the deal we once made and my mind flashes to that memory of us, sitting in my bedroom late at night. He asked me when I planned on volunteering for the Games, and I told him when I was eighteen. "Good," he said, "'Cause I'm volunteering this year and I don't want to go against you."

Part of me was joking and part of me was being serious when I replied, "Why? 'Cause you know I'll kill you?"

He flashed a smile at me, knowing part of it was me joking around. That smile, though, was quickly replaced by a very serious look. He told me, "Well, one of us would have to kill the other. 'Cause I would damn sure keep you safe from the other tributes."

I looked at him, his dark brown eyes on the brink of black soaking me in. I glanced down at his hard but warm and inviting lips before saying, "It seems silly to keep someone alive just so they can kill you later."

His stone cold expression didn't falter when he said, "If I can't win, then I want you to."

My eyes were still locked on his face, his expression still stony. I said, "Deal, we take each other to the end" and it was followed by an immediate "Deal," and our lips meeting.

After that night I kept telling myself I had to stop seeing Cato, in case that scenario did happen. Like it did. But I couldn't commit to it. Not until three months later. I'm not sure if that deal means anything anymore. But I guess upholding that deal means more to me than what I said to Uncle Cleav and Enobaria. I will not do as they say. I will save Cato. Keep him safe. So no matter what, I will make sure Cato comes to the end with me. Even though that means I will have to kill him myself. I just hope Cato upholds his end of the deal.

"Clove!," I hear someone yell and I snap out of my thought. The voice belongs to one of the people on my prep team.

"Yeah," I say, not really focusing on them. I'm still trying to think about that deal.

"You're ready for Yeven now," says the same voice, which belongs to a lady with skin a slight shade of baby blue, "He's your stylist."

The prep team leaves and my stylist Yeven comes moments later. Yeven examines my naked body and I have to really hold myself back from kicking the shit out of him for it. It is his job, but I still don't like it. Once Yeven is done either admiring my body or making sure the prep team did everything, he begins putting me in my costume. Since District 2 is publicly displayed for masonry, the idea behind my outfit has something to do with it. I have been dressed up like a statue. I think it is meant to look fierce or something, because my muscles are emphasized. Even my abs are emphasized. My face and visible body parts, which include my feet and arms, are made to look as if they were chiseled out of marble.

I like my costume. It's better than being naked. Better than being a tree. Better than being whatever District 12 comes up with. So, I'm pleased. My costume shows I'm fierce. Intimidating. Strong. Strong just like stone. And just as hard. I am brought to the stables where the horses pulling the chariots await. Cato is wearing a similar costume. The horses of our chariot are gray. Yeven and Cato's stylist tell us how they want us to sit in the chariot. Once we get in they have to readjust us to their liking. Once they are satisfied they walk off.

"It could've been worse," says Cato, "It could've been a lot worse."

I silently chuckle, "We got it good. Beats being a cow."

"Beats being a sparkling fairy prince and princess."

"Oh I'd hate to be that."

"Me too."

The chariot in front of us with the District 1 sparkling fairy prince and princess starts moving, along with our own chariot. As soon as we are in view of the audience, they begin chanting, "District 2." Cato and I keep our heads high, and fail to acknowledge the audience. I put a Strong look on my face and keep it there. The other districts steal some of our glory when their chariots come into view. But amongst the cheers for the other districts are the cheers for Cato and I. "Cato, Clove, Cato, Clove" they chant, but then, as if we were suddenly put in some alternate reality, the cheers for the other districts and the chants for Cato and me turn into cheers and shouts for...District 12. I'm taken by surprise. District 12? I turn my head to look at the screen. What I see is District 12 in costumes that aren't degrading them for once. They are on Fire. It looks completely badass. But I hate it. No one. I mean no one is going to remember me now. That I looked Strong or fierce. All they will remember is District 12. The Tributes On Fire. My hatred for the girl deepens as I watch. She waves her hand and blows kisses to the crowd. They are eating her up, cheering her name. She has stolen all of my spotlight. She will die. Painfully.

Eventually the chariots fill up the loop of the City Circle. President Snow gives the official welcome and after going around the loop one last time, our chariot goes back into the Training Center. I glare at the District 12 tributes, letting all of my hatred flow into it. I turn to face Cato and I see a murderous look on his face aimed rightfully at District 12. Our prep teams and stylists are here, trying to help us out of the chariot, though we both refuse the help. They chat wildly about the flaming costumes of Twelve.

After we go back to our floor. After Mace Medallion talks to us, tells us we did good, that if it wasn't for District 12 we would have been the favorites. After Enobaria and Brutus tell us we could of done better. After they shoot some maledictions towards Twelve. After we're told that we will still have plenty of sponsors because of our skill. After we eat. After Enobaria asks about my speciality with knives. After she tells me the first training session is tomorrow and to be intimidating, as if she even needed to tell me that. After all that. I am able to go to the room assigned to me. I am about to go in when a voice stops me, "Clove." It belongs to Cato and I spin around. He is standing right in front of me and because of his height, I have to look up to see his face. He no longer has facial hair, his prep team must have shaved it off, but he still is very attractive.

"What do you want," I ask as coldly as I can muster. I can't let him get to me.

"Can I come in and talk," he asks and then adds when I don't respond and just stare, "Before Brutus or Enobaria catches me and sends me off."

"I guess," I say sedately and walk in the room. Cato follows and closes the door behind him. My eyes quickly flash to the nightstand to see if my knives are still there and then to the wall. My knives are gone. "Fucking bastards," I yell. Anger floods my being. The new lamp in the room shatters on the floor just like the one before it did. "They took my knives! My knives! Not their fucking knives! Mine!" Fury has overtaken me.

Cato grabs a hold of me and pins me to a wall. The look of insanity that sometimes possesses him is there in his eyes. I try to break free of his grasp, his insane eyes boring into me, but I can't break free. "Let go of me!" I yell at Cato. It takes him a second before it registers, he drops my hands. The next thing I know he's throwing the glass shards from the lamp around, kicking my bed, and pounding his fists on the ground.

I don't know why insanity possesses him sometimes, probably something to do with our training back in Two. I've seen it take over several times before. He's had many people hospitalized. This wasn't the first time I have been subjected to the insanity, but I've learned that fighting him doesn't solve anything. It has taken me a few times to realize this, I'm just lucky I haven't ended up hospitalized. Cato has attacked me during his insanity rages, but he seems to somehow hold back against me during them, and so he hasn't actually ever hurt me during one. Only when we spar or fuck has he hurt me, but it goes both ways. And only other people get hurt during his insane moments.

Even though I am still furious about my knives being purloined, I have to calm him down. "Cato, calm down. It's okay. Nothing's wrong." He turns to look at me, the insanity still lurking in his eyes.

"Don't you get it? Nothing is okay! Nothing will ever be okay! Ever Again!" He's screaming at me, anger and insanity as one.

I continue trying to calm him, "Okay Cato, just calm down, please, just calm down." This doesn't calm him down, I try several different approaches, and the one the ends up working is, "Please calm down before Enobaria and Brutus come," he stops and stares at me. The insane still lingering, so I add, "You said you wanted to talk."

Cato seems to come back. He takes a moment, reflecting on what just happened. "Sorry I just..." his voice breaks off.

"I know," I tell him. I sit down on the bed. "What did you want to talk about before...you know."

"About Twelve, about those fucking tributes," he says beginning to flare up.

"Stay calm," I warn him, and then add "I can't wait to kill them."

"I can't wait till they're dead, but that's what I wanted to talk about." He sits down next to me on the bed, and tilts his head so he's looking directly at me. "What if they aren't even worthy contenders. Really it's their stylists that put them in the spotlight, they could be worthless. They are from Twelve."

Cato's words soothe me. I mean. They Are From Twelve. It's funny, though, how quickly our moods changed. From calm to fury back to calm. I'm lucky, though, that his moment of insanity wasn't as bad as in past times. I avoid his eyes, so I don't get lost in them or see the insanity if it is still there. "Yeah, you're right. They don't mean anything yet. Just their stylists outshining ours."

"Exactly," says Cato. He tries to look in my eyes, but I reject his attempts at eye contact. "That wasn't the only thing I wanted to talk about," he says after a moment.

"What else then?" I ask.

"Is that deal still good?"

"Sealed with a kiss," I say getting up before he gets the wrong idea. "So, if that's all you wanted to talk about, I'm going to take a shower."

Cato smirks at me, getting up off the bed, and heads towards the door. When he speaks I expect it to be something dirty, but instead it's just a "See ya tomorrow." He glances back at me before walking out.

After my shower, I put on a pair of black shorts and a green tanktop. The lamp has once again been cleaned up, but this time it wasn't replaced. My lamp privileges have been revoked. I get in the bed and lay there thinking about what I'm going to do. At least I know Cato is keeping his part of the deal. But I need to think of a way. A way to kill him easier. I think about what I would do if I had to kill him right now. I realize how hard it would be. How hard it would be for me to kill him. How likely it is that I would die. Do I have a weakness for Cato? Fuck. I think I do. I have a weakness. Fuck. I have a weakness and his name is Cato. This is bad. Real bad. Why did I let this happen. I'm supposed to be Strong. I'm not supposed to let these things happen. I'm going to have to overcome this. Just like I would any other weakness. But how? How will I? Of course. Most of the battle of overcoming something is mental. Pushing yourself even when you can't take it anymore or think you're at your limit. That's exactly it. Mentality. Mentality is key. To Everything. If I imagine myself killing Cato sadistically, then it will be easier to kill him when the time comes. Right?

I decide to try it while I fall asleep. It is quite difficult to begin with, it hurts, but I push through it. I imagine Cato is chained to a wall. I have my knives. A wide variety. I'm using one of my throwing knives to cut open his right cheek. Blood is gushing out. Cato is trying to be strong, even though I am torturing him. I cut a gash from his chin to his ear. Blood, oh how I love blood. It makes me hungry just thinking about it. Hungry to kill. Then I look at Cato. Cato. How can I do this to him? Sparring is one thing, but torture? No. I put my hand on his left cheek, and bring my lips to his. I break away and look in his eyes. The insane. It's there. Then suddenly his body goes up in flames and I'm back in the City Circle. The District Twelve tributes are parading around in their flaming coal costumes. I'm in a cage. In a cage with Cato. He's lost his sanity. His eyes. He's thrashing about, but the cage is so small that I am caught in the rage. In his insanity. I get crushed against the bars. Whacked in the face. Thrown on the ground. Stomped on several times. Kicked in the ribs. In the face. I'm a bloody mess. His insanity never leaving. That's when I open my eyes.