At training I practice making a snare for a short time, just in case. I run through the obstacle course I go and throw more knives. I spend some time sparring and then it's lunch. Today we will have our private sessions with the Gamemakers. It's time to impress them. The districts go in order from One to Twelve. Boys first. "Good luck," I tell Cato when he gets called. "Same to you," he replies solemnly. I wait patiently for my turn. I don't know how long it takes, but eventually my name is called.
I grab all the throwing knives in the training gym and go to work. From the gym's center I throw knives in the hearts of the dummies at the bow station. I sprint and throw, hitting all the dummies at the spear station in the head. I work through the obstacle course efficiently, piercing all the dummies at the station meant for knife throwing in the neck. I run to the center of the gym and while moving in a quick circle I throw more knives, hitting the bow dummies in the lungs, the spear dummies in appendix, and the knife dummies in the head. I make the circle again. Bow dummies, head. Spear dummies, heart. Knife dummies, lungs. I stop. I have no more knives. I'm released. The Gamemakers look very impressed by my skill. Good.
Back on floor 2, Enobaria asks me how the session went and I tell her. She gives me an approving nod and tells me I should get a high score. It will be awhile before the scores are announced, since they still have most of the districts left to go through still. So, during the time I have to kill, I go to the room of my assignment, take a shower and continue working on my "strategy." When it's time for the announcement of the scores, Mace Medallion comes and fetches me. We all sit gathered around the television that blazons the scores of the tributes. Marvel gets a nine and Glimmer gets an eight. Cato's score pops up. Ten. I sneak a glance at Cato and see him suppressing a smile under his strong exterior. My score comes up. Ten. We're both tens. It's a nice and high score, but I was hoping for something higher. Enobaria and Brutus congratulate us for our score. Mace is absolutely excited by it. Rush and Morgan have eights. As we watch the other scores pop up, I get happier and happier with my score. No one else has a ten or better, yet. The other tributes are not so skillful. But then something bizarre happens. The District Twelve female tribute gets an eleven.
The lamp next to me is on the ground lying in millions of pieces. Lamp privileges rightfully revoked. The chair that sits near Cato is broken into several pieces. Enobaria and Brutus are trying to calm us down. "I'm going to Kill that Bitch!" I don't know what's all going on. Fury has overtaken Cato and I. I don't know what I'm doing. Objects are being thrown. Smashed. Broken. There's a hole in the wall. No, make that three holes. Profanities being tossed around. The television is broken, shattered. Finally, Enobaria and Brutus work together to try and forcibly suppress me. Either I'm less of a threat, or I'm more deadly. I think it's the latter. I fight against them as hard as I can. I hear something break. It's not me. There's blood. Not mine. Then I feel a needle jab into my neck and I lose consciousness. Filthy bastards.
I wake up in my room. Enobaria is sitting on a chair. She has a couple of bruises on her arms and face, and a small cut on her cheek. "How are you feeling?" she asks, eyeing me with a look that suggests she's expecting me to go ape-shit on her.
"I'm fine," I say, "a little out-of-it."
"You haven't been out too long. Just an hour. Had to calm you down somehow."
"If it wasn't for that fucking bitch and her fucking score," I flare up. How did that bitch get an eleven?
"Clove, I'm going to tell you this once. Don't lose your head over her. Don't lose your head over anyone. That's how you die. Got it?" says Enobaria sternly. She waits for a nod from me before continuing, "we will be eating in a half hour and I expect you to give Mace and Brutus an apology."
"For what? Breaking shit?" I ask.
"You broke Mace's nose and snapped one of Brutus' fingers," replies Enobaria. Oh great, Brutus already doesn't like me.
"Oh, so that's what happened."
"Mace is probably going to bring up his nose quite often, so just try to be nice about it. Okay?" Enobaria gets up and walks to the door, turns and says, "Tomorrow I will be preparing you for the interview, I don't expect it to take long." She then walks out of the room, leaving me to myself.
I lay in the bed for a few more minutes since everything still seems a little fuzzy to me. Do I have my own insanity rages? I don't think so. I think I just get angry. Cato's different. There's a difference between his bouts of anger and his insanity. I think my rages are just anger. No insanity. When I get out of the bed, I stagger into the bathroom. I have some blood on the tanktop, so I take it off. There is also some blood on me, so I wash it off. I find a new tanktop to wear, azure blue. I also put on a new pair of black shorts. Then, I stagger out to the dining area. Cato isn't there, yet, but Brutus, Enobaria, and Mace are. Mace has a bandage covering his nose, his face is swollen. Brutus has a splint on his left index finger, which he doesn't seem to want, and a black eye.
"Sorry about your nose," I say to Mace. I look at Brutus and say, "Sorry about your finger."
"Apology accepted," says Mace Medallion almost immediately, but adds,"Though the pain in my face tells me otherwise."
"I don't want your sympathy Coleman, if you're not going to be sincere about it," states Brutus harshly.
I don't comment further, although I can tell Enobaria gives me a look that suggests she wants me to try again. Cato staggers in after a minute or two. He mumbles, "sorry," but no one comments on his weak apology. We then begin eating. No one speaks except for Mace, who drags on and on about his nose, until Brutus finally tells him to shut up.
After dinner I go up to the rooftop to get some air. I'm watching the people below. They all seem so strange, everyone seems kind of strange. Brutus doesn't like me because I'm competition, he wants Cato to win, yet I'm still from his district, too. Mace is weak and complains of a broken nose. Twelve Bitch spends training learning plants, doing snares, and camouflaging and gets an eleven. Thresh doesn't want to join the alliance. Cato and his insane. My father regretting something he shouldn't. Enobaria and her sharp, gold tipped fangs. The Capitol people. My mind flashes to my token. The necklace my father gave me. I should give it to Enobaria, so it can get checked out by the Gamemakers. I turn to leave when someone says, "Hey Clove."
I locate the voice and see that it's Marvel from District 1. "Hey," I say nonchalantly.
"Nice job on the ten," he says, though I can tell he's jealous and furious about it.
"Could've done better," I say, adding, "That Twelve Bitch got an eleven."
"I know, how in the hell did she get that?" he questions, then adds, "all she did the whole time was prance around with that boy."
"I don't know, but I'm going to kill her," I state walking away and into the elevator.
Marvel simply says, "Not if I kill her first." The elevator doors close and I am sent back down to Floor 2. Oh no, Marvel, I will kill her. That's a promise.
I head back to my room, but Cato stops me before I can close the door. Does he remember that we are going to kill each other? He paces back and forth in front of the bed and asks, "How the fuck did she get an eleven?"
I reply "I don't know," but then a thought occurs to me, "Maybe she's a whore."
"That makes perfect sense" Cato agrees, he stops pacing and looks at me, "The Gamemakers are drunk as hell by then, so she must've sucked somebody's dick." A smile curls up on Cato's face, "Is that how you got your ten?"
I hit him hard on the shoulder, "Of course not, unlike her I actually have skill with a weapon."
Cato knows better than to ridicule my ability, so instead he opts for, "Apparently they liked her skill better."
"Oh, and what's your excuse for a ten?" I retort.
"I'm a guy. We have higher standards."
"Than what? Dirt?" I counter.
"You're just jealous," he says getting up, "because I'm going to win and you know it." He walks towards the door.
"Try telling me that when you're six feet under."
"I won't have to," he says opening the door, "because that's where you will be." And it sounds like a promise. I wouldn't expect anything else, either. If one of us is going to win. The other must die. I head straight to bed when Cato leaves.
In the morning I find myself alone with Mace Medallion at the table eating breakfast. Mace's face is still a little swollen, and he spends the whole time talking about it. I fight back the urge to tell him to "shut the fuck up," and instead insert polite words when necessary. Only because Enobaria told me to. And she's my mentor. It's not until Cato and Enobaria show up that he stops talking. After breakfast I give Enobaria my token for the arena and she has me practice my interview. She asks me questions and adds insight into how I sound, and if I should add anything. I spend about three hours practicing before Enobaria lets me go, but she also adds at the very end of the session, "Don't let it be known that you have had a relationship of any kind with Cato."
After lunch, Mace has me put on a full-length dress and high heels. He brings up his nose several times. Weak bastard. He almost has a worse problem than his nose. I am about to use one of the heels as a weapon when he turns his back, but Enobaria checks in on me and sternly says, "Clove." She must've known I would get try to kill him or something. Once Mace is satisfied that I will be okay in that get-up, he advises me about eye contact, sitting posture, and using hand gestures. He tries to get me to smile while I speak, but it's a lost cause. I don't want to look like some weak-ass friendly chick during my interview. I want to seem fierce. Strong. Intimidating. That's the only way I'm going to get sponsors. I eat dinner and go back in my room and work on my strategy some more. I just hope that it works. I have to win. It's a must. It's what I was meant to do. It's what my whole life is about. I must win.
I hear a knock on the door and I open it to find Cato. "This better be quick," I say.
"I was up on the rooftop. Glimmer was up there. Said that District Twelve guy asked to join the alliance." Cato quickly summarizes.
"And...?" I say.
"She said she told him he could join."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I stare in disbelief.
"I'm not fucking kidding you," states Cato with a unfaltering hard face.
I slam the door on Cato. Who in the hell does Glimmer think she is? Letting some little punk into our alliance without asking anyone else. He better be useful, or I'm going to cut him up. Slice and dice. Breathe, just breathe. Don't lose your head over this. Control. Self-control. "One of the most powerful things you can have," that's what my father once told me. "Only those with good self-control are considered Strong," that's what he said. My father has great self-control and has never lost his cool. Ever. It reminds me how I had no self-control yesterday, how close I was to killing Mace today, and how I barely have any right now. Or ever. Dammit. I try to hold back on what I was going to do, which would have resulted in the destruction of my room and instead take a shower.
The shower doesn't actually calm me down, though, so I go to the rooftop. It's deserted. Perfect. I stare for a brief moment at the people below, but my anger is still trying hard to break through, so I do the only thing I can think of. I jog around the rooftop for about thirty minutes. Afterwards, I am all sweaty, but my anger seems to have diminished. I go back down into the room I have and take another shower before jumping into bed.
In bed I think about killing Cato again. It's the only thing I can really do right now to prepare me for the Games. I don't know anything about the arena. I don't know what weapons there will be. I don't know anything about the Game. Until it starts. I do know, however, that there is a good chance I will be the one to kill Cato. And so I must prepare.
I have Cato chained to a wall. I have my knives. All of them. All 1,093. I select a real long one with a very sharp point on the end. I drag it across his perfectly chiseled abs. Across his rock solid, muscular arms. Down his huge, strong calves. I draw patterns in his flesh. Stars. Knives. Spears. Flames. All over his body. Everywhere, except his face. Screams of agony. Blood galore. A beautiful creation. I cut a gash across his face. Across his nose. Across his forehead. Cut off his ears. Blood gushing everywhere. Off with his fingers. Ring. Pinky. Index. Thumb. Middle. No more fingers. No more toes. No more nose. No more life.
A/N: I may or may not update next week, or for the next few weeks or so, but I will try.