Chapter 5

Black Water

Swallowed by a vicious vengeful sea

Darker days are raining over me

In the deepest depths I lost myself

"I volunteer!" He shouts firmly.

I hear my gasp and I feel my face contort into one of shock and confusion.

Kind, funny, caring, nice, fuchsia boy is a trained, dangerous, armed, district two career?

No. It can't be the same person. No.

"No?" I hear Haymitch ask.

Oops. I must have said that out loud.

I continue looking at the screen, ignoring Haymitch.

Fuschia boy walks confidently up to the stage with a smirk on his face.

I'm probably imagining it, but I swear I see a brief flash of anguish in his eyes. But then it's gone.

His eyes are trained on one thing the whole time, one thing in the crowd of people.

The look in his eyes as he stares at whatever it is he's looking at reminds me of the boy I saw today in District one's car, not the career I now know him to be. Not the person who would volunteer to murder people.

"And your name is, young man?"

"Cato Evins." He says confidently. This gets him a round of applause from the crowd.

Right. They want to see him fight to the death. He smirks. But when he does, I can't help but feel that it's fake. I can barely tell though, and it's only because I'm trained to observe facial expressions because when I'm in the woods we have to communicate silently otherwise we'd scare off potential game.

But I don't know which personality is fake: fuchsia boy in district one's train car, or Cato Evins, career of district two?

For some reason I am hoping the latter.

Wait. Cato Evins. Evins. The boy who was originally reaped was Oliver Evins. Maybe Cato is related to him and is saving him. Maybe he isn't willingly going into the Hunger Games to kill innocent children. Including me.

"And how old are you Mr. Evins?"

"18 years old, sir." Cato says with a smile. When the camera pans out to show the whole crowd with the stage he's standing on, I realize what he's staring at is in the boys section.

It must be Oliver. He has a pained expression on his face for a split second before he averts his attention to the escorts words congratulating them and so on.

I keep my eyes locked on his face.

All I see on his face is (possibly faked) indifference.

Who is Cato's true character? Is he fuchsia boy or is he a ruthless career?

I hope I'll be able to find out soon.

The rerun moves onto District 3 which holds no interest for me.

I completely forgot about Haymitch until he nudges me with his shoulder.

"You know him or something? He is a career. From two." He practically growls the last two sentences. Like I don't obviously know that. Well now at least.

Come to think of it, we all judge other's character's based on their district. We assume the careers are spoiled ignorant brats. The poorer districts (like twelve) are assumed to be pathetic weak creatures. I'm not pathetic or weak, so why do we automatically assume the careers are spoiled brats?

"Yes. I know him." I murmur softly. I finally tear my gaze from the screen and look at him.

He looks exhausted. His forehead is shiny with sweat and he has bags under his eyes. I'm willing to bet money he's in pain.

I forgot. He hasn't had alcohol in hours. Which is a pretty big accomplishment for him.

I forget about the reaping and decide that its unimportant. I'll be meeting the tributes soon anyways. Plus, Eli can fill me in on anything I might need to know.

I quickly walk over to the panel and punch in the herbs and supplies I'll be needing to make a remedy in. Less than a minute later everything arrives in the elevator.

I carry everything to the bathroom. I take the bowl and fill it with warm water and begin making the paste. Then I begin making the edible remedy.

I carry back the concoctions and set them on the bed next to Haymitch.

He immediately sits up when he sees the two bowls in my hands.

He looks grumpy.

"What the hell are those Rosie? What're you gonna do to me?" He grumbles, his eyebrows furrowing.

I chuckle because he looks terrified.

"You scared? Of paste? These are herbal remedies, Haymitch. They aren't going to attack you. They're going to help you. This one you eat. It won't taste good, I'm sorry. But it will help with the need and want for alcohol. This one goes on your temples. It's for your headache. I'm assuming you have one, because I know you'd never admit it." I joke teasingly and smirk at him.

He looks sheepish so I take that for a yes.

"Here, swallow this. It'll taste like sleep syrup and cherries. Which is not a good combination. So I have some mint leaves for you." I hand him both.

He rolls his eyes and looks in the bowl. His eyes bug out of his head. "I have to drink all of it? It's basically overflowing! That's not fair and you know it!" he whines.

"How old are you Haymitch? Stop your bitching and drink your medicine. You're whining like a toddler who didn't get candy. Now grow a pair and drink the medicine before I shove a tube down your throat and force you." I smile menacingly. I can be evil when I want to.

He is glaring at me the entire time he drinks the bowl.

He shudders in disgust and chews the mint leaves.

"Lean on my lap and I'll apply the paste. It's clear, so you won't see it." I say.

Hmm.. Maybe that could be payback one day. I could color the paste and his face could be pink for a day. I'd love to see that!

He leans into my lap and I stick my hands in the bowl, generously applying the paste to my fingers.

I begin to hum the hanging tree again while I massage his temples. I know I can't sing the lyrics while I'm here in the Capitol. It's a dangerous song to sing anywhere, especially here.

I always sing to Haymitch. Every chance he gets he tries to get me to do it. I agree but only when it's the two of us. He is always relaxed and calm when I sing; I'm not sure why. If it makes him happy, I'll do it though.

I begin to sing a Capitol approved song. I don't care for the lyrics. I just sing it so I can, because I need to instead of humming. Haymitch immediately releases the tension in his shoulders and body and relaxes into my lap when I do.

I don't think he cares what I sing, so long as I do.

I continue singing different songs until the paste runs out.

"Is it better, Haymitch?" I ask quietly. He has his eyes closed and looks peaceful.

"Much better." He gets off my lap and swings his body over so his head is resting on the pillow. Seconds later I hear his breathing even out.

Thank goodness his pain is gone. If he was in pain I would force him to drink. I wouldn't be able to stand it.

I chuckle quietly to myself. I don't really feel tired. I feel like exploring. I grab a dark grey sweatshirt and pull it over my head. It's probably midnight and Haymitch said something about a roof. I'm sure that everyone is in bed asleep by now, so I tiptoe quietly out of my room down to the elevators. I push the up button. I want to see the stars and the moon.

We are the highest floor up since we're district twelve, so we should be closest.

I hop in and realize that there is no button to access the rooftop. Great.

I hop back out and head to the stairwell. I walk up two flights of stairs and open the door that must lead out into the roof.

A gasp escapes my mouth.

There is a beautiful garden on the far right side that overlooks the city. There's so many different plants and flowers I can't take them all in.

Hidden in the garden is a beautiful white bench with soft blue cushions. You'd have to walk through the garden to find it. Folded on the back of the bench is a forest green knitted blanket.

What space isn't covered in plants, is grass.

On the left side of the roof looks like a punching bag and a mat.

That's strange. I didn't even realize that there could be training supplies other than in the training rooms.

I walk straight over to the bench and sit down. Wrapping myself in the blanket, I look up at the night sky.

The stars are bright and twinkling, coming out for the world to see. I've never seen them like this. Here, they are so open and bright. Enhanced, even. We are in the Capitol, so it's possible they altered them.

I lay down so that my whole body is on the bench. Anybody taller than me couldn't do this, because the bench isn't that long and I'm so short.

I sigh and close my eyes.

Maybe I could come out here every night. It's peaceful and relaxing and has a great view. I could tend to the garden and pick flowers to bring to Effie, Haymitch, and Eli.

I smile at the thought. I feel myself start to fall asleep, but I can't wake up enough to move.

I jolt awake when I hear a door slam open loudly.

I flinch when the door slams shut again. I hear loud heavy footsteps on the grass.

How can someone be so loud on grass?

I hear muttering, and the sound of punches being thrown against what I assume is the punching bag.

The person sounds upset. I should go check to see if they're alright. Then again, it could be another tribute.

The healer in me wins out and I get up off the bench and quietly inch closer to hear and see the source of my sleep disruption.

Fuchsia boy.

I straighten my posture and fix my hair. Wait. Why am I fixing my hair? And why am I always calling him Fuchsia boy in my head when I finally know his name.

I repeat it in my head so I get used to it. Cato, Cato, Cato

I try and hide myself while listening to his mumbling.

"District twelve." He groans. "Why does she have to be from district twelve? Just my luck. First Oliver now this." He grumbles.

He punches the bag after every sentence. He looks.. Scary.

Wait. He said 'District twelve'.. 'her'.. Is he talking about me? I'm district twelve and I'm a her. Well, obviously.

But he does know Oliver. I bet they're related. They look related. Same blond hair and dark navy blue eyes.

That means that there's a probability he's not a monster who volunteered for the games to kill innocent children. He did it to save his relative.

Even though it's a small possibility, it sparks a small amount of hope inside me.

He suddenly punches the bag so hard that it falls off the hook.

I'm so surprised I can't hold back my gasp.

He turns around so quickly and is glaring so menacingly looking for the source of the sound that I shrink back. He looks like career boy when he does this.

But then when he sees me he softens his gaze back to fuchsia boy. He looks kind and soft and sweet and I feel my stomach do somersaults.

I feel the red in my cheeks and I feel it strong. I feel bad for spying. I look down guiltily. I have to say something to explain my impolite behavior.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, um, startle you." I fidget with my hands and bite my lip.

"I think I might have fallen asleep and then I heard you come in. I didn't know who it was and you sounded upset. I came to see if you were alright. I'm sorry." I ramble.

This is so embarrassing. How come whenever I'm in awkward or embarrassing situations, I talk so much it just makes it worse?

My cheeks feel like they're on fire. I was literally just caught spying on this boy. While he was possibly mumbling about me!

I feel his gaze on me. I don't know how. I just know. It's just a feeling of awareness. It makes me feel warm.

I don't look up though.

I walk straight to the stairwell as quick as possible without running. I don't look back to see if he is angry or if he tries to follow me.

I make it down to my floor and slip into my room quietly.

Haymitch is still sleeping. Snoring loudly. I don't know how he doesn't wake himself up with how loud they are. I glance at the clock that reads 2:03.

I crawl in bed and quickly doze off.

I wake up early. I know it's early because the sun is just starting to rise and light is seeping in through the windows. I look at the clock, it reads 4:24.

I feel well rested and wide awake. I was always able to function on little or no sleep. This time only two hours.

Haymitch is laying beside me, still snoring. Loudly.

I grab another change of clothes and head to the shower. I unbraid my hair before I hop in.

I choose the lavender oils and soaps again.

I dry myself off and get dressed. I am wearing a dark grey long sleeve shirt with turquoise exercise-looking shorts.

I braid my hair in its two braids and quietly tiptoe back into the bedroom.

I glance at the clock: 4:39.

If I stay in here I'll have to keep quiet and not do anything, since it may wake Haymitch. I have a feeling that he'd rather be asleep than awake.

I decide to walk out and into the kitchen. I grab a red apple and clean it. I take a bite and sigh in satisfaction. It's so juicy and sweet. We don't get much fruit in the woods, and apples are extremely rare.

I decide to go to the only place in the Capitol I can stand.

I walk to the stairwell and take two at a time.

I open the door quietly and walk through, taking a breath of the fresh air. A smile appears on my face at the openness of the rooftop.

I walk over to the garden, taking small bites of my apple. I hum quietly to myself while chewing. This time, I brought a novel with me to read. It's one of my favorites, Pride and Prejudice.

I'm weaving through the garden in the direction of the bench.

I spot a Primrose and I immediately pluck it and stick it behind my ear.

Just before I reach the bench I look up and stop in my tracks, mid bite of my apple.

There, drooling, sleeping, is fuchsia boy.

He must have fallen asleep out here too.

He is sleeping on my bench, but is too tall for it. He's probably somewhere between 6'3" and 6'7", so his legs are dangling off the edge.

I am trying to be quiet about my laughter, but it's really difficult.

I mean come on! A district two career is sleeping on a bench in a garden, drooling. It's just comical.

But I look at his face and he looks so innocent and sweet and young in his sleep.

He doesn't looks like a district two career. But I have to remind myself that he is and that he's probably a trained killer.

I sigh.

Well, now my spot is taken up.

I walk out of the garden and towards the mat. The mat looks soft and cushiony enough to sit down on.

The fallen punching bag is still on the ground, so I position it as a pillow. I lay with my head resting against the pillow, and open the book that I have read so many times.

I get lost in the words, as I usually do when I'm reading. Besides medicine and healing, it's my favorite thing to do. It can let you escape from reality, even for a short while.

Haymitch is the only one who knows about my secret obsession, because he's the only one who can afford to buy them for me. I have a whole bookcase of them at his house in my room.

Once he found out I loved to read, every week he'd bring me a new book and tell me to read it.

We had a tradition. He would buy a book and say that he bought it for himself so I wouldn't feel guilty for him spending money. He'd read it first, then tell me a little about it. Then he'd give it to me and I'd read it by the end of the week. Then the process would repeat itself. I'd keep my favorites on the bookshelf at his house, and the rest would go in his office. His office has become more of a library. My bookshelf is now overflowing with books, dozens and dozens of them. I've probably read each one at least three times.

I turn the page and absorb the words.

Mr. Darcy is my favorite character. He isn't a cold man. He is actually very thoughtful and kind and he loves Elizabeth. He is protective and defensive, is all.

I get so lost in the words that I don't notice that the sun has fully risen.

I have a warm feeling all of a sudden. I have that knowing feeling that I'm being watched. I try to ignore it since probably few people know about this spot.

I guess I also didn't notice the figure that has apparently materialized before me.

I gasp in shock when I do finally notice his presence. Fuchsia boy has woken up.

I quickly sit up so I'm not laying down.

I'm usually able to tell when someone approaches since the hunter in me is so attuned to sounds. I must have been so absorbed in the book I didn't notice. Plus he has extraordinarily loud footsteps, so that should've clued me in sooner.

"We've got to stop meeting like this." I say, trying to act like he didn't just scare the living daylights out of me. He laughs. "How long have you been standing there?"

I ask, a blush creeping up my neck. Was he just watching me read? For how long?

I grab the primrose from my hair and place it as a bookmark in the book.

I look up at him, he has a smirk on his face. But it's not the one he had on at the reaping that was cold and cocky. This one is soft and teasing.

"Not long. Why're you up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep. Which apparently is a problem you didn't have. Did you have a nice night, sleeping beauty?" I drawl out the word beauty, raise my eyebrow and smile teasingly.

He immediately wipes the smirk off his face and glares at me, but I can see the mirth in his eyes.

I laugh and go back to my book. He comes over an sits next to me. Before I can read a word, he asks, "What's your name?" he asks softly. I look up at him and he's gazing at me so intently that it startles me and causes a blush to appear on my cheeks.

"Primrose." I say with a smile.

He returns it.

"I'm-" He starts, but I cut him off.

"Cato. I, um, saw your reaping. Or I guess your volunteering?" I say the last sentence more like a question. I sound accusing and nosy. God Prim, you don't know this boy and you're steering towards rude conversation. I couldn't be any more impolite if I tried.

I meet his eyes and when he sees I'm looking at him he masks the hurt that was on his eyes milliseconds before.

"I didn't want to volunteer, Primrose. I don't want to have to kill kids in the arena. I don't even like the thought." He looks offended.

Good. He isn't a true career. He's trained though right? Oh god, what if he isn't trained? He could get injured!

"You're a career though, right? I mean, you're trained to kill and you can defend yourself?" I say quickly. Then I realize how that sounds. It sounds like I think he could and would. That he would kill by choice. I blush profusely. "What I mean to say is-is that I don't want anyone to get hurt. I mean I don't want you hurt." He looks shocked, but I continue. "You're trained, right? So if somebody attacked you.. Would you be able to fight and defend yourself? Did you go to the academy?" I ask.

I look at his face while I'm speaking and its still one of shock.

Then it's one of sadness.

"Yes, I can defend myself. I went to the academy. But not by choice." He sighs.

He looks like he wants to say more, but he stops himself.

He must not have wanted to go to the academy.

I've heard about how strict parents force their children to do things. My parents were never like that. Maybe his forced him to go to the academy. I couldn't imagine having to do that. I look away at the garden. I observe the different plants. Daisies. Rosemary. Lavender. Sunflowers. Tulips. Roses.

A couple minutes go by in comfortable silence.

"Is that Oliver your brother?" I ask quietly, thinking of their navy blue eyes. I look up at him.

At the mention of Oliver his eyes are pained.

"Yes. He's my brother. He just turned twelve. I couldn't let him go into the games. I mean did you see him? The kid's too young, too innocent, too weak." I think back to my thoughts while watching the reaping. He's voicing my thoughts.

"It's my job to protect him since no one else will. He's at home with my sister and mom and.. my father." He says sadly, looking down at his hands.

Talking about his family shows how much he really misses them. Whenever I miss my family I want to talk about them.

I make a rash decision and grab his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"I liked your brother. He always looked sweet and nice. I think we would have been allies if he came here." I say with a smile.

He looks up at me curiously.

Then he returns the smile.

"I think so too. You remind me of them, you know. My brother and sister. My sister just turned three." He says.

Then he looks off into the distance, thinking about something.

I always wanted a younger sibling.

"What's her name?" I ask.

"Daphne." He says with a wide smile on his face. He looks so happy and sweet talking about his family.

"I have a sister too. She's older. Her name is Katniss. Before I came here, I found out I would be an aunt. I hope I'll get to meet the baby one day..." I trail off, looking down.

I feel that warm feeling again. Does that mean he's looking at me? I feel like he is.

I look up to check and sure enough he is.

He opens his mouth to speak when a door slams open, making both of us jump.

Oh no.

Standing in the doorway is my mentor looking around.

When he spots me his gaze softens to one of relief. Then his gaze spots Cato and it become one of rage.

Oh, Haymitch.