AN:
Hello, my lovely readers! Sorry for the delay in updating. This chapter was really hard for me to write, and I'm not sure it makes a lot of sense. I had some trouble figuring out how I want Cato and Clove's relationship to progress, and it's hard to write about a Hunger Games victor realistically considering I have never been a similar situation (thank god, am I right?)
Anyways, so here it is. Hope you enjoy! Please review and tell me what you think! I'm hoping for fifteen reviews this time, but I might be pushing my luck.
Disclaimer: So I don't own the Hunger Games….. at all. But shout out to Gemstoneopal for an awesome review and for enjoying my awkward disclaimers! And thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers!
Sorry for the repost, but there were some very troubling errors that I wanted to fix. Anyways, enjoy! I added a few sentences, but you shouldn't feel compelled to reread the entire chapter for it. Don't forget to review!
Chapter 8
For the first time in a very long time, I dream of my dad.
He appears before me, exactly the same as I remember him seven years ago.
"Daddy!" I squeal uncharacteristically. If there's one person in the world I love unconditionally, it's my dad.
He just smiles faintly, and opens his arm for a hug. Even though I know this must be a dream, I welcome his warm embrace. It feels different from the way I remembered the last time he hugged me though. When he was dying in the streets. I remember kneeling next to him, helpless and pathetic. That was when I learned that loving someone is a weight on your soul.
"What's wrong, Dad? Aren't you proud of me?" I pull back, and am met with a look I only know too well. Disappointment clouds his features, no matter how hard he tries to seem happy for me.
"What's wrong? I won! Just like you always wanted me to!" All of it, it was always for my dad. He believed in me when I was just a tiny six year old, when he gave me my first set of knives. Even when my mother thought I couldn't do it, he always thought I could be a victor. And now I am.
"Of course, sweetheart. It's just… you've changed so much. You're not the little girl I remember." Try as he might, the disappointment still clings to his words.
I step back, alarmed. "What do you mean?" I feel failure seeping into my bones. "Daddy?"
"I mean, Clove, that the Games changed you…. I didn't raise you that way."
I clench my fists. "You raised me to win, Dad."
"Yes, but at what costs?"
I grow defensive. "I did what I had to do! Don't you understand, I did what I had to do to survive!" I plead for his approval.
"All those dead children, six dead by your hand!"
- and there it is. The disgust that always creeps into a person when they think about what I did. The fear that I'm a monster. Even my own father can't stand the sight of me.
As I wake up, I realize I can't either.
.
It's funny when your memories finally sneak up on you. I kick a pebble while walking home from the Training Center today and something about the sight of it sends me hurtling back to the Arena, to the waterfall. My head pounds from my concussion-courtesy of Thresh- and I stumble towards the sidewalk. I shakily sit down on the curb and try to keep my face neutral. A few people walking by give me strange looks, but I just glare as best I can at them and they run off.
Breathe Clove. You're in District Two. Everything is fine. You won the Games. You are safe.
It must be because I am coming back from teaching a training session; they remind me of my time in the arena. I really hate the Training Center and all it reminds me of now. When I was younger, I couldn't get enough of it- I was always the first one in, last one out. But now, this monument to the Games leaves me a little sick to my stomach.
But when Lyme asks me to teach Careers in training, I agree. My days have been mind numbing, ridden with guilt. I can burn about an hour pointing Merino's camera at random objects, but that gets boring after about three minutes. People always seem to stare at me when I'm in town, and there really isn't so much in my life now that I'm done training.
So I agree to teach an introductory class on knife-throwing for children, expecting the worst.
You'd think that I would be terrible with kids, but I actually get along with them better than I do with most people. There's something about the fact that even District Two hasn't squished out the innocence in the littler ones that's refreshing. Raising kids up for slaughter isn't my favorite pastime,-but I figure, if the Capitol keeps taking them, the least I can do is prepare them the best I can.
With all the other victors teaching classes at the Training Center, I know I'm not the only one who wants to repent for their sins.
.
I look up and see Cato walking down the street. He doesn't teach at the Academy, but he's picked up metal forging as his talent, and gives away the swords he makes to the Training Center. I chew my lip- I still haven't gotten around to talking to Cato. Even though I promised myself that I would at the party, I've put it off for almost three weeks.
"Cato!" I call out to him as I get up from my seat on the sidewalk. "Wait up!"
He doesn't hear me, so I start to jog to catch up.
Then I realize that he did hear me, that he just doesn't want to talk to me.
Before the Games, I never questioned my relationship with Cato. It was what it was. But now, all I can do is worry that I'm saying the wrong thing, that one false move, and everything will be ruined.
-Like my life was so great before.
I stop jogging, and let him walk home alone.
.
Tara studies me with a long stare with her dark green eyes, so similar to my own hazel ones.
"Well, you look like shit."
I look up from where the window I've been staring blankly at for the past few hours. How long has she been there? How did she get in? I moved into my new Victor house a week ago, and have kept the door locked since. I never would have allowed Tara to sneak up on me before, but I can't bring myself to care.
Tara takes in my haphazard house and miserable state."You're fucking pathetic, Clove."
Before, if she had tried to say something like that, I would have already reduced her to tears. Those are fighting words, as far as I'm concerned. But I've been so tired lately, weakened from the Games in a way the Remakers will never be able to fix.
Instead, I roll my eyes. "Language, Taralynn." She hates her given name, as well as she should. It's embarrassingly girly.
"Clove, what's wrong with you? Get up!"
"No." I say petulantly. I slump down; rest my head on the mahogany table. "This is my house. You can show yourself out." My words lack the intensity they used to have.
"Like hell I will! What's wrong? Have you been drinking?"
I snort. "Not every victor turns pulls a Haymitch Abernathy." But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about it.
"Then why are you acting this way? Why don't you do anything?"
"Just leave me alone, Tara. I'm fine."
She scoffs. "You are not fine. You haven't talked to Mom or me since you moved out-"
"-I don't necessarily consider that a bad thing."
Ignoring the insult the best that she can, "-and it looks like you haven't eaten in forever."
Icily, I glare at her. Tara's only two years younger than me, and looking at her is like looking at myself before the Games. Selfishly, I am jealous that she looks so whole and unbroken. Like I used to. "I'm trying out that new 'emaciated' Capitol look. Don't I look swell?"
"Clove, you're such a pain in the ass. Seriously. Why are you so miserable?"
Her naiveté, her single-mindedness astounds me. "God, grow up Tara! Not everybody can be as freaking joyful about life as you."
She lets out a harsh, bitter laugh. "I don't understand you Clove! You have this fucking perfect life- Perfect pretty Clove with her perfect knife throwing. She never misses." she imitates in a mocking voice. Perfect with her fucking first-ever joint win. With her fucking perfect boyfriend falling at her feet. Not like she gives a fuck about him, or anyone else."
My half-sister is literally the most insensitive person in the world, and that's considering myself too. With every word she hurls at me, I feel myself getting angrier and angrier. This thing deep in my chest just unfurls and frustration overcomes me. It explodes through my body and courses through my body. I can't help it- I slap Tara across the face. Hard.
"How dare you. How dare you judge me… and tell me my life is perfect!" I screech at her. "My fucking perfect life sucks! You don't know shit, Tara. You want my life? I'd give anything to have never been reaped…. to never have to kill all those kids…I'm living in my own personal hell right now!" with my true feelings out in the open, I visibly deflate. She just gawks at me, cheek red. Her eyes are filled with tears- I've never hit her before. Just another person I've pushed away, I guess.
And suddenly, I find myself on the floor crying. I haven't cried since Daddy died- I must have forgotten how, because these great ugly sobs wrack my body. Grief is painful. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block Tara from view. Maybe she'll take the hint and leave me be.
No such luck. She drops down next to me, and stares at me with wide eyes. I've never seen her look so young. "Go away." I mumble, snot clogging my throat.
"I've never seen you cry before," she murmurs, more to herself than me.
"… I said, go away Tara. You couldn't possibly understand."
She looks at me with pity, which I think might be even worse than fear and disgust combined. "Clove… I can't understand… what… you're going through… but ….Cato might." I shake my head. I can't let Cato see me like this. "Who knows? He might be worse off than you."
I cough out something resembling a laugh. "I don't think that's possible."
She smiles, glad to see my snarky side emerging again. "It doesn't matter. Go to him, he'll want to help."
I won't, but I smile tightly and manage to nod, for her sake. She looks relieved. "You'll be alright Clove."
She seems troubled enough, so I just let her keep thinking that.
.
Even though I know Tara means well, I can't go to Cato. It's a pride thing. My training partner should never have to see me weak.
He already has though. I remind myself
He can't stand the sight of me. That's not true either, really.
In my heart of hearts, I'm afraid that he's better off without me. We've both changed, and I don't think things can go back to the way they were before.
So for the meantime, I'll avoid the inevitable and pretend things with him can go back to before.
Instead, I go to Lyme, presumably to ask about my training class schedule next week. As I chew on some cookies she's offered, I can't bring myself to bring up my problems. So instead, I bring up topics neither of us cares about.
She finally cracks. "Clove, Tara came over a few days ago, worried about you. She says you've been having a hard time."
Of course Tara would meddle in my problems. I duck my head, cursing at her head in my head. "Yeah." I say softly, avoiding her eyes. "It's been rough ever since I had this drea- since I got back from the Capitol. She said you might be able to help."
She looks disappointed, and then stands up from the table. "I suppose you want some medication from the Capitol, pills, morphling?"
I look up, confused. "Wha- no! I won't take that shit. That's not what I want."
She sits back down, relieved, and a little proud of me. "Then what do you want, Clove?"
The question stumps me. What do I want? When I was younger, the answer was simple. To win the Games, make my parents proud. But now that I actually have, I'm not so sure that was the right goal. "I want things to go back to the way they were." For now, that's the only thing I can think of.
She fixes me with her steely look "Feldspar. You should feel damn lucky you got to come out of the Games."
I nod; it's nothing I haven't told myself already.
"And you should be grateful that you came out with your district partner. He's the closest thing you've got to someone who understands you. Use your resources, girl." Lyme will always sound like my Career trainer to me. . I feel like I'm back at the Training Center, being punished for a subpar practice.
Her stern gaze softens a little though, in the face of my wretchedness. "Look Clove, the first year after the Games…. is always difficult. You just have to remember that whatever you had to do to get out, it wasn't your fault. Alright? Those kids dying, it's not your fault."
No matter what Lyme tells me, I can't believe that. With something feeling vaguely like self-loathing in my stomach, I leave.
.
That night, when I hear yells coming from next door, I know Cato needs me as much as I do him. As wrong as it is, I'm glad.
.
The next time I see Cato, I swallow my pride, and jog to his side.
"I figured we could walk together." I say breathlessly, not looking directly at him. Now that I'm next to him, I realize I don't quite know how to talk to him anymore either.
Starting this conversation is my way of saying sorry for blowing him off at my party, but his lack of response makes me regret even approaching him in the first place.
"So…. do you like your new house?" I question a little tentatively. Cato and his family just moved into Victor's Village a few days ago. Ordinarily the Capitol would usher the new victors right in, but District 2 has so many victors that they actually had to clear out more space for our houses. Because of my mother, I already live there, but still moved into my own house.
"It's alright." he says stiffly.
I drop the formalities. "Listen Cato…. are we just not going to talk anymore?" I'm trying my best to fix things, and we both know it. He relaxes a little bit.
He says, avoiding my eyes. "I just… I just need some time to sort stuff out." It's a gentle rejection, but still a rejection.
I force out a smile. "It's fine." And it is. I owe him that much. But it still hurts a little bit.
"Don't be like that, Clove."
I'm genuinely confused. "What?"
"Just … don't hide behind that phony Capitol smile anymore. It's okay to tell me the truth sometimes. You always used to."
It's always remarkable how Cato can be an idiot sometimes, and still see right through my bullshit. It's my favorite and least favorite thing about him.
"Fine, if we're being honest, then I'll just say it. I heard you screaming last night."
He draws in a quick intake of breath, thrown off guard for a second. The next moment, he regains his mask of arrogance. "Yeah, I was a little busy…." he trails off suggestively, wanting me to think the worst.
I roll my eyes. "If I don't bullshit, you don't bullshit either, Cato. We both know that wasn't it."
His cocky smirk falls flat. He straightens up, and says briskly, "I don't know what you're talking about then."
Why does he get to lie to me now? I look at him, straight in the eyes, for the first time since the train ride. As always, his piercing blue eyes catch me a little off guard. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You're having nightmares, admit it."
He seems a little startled with my own hazel eyes' insistence. Stubborn as ever though, he says sharply, "Clove. Drop it."
I purse my lips. If he doesn't want my help, then that's fine. Stupid Clove. Like you could ever help anyone.
As we walk home in a tense silence, I get the sinking feeling that neither of us will be able to recover from our shared past.
.
I try to ignore his yells, but after a week of ignoring them, I can't take them anymore. In the middle of the night, I rip off my twisted sheets, and rush down the stairs. I race across the paved street in the dark, and fumble for the doorknob to his house. It's locked, but one quick twist with the knife I keep handy, and I'm in. The yells grow louder, and I finally reach his door.
There's no way he can deny having nightmares now, and the thought makes me feel a little triumphant. It's terrible, but I've always been sickly competitive.
Without a second thought, I push it open, and see Cato writhing on his bed, screaming at something I can't see.
The scene hits me deep, and I feel a pang of sympathy for him. Brutal, bloody Cato reduced to a boy with nightmares.
I clear my throat awkwardly. I have no idea what to do next. "Cato." I call out hesitatingly. "Cato, wake up."
Of course, he doesn't hear me, so I walk closer to his bedside, still trying to wake him up. It doesn't work- if anything, his nightmare is getting worse.
"No! No!" he cries hysterically, clawing at the air. "Clove!"
Hearing my own name makes me jump, and I wait nervously for what comes next.
"Clove, I'm coming! Stay with me!" he pleads. He must be dreaming about the Feast. I am briefly transported to that day, remembering Thresh approaching me with that rock. But then I snap out of it, Cato's thrashing around, and I'm almost scared he'll hurt himself.
I grasp his arm firmly, and shake him. "Cato. Wake up. It's just a dream."
He's still not waking up, dammit. "Cato. Come on. It's just a dream."
Still dreaming, he yanks his arm away. In a flurry of movement, I find myself tangled into the sheets with Cato. What the fuck? I try to push through limbs and sheets, but I get lost in the expanse of the bed. At this moment, Cato decides to start flailing again, and one of his arms smacks me in the face.
Amusing to the average bystander, yes, but not so amusing for me. Scowling, I am ready to rip Cato a new one, dream or no dream. But suddenly I stop.
He's crying. Tears collect in his scrunched up eyes, and he begs out for someone I can't see. "Please." he gasps. "Stay with me."
Frustration leaves my body, and I slowly untangle myself from him. I crawl over to Cato's back and pat it tentatively. "It's just a dream, you're safe." I whisper. He must have heard me somehow, because eventually, his breathing steadies.
After a few peaceful minutes, I sit up from my spot next to him. I keep stroking his back, hoping that for once, I can help him.
I watch his face for signs of a bad dream, and am relieved when there are none.
Until, that is, I see one of the corners of his mouth lift up a little bit. Is he… is he awake?
"Cato! Cato." I hiss. "Are you awake?"
His mouth turns down again, and I know he is. "You asshole!" I whisper-yell, as I smack his arm.
His lip starts quivering with suppressed laughter, and that just makes me angrier.
"I thought you were fucking asleep!"
"-I was! I woke up like a minute ago!" he gasps. "Oh Jesus, you were spooning me."
My face flushes, and I'm glad it's so dark in here. "I was not. It's not my fault you take up so much room."
"And you petted me! Who knew you were such a softie, Princess?" he's practically howling now.
"Fine. It's all a big joke. Well that shows me for trying to comfort you!" I start to get out of the bed, furious at being made a fool of.
He slowly stops laughing, and he reaches to grab my wrist. "Hey, hey. You know I don't mean it right? Clove. I didn't. Come sit down."
I try to shake off his arm, but he won't let go.
"Clove. I'm sorry. I… I… I'm just embarrassed. I hate for you to see me that way."
I twist my arm from his grip and swivel around to face him.
"What way?"I'm surprised to hear my voice relax. I really am turning into a softie. Maybe it's because I know how difficult it is to face your fears at night.
"You know… nightmares…. crying. It's pathetic."
I stare at him long and hard. Stupid Cato. He really is an idiot sometimes.
"Cato, there's nothing pathetic about having bad dreams- especially after what we've been through. Hell, I can't even go to sleep." I nudge his leg to scoot him over, and he budges to make me some room. I sit facing forward, leaning against his headboard.
"I haven't slept since we left the Capitol," I confess. I wonder why I'm telling Cato this, but stop myself- who else but Cato? "Every time I close my eyes, I see the arena- I can't go to sleep for more than an hour."
Cato frowns. "That sounds dangerous, Clove."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious."
He snaps back defensively. "I'm just saying, you could probably get sleeping pills from the Capitol."
I slump down the headboard. "I'm not relying on the Capitol for anything. I won't take anything from them I don't have to."
He sighs, wary beyond his years. "I don't blame you."
We sit there in a shared silence, both absorbed in our own nighttime fears. Almost tauntingly, the pleading eyes of the boy from District 10 assault me, so realistic it takes my breath away. They were a dark green, just like Tara's. It was almost enough to make me pause during the Games, but I killed him like I did all the others- with a smile.
Suddenly, I feel the need to know him. To know his name, and how old he was, and his life. To know that he was more than just another dead body. Call me a masochist, but I need to know that he will be missed, that he mattered to someone.
"What was his name?" I choke out desperately. "I need to know!" My voice becomes more and more frantic. Knowing the names of the dead won't change anything, and there's no way Cato would know, but at this moment, it's the only thing that matters.
"What?" Cato asks, almost concernedly. "Clove, what's wrong? What's happening?"
"-the district 10 boy… his name? We need to find out!"
"I think it was Roan." he soothes. "Shh… Clove. You're safe."
I twist to face him, demanding an explanation. How did he know that? Cato senses my confusion, and mumbles, "I've been watching the recordings of the Games. Lyme has all of them."
"Oh." I lay back, a little calmer. "Why?" I know why already, but I need Cato to explain his fears- so I can start understanding my own.
"I just… I think that's important that they're not forgotten. As long as I'm alive, they won't just be disposed-of Capitol dolls." His voice gets a little stronger, certainty laced through it. Cato's lost some of his assuredness since the Games, and I'm glad that parts of the old him aren't lost forever. I'm glad he can still be confident about some things- especially now that I'm so full of doubt.
"Can- can I maybe watch too?" My voice, in comparison, drips with uncertainty.
"Sure." Cato pretends that he couldn't care less about whether I watched with him, but I can tell it makes him feel better too.
I want to know more. "-and that little girl from Eleven? What was her name?"
"Rue."
Fitting that her name means regret. She flits through my sleepless nights, which is stupid- I didn't even kill her. But she was so young. No one deserves to die that young. I think of all their faces, so clear they could be next to me and Cato. None of them deserved to die that young, really.
Except for me. For killing them- heartlessly, relentlessly.
I can't breathe, as my misery chokes me again. I ask him, "Do you ever get this feeling… that you weren't supposed to come out alive? That it should have been someone else?"
He nods, jaw clenched tight. "Every day." He swallows hard, "Every time I see my parents, and Cassie, I know I am so damn lucky. I don't deserve any of this." He grabs my hand, holds it tight between his own. "I don't deserve any of this, but it's a second chance. I'm going to do things right from now on so maybe I can stop hating myself. And so I can do right by them."
When'd he get so damn noble? It might be all talk, or spur of the moment, but it makes me want to kiss him. But I can't do that to either of us when we've just made up. I just look up at him-with I'm sure are adoring eyes- and sink into the pillows. "Tell me about them."
And he does. He tells me all their names, and what they were like- like they were all old friends.
Drifting to sleep, I think that I would have liked that.
.
I open my eyes. I'm confused and disoriented. Where am I? Then I see Cato polishing his sword next to me and remember what just happened.
"How long was I out?" I croak out, not even put off by the fact Cato brings heavy weaponry to his bedside.
"About two hours," he answers.
So many things between us are left unsaid, but I know we've reached an agreement. We won't ever be the same people, but- eventually- we'll get better. Together.
Sleeping in the same bed as him, I am drawn to him in a way that would ruin everything. But for our own sakes, I tell myself to ignore it. Later, I think. In time. Not now- not when things are just getting better.
It'd be safer for me to ease into my newly kindled friendship with Cato slowly, warily. But I can't help myself, can't possibly distance myself from him and the warmth I feel right now.
I choose my words carefully. I don't want him to get the wrong impression. "Maybe… maybe we can sleep together." -This is not coming out right. Cato raises his eyebrow as he lies down next to me. "-You know what I mean. This- this is the first night I've gotten some peace. If we both get scared, there's no point in us… I mean it might help if we just- you're the only one who underst-"
Cato turns his head to watch me as I struggle over my words. "Clove. Go back to sleep."
.
And that's how I get my first real night's sleep after the games.
.