A/N: Hello folks! Just a little note: On Saturday I will be posting the final chapter of Puppet Strings (OMG I know, I can't believe it's over!) and there is only maybe three, four chapters left of Tremble. I already have another idea in the works for when they're finished so I'm going to be posting the first chapter soon as a sampler to see what you guys think. I won't be posting any more of it until these are finished or at least until I'm finished writing the final few chapters but I just want to know what you think of it ;)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.
Chapter Twelve
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Those three words circuited Cato's brain as he lay motionless on the hospital bed. He couldn't move. His body wouldn't respond to anything he told it to do. But his mind was alive with frantic thoughts. He cursed himself over and over again. He knew this was going to happen. He let it happen. Now no matter what the outcome was, somebody was going to get hurt. And to save the fallout from being too severe, he had to fix everything as soon as possible.
In his unconscious state, Cato could feel a presence beside him. He didn't have to guess more than once to know that it was Peeta at his bedside. Behind the darkness of his closed eyes, Cato could vividly see Peeta sitting there, chin in hand, as concerned and worrisome as usual. It broke Cato's heart and he wished he could somehow break his paralysis and assure Peeta that everything was going to be okay. That he was fine, his body just needed to adjust to the medication and then he'd come out of it.
But when he came out of it . . . what then?
Cato had to make a decision. A decision he really didn't want to make. He wasn't prepared to lead Peeta on, not even for the remaining months of the contract. Peeta's declaration of love as he fumbled with Cato's epi pen had been enough to scare him into coming to only one viable conclusion. Cato couldn't say the same thing back to Peeta. He wasn't capable of love. Peeta deserved more than an uncertain dominant who-if wasn't capable of emotions-was clearly only after one thing. Cato wasn't going to be a distraction to Peeta's path to a healthy, happy life. There was only one thing he could do.
And it was going to kill him.
~T~
Peeta hated hospitals. Everything about them made him sick. Every squeaky floor; every snow white wall; every doctor, nurse, surgeon, that passed by; all of it reminded him of when his father had fallen ill. Of when he had sat in an uncomfortable waiting room chair for ten hours waiting to hear if his dad was alright. He did it alone. His mother was too frail to make it to the hospital and his brothers had already buzzed off back to Ireland. So Peeta waited alone, occasionally updating his mother via text, only for the doctor to come to him tell him that his dad had not made it.
Hospitals reeked of death.
When Cato was stable, Peeta was allowed to sit with him in the room. Everything had went smoothly and the nurse assured him that Cato would be fine. Peeta would not trust anything until he saw Cato's green eyes for himself. Things can fall as fast as they are picked up and he would not believe that Cato was okay until Cato told him himself. Until then he remained afraid for his partner's life.
"Want anything from the coffee machine?" Katniss asked early the next morning.
Peeta blinked, sleep somehow having made it into his eyes even though he hadn't slept a wink. "No thanks," he mumbled. "I'm alright."
Katniss nodded and disappeared to find a coffee machine to top herself up to keep awake. Peeta continued to stare at Cato, willing him to wake up for him. He concentrated hard and put all of his willpower into it. Come on Cato, wake up for me, he practically begged in his mind. I know you're in there just . . . just wake up!
Ms. Santario next door was looking after Peeta's mum and he could only hope his Máthair wouldn't worry about what was going on. The last thing she needed was to be worrying about something that she didn't need to worry about. It wouldn't help her current condition. Deep down, Peeta knew that Cato was going to be okay, even if he did worry and second guess this statement. What he didn't need, however, was his Máthair aging herself by worrying about something that was going to be okay in the end.
What he hoped was going to be okay in the end.
It took a day and a half for Cato to wake up. Between that time Peeta had had three arguments with Katniss; made up with Katniss three times; rang his mother five times; made a cup tower; said goodbye to Katniss when she was forced to leave to go see her sister; got flirted with by an attractive male nurse; and finished thirty five gossip magazines from the waiting room. Not once did he leave the room unless he had to use the bathroom.
However, whenever Cato awoke-his eyes fluttering sleepily like the wings of a butterfly-Peeta couldn't contain his cry of relief and he bolted off his chair and fell by Cato's bedside desperately. "Cato," he whispered, as if talking normally would ruin everything, "Cato, are you awake?"
"Mmmf, Peeta?" Cato muttered. He forced an eye open. "It is you," he said, almost triumphantly. His expression, however, was reserved. Like he wasn't happy about something. Peeta was instantly worried.
"Cato, are you alright? Are you feeling okay?" he quickly asked. He dragged the wheeled table closer to the bed and poured Cato a cup of water. "Can you sit up?"
Cato nodded and heaved himself up into a sitting position. He took the offered cup of water. Even as he drank, he still didn't look happy. Peeta eased himself back into the chair, heart pounding in his chest with relief. Okay. Cato was okay. There was nothing else to worry about. Peeta found himself smiling. "You had me worried there for a while," he said.
Cato put the cup down and stared at the white duvet with a fixed frown. Peeta watched Cato watch the duvet, confused as to why he seemed so bleak. He just survived an anaphylactic attack. Surely that was something to smile about? The more Cato sat in silence, the more concerned Peeta became. Peeta wanted to ask what was wrong as he feared what the answer may be. Instead they both sat in complete silence.
The doctor came and went, telling Cato that they were going to keep him under observation for a day or two just to make sure everything was okay but they suspected that the worst was over and he'd be right as rain in no time. Again, Peeta couldn't help noticing how solemn Cato was when he was told this. That was definitely something to be happy about! So why was he behaving like he was heading for an early grave?
"Peeta," Cato eventually said.
His tone was cheerless. The dejected tone made Peeta's blood turn to ice in his veins. Peeta looked at Cato anxiously but Cato would not look at him. "Yeah?" he asked quietly.
"We need to talk."
Peeta wanted a whole to swallow him up right there on the spot. He wasn't an idiot, he knew what 'we need to talk' meant, even if he had only had one past relationship. "Why?" he asked unsurely.
Cato refused to look at him still. He wore a despondent expression that Peeta couldn't penetrate. "I think we're going too fast," he said.
"Fast?" Peeta repeated dumbly. The word tasted like ash on his tongue. "What do you mean fast? Surely considering the dynamics of our relationship how we're moving is a pretty steady pace?"
"No," said Cato firmly. "You don't get it. Even calling what we have a 'relationship' is wrong." He picked at his fingernails to distract himself as there was no way he'd be able to meet Peeta's eyes or he'd back out. Peeta's eyes wouldn't allow him to do what he had to do. They were too beautiful for that. If Cato even glanced at Peeta, he knew he was going to crack.
"But then what are we?" Peeta asked. He had purposed this question to Cato before but the answer had been unsatisfying.
"I heard you in the bathroom the other day," Cato said seriously. "You said you loved me. I told you Peeta, I told you that I don't do relationships or emotions or love. Why would you say such a thing to me when you knew it was exactly what I didn't want?"
Peeta was dumbstruck by Cato's words. He struggled for something sensible to say and whatever words did come out were rushed and fearful. "I didn't . . . I was just . . . I thought . . . I thought you were dying Cato. I was acting out of fear of losing you. I didn't really me"-Peeta cursed himself when he couldn't finish the sentence. He was an awful liar, that's why he had sworn off it. It was hard enough to swear to people he barely knew but to Cato? No. Impossible.
"You can't even deny it," Cato muttered bitterly. He really wished things were different. He wished Peeta had kept his mouth shut and had just given him the adrenalin shot. He wished Peeta hadn't somehow gotten him to care so much about him, then maybe Cato wouldn't have cared so much about leading him on. "I told you that I don't do emotions." A pause. Peeta stared at Cato with wide eyes and frantic heart, unable to believe what was happening. "As of now the contract is terminated. I don't want to ever see you again."
Peeta's jaw unhinged in horror. He couldn't believe what Cato had just said. "Cato, I'm sorry. It was a moment of weakness I won't ever"-
"Save it," Cato said harshly, making Peeta fall silent. "I want you to leave now." Every word was like acid in his mouth and Cato refused to listen to the voice at the back of his head that was screaming at him to not let Peeta go. Cato didn't want Peeta to fall any further in love with him. Not if he wasn't capable of returning the sentiment. He wasn't prepared to string Peeta along, he deserved more than that.
Cato didn't look at Peeta once. But he could constantly feel Peeta's eyes on him, burning into the side of his face. He worried why Peeta wasn't leaving like he told him to. Why was he staying? "Peeta, I told you to go."
"No," said Peeta. He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms.
Cato scowled. He finally looked at Peeta and narrowed his eyes. "I told you to leave," he said.
"I thought the contract was terminated?" said Peeta. "I don't have to follow your orders anymore. I can do what I want. And what I want is to stay with you. So I'm not moving."
Cato's lips twitched, threatening to turn into a smile. He hadn't anticipated Peeta being so stubborn. Which was stupid on his part, as of course Peeta wouldn't lie down and take being dumped. Especially since the circumstances of the break up were so . . . well . . . weak. "Peeta, I'm serious. I'm leading you on. I can't recuperate your feelings . . . I'm incapable of it"-
"Nobody is incapable of returning feelings!" Peeta fired back defiantly. "I refuse to believe that the things we've done hasn't made you feel what I feel."
"Peeta, I've had many relationships like the one I've had with your"-
"So you met their mothers?" asked Peeta.
"Well, no."
"Oh, so you've met their exes? Made friends with them? Done them favours?" Peeta quirked an eyebrow. Cato ground his teeth together and refused to admit to himself that Peeta was hot when he was defiant. He didn't have a lot of opportunities to be defiant, especially when they were together, so now that he was being defiant, it was almost inhuman how sexy he was with his stupid folded arms and stupid quirked eyebrow.
"No," said Cato. "But that doesn't change anything. I don't feel things that you do. I don't . . . I can't . . . Peeta, I can't give you want you want from me."
Peeta stood up and moved a little closer. "Cato, you've already given me so much," he insisted. "I thought nobody would ever want me but you've changed that. You've made me feel things I never thought I'd feel. You make me feel wanted; sexy; powerful." He brushed his hair away from his eyes, which for the first time left Cato's face and fell to his own feet. "You make me feel beautiful."
In that moment, Cato really wanted to pull Peeta into his arms and tell him that he was wanted. He was sexy. He was powerful. He was beautiful. But he held back. Emotions were dangerous. They were chinks in armour. "Peeta, please"-
"Tell me you don't feel something," said Peeta, standing his ground. "Look me in the eye and tell me right now that you don't feel anything for me other than a craving for my body and I'll leave. You'll never have to see me again."
Even hearing Peeta saying that feel like a knife to Cato's heart. He didn't want Peeta to leave. He wanted to see him every day, not just on weekends. He wanted to share a bed with him seven days a week; he wanted to help him care for Maria; he wanted to support them financially; he wanted to give Peeta the opportunities he never had. To go to art college; to see the things he never got to see; to give him the unconditioned; irrevocable love he deserved.
He couldn't do it. Peeta knew he couldn't do it. Cato knew that if he looked into Peeta's eyes he would falter and he would fall. He would fall hard. And Cato never thought he would ever want to fall so hard before in his entire life, but now he desperately wanted it. He almost needed it like he needed food; needed water; needed air to breathe. He needed Peeta more than all of that. And it scared him to death.
"Please Cato," Peeta begged. He grabbed Cato's hand in both of his desperately, holding it tight like if he let go Cato would vanish before his eyes. "Don't do this just because you're scared. Hell, I'm scared too. Being afraid doesn't mean we should give up on each other."
"Peeta, I've never loved anything before. I don't know if I'll be capable of doing it right," Cato insisted. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Even that, that worry of hurting me, where do you think that's coming from?" asked Peeta.
Cato looked Peeta in the eye. He fell, like he knew he would. But instead of hitting the ground hard and never being able to get back up, he felt cushioned by the safety and comfort that radiated from Peeta's gorgeous baby blues. "I've known that I've felt something deeper than normal for you Peeta, I've just always been worried about the implications of this. I haven't loved anything my entire life. I don't want to string you along. I don't want to hurt you."
"Love is supposed to pursued, not ignored," Peeta smiled. He reached out and touched Cato's face. Cato leaned his face into his lover's hand, comforted instantly by the warmth of the touch.
"I understand that but I've never done it before," said Cato. "I'll mess up, I know I will."
"No you won't," Peeta said. "Because I'll be here with you. We can work it out together."
Cato was surprised by how relieved he felt. He touched Peeta's face with both his hands and pulled him close so their foreheads touched. He bit his lip and whispered, "I do. I love you."
Peeta closed his eyes and held onto Cato's hands. "I know," he whispered back. "And I love you too." Cato's heart soared in his chest. He never felt so uplifted in his entire life. "Is . . . is the contract still terminated?"
Cato chuckled. "I suppose you could say it's been reinstated," he said.
Peeta smiled, overwhelmed with relief, and climbed into bed beside Cato. Cato wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and stroked his head protectively. He wasn't going to let Peeta go. If there was one thing he was still incapable of, it was letting Peeta leave him. His mind was now open and he was able to accept that he could love and feel emotion and realize that it was okay to be vulnerable and afraid.
As long as you are with someone who loves you as much as you love them.
A/N: Whoooo, nothing like nearly dying to bring two lovers together ^_^