Chapter 14

Caring is Creepy

Hold your glass up, hold it in

Never betray the way you've always known it is.

One day I'll be wondering how

I got so old just wondering how

I never got cold wearing nothing in the snow

I wake up a few hours later, feeling wide-awake and somewhat rested.

The woods are still glowing on the screen in front of me, looking as real as if I were actually there.

I remember the feeling I got when I was in the woods back home: free.

It's funny because I've actually gotten accustomed to the Capitol lifestyle. From the old history novels about the government systems in earlier times, when there were wars, soldiers had to get accustomed to 'civilian life', and astronauts (people who went into outer space? weird) had to get adjusted to the gravity change since it's different on Earth compared to space. I wonder if it'll be like that if I get back home from the arena. Will it feel weird? Will I have to get accustomed to not watching my back every second? To not having to carry a weapon all the time? To not have to prepare to murder a child every second?

I sigh and stand up, feeling a head rush from standing up too quickly.

Black spots fill my vision and cause me to slightly lose my balance.

I rub my elbow that got pushed too hard into the wall. I make out the time on the wall: 8:36 PM.

I can barely make out the sound of voices from outside my room, as they are murmuring very quietly.

Opening my door to get a better chance of hearing, I quietly tiptoe closer to the voices.

Finnick and Haymitch.

They're sitting in the lounge room, discussing something that sounds important by their serious tones.

I get as close to them as I can without being seen and listen closely.

"...know just as well as I do that she has a good chance of making it out of that arena. You know what he-" Finnick emphasizes the pronoun with a shocking amount of disgust, "will want with her after she becomes a victor."

"I will not let her be sold to that kind of life!" Haymitch says louder than the hushed murmurs they were speaking in before.

The conversation is so confusing that my head starts to spin. I get a sick, nauseating feeling that this has something to do with me.

"I don't want it any more than you do Haymitch! You're not the only one who cares about her. Before Prim enters the arena all of Panem will be wrapped around her fingers like we are. If she wins, she's too attractive to slip past Snow's eye. He'll want her. Everybody will." Finnick says the last two sentences in the same tone he would describe the smell of a sewer- in disgust.

A shudder involuntarily runs up my spine.

I start to tremble at these words that don't make any sense.

I feel like I know the meaning behind them, subconsciously. I just don't want to acknowledge it.

"Does she have anybody back home waiting for her? A boyfriend?" Finnick asks somewhat desperately.

"No she doesn- Well. Not exactly. But I don't-I don't want to force her to be in a relationship so that Snow won't claim her," He says sadly.

I can't see their faces, so I can't imagine their expressions as silence engulfs the room.

"We need to talk to the boy. Get things moving. I see it there already. He just needs to speed it up. If Panem sees it in the arena, she'll have a chance. Play the whole lovers bit. I don't think it'll be hard to do. Then, when she gets out, she'll be claimed. Her hearts taken, and Snow won't be able to sell the rest." Finnick says sadly.

The rest?

Get what moving along? What boy?

Everything sounds muted, except for a thudding I can feel in my chest and my head.

Words are being put together in sentences that don't make sense once combined.

I feel like I'm missing something important. I'm missing something big.

The walls are tilting.

"Annie wasn't there to claim me before…everything. I didn't have anybody to save me. Prim is too fragile. She will break if she has to live that life, Haymitch. Hell, even I'm breaking living this life." Finnick croaks.

I try to focus on the words. The words mean things, but don't make sense in my head.

Who's Annie?

"I can't let that happen to her Finnick. I'd rather die than have to watch her endure that. It'll ruin her. Snow will threaten her with everything. Anyone she cares about. You have no idea how long that list is. She'd do anything for them. You know that yourself. I can't let her. We can't let her make that choice. We need to talk to the boy. He's her last hope. He cares about her." Haymitch says with determination.

My breathing and heart rate is becoming too fast and loud.

If I stay any longer I'll be caught spying on them.

All I know from their conversation is that I'm in danger. From President Snow. From something that Haymitch is unwilling to inform me of. From something he is lying to me about.

I take deep breaths as I walk to my room. I reach for the handle, but I stop when I'm about to twist the knob.

I'm too riled up and anxious to sit in my dark room for the rest of the night.

I need my safe haven.

I need my rooftop.

I put force into my stride, sounding like I just woke up, and their words fall silent.

I walk into the lounge room, still reeling from their conversation.

Finnick is leaning casually against the wall beside the chair that Haymitch is sitting in.

Why don't I ever listen to my mother? She is wise.

'You remember what I told you about eavesdroppers, right, Prim? They never hear good about themselves.'

Right you are, mother.

I sigh as they come into view, knowing the smiles on their faces are faked.

I hate knowing they're lying right to my face. I fake rub my eyes.

"I'd say good morning... But it's still night time." Finnick jokes lamely.

Haymitch rolls his eyes at him while I just stand there, praying that maybe someone will mention what they were discussing.

"How'd you sleep?" He asks instead.

I sigh, trying my hardest to hide my disappointment.

"Well I'm awake aren't I?" I snap at him, irritated now that I know he doesn't trust me with whatever information he is hiding with Finnick.

I walk past his slumped figure to the stairwell, not bothering to wait for a reaction from either of the men.

I trudge up the stairs, feeling depressed and confused.

I slam open the door to the rooftop, breathing in the fresh air of my escape.

Their words didn't make any sense!

I walk to the edge of the railing, leaning over.

Then the words that were combined that didn't make sense all suddenly the most important piece of the puzzle clicks.

President Snow will threaten anyone I have ever cared about to have me.

I don't know what for, but it can range from so many different hate filled things.

If he threatens the people I care about he can do whatever he wants with me. He will break me to pieces with those threats hanging over my head.

He can make me do anything.

My hands start trembling at the thought.

Haymitch and Finnick are planning ahead. If I make it to become a victor, they will have a plan.

I just need to trust their judgment if I make it that far.

I need to trust that they will help me. That they can save me from this. Whatever 'this' may be.

I just need to forget about this and focus on the Games. Pretend like I never heard what they said.

I take a deep breath as the wind whips at my cheeks.

I suddenly feel claustrophobic in this wide-open space, like I'm confined by my own body.

My clothes feel too tight. My hair bound too close together in their braids.

I quickly undo my braids with shaking finger, letting my now curly hair fall free to my waist.

I fall to the ground, hugging my knees to my chest and putting my head between them.

I feel so... Angry.

Angry with President Snow for finding my weakness before even I did. For having this new control of me that I couldn't stop even if I made it out of the arena alive.

I don't stop the tears when they roll down my cheeks.

I don't stop the scream that escapes my throat when I can't take it anymore.

I do, however, try to stop the arms that try to wrap themselves around my body.

Results? Unsuccessful.

I heard Cato's heavy footsteps as they travel from the garden. He was here the whole time. Probably sitting on the bench.

This wasn't just my safe haven.

But I didn't want anyone touching me. Especially him. I didn't want comfort. I didn't want him. I didn't want this boy to control me, no matter who he is. The person who stole my first kiss. My first crush. Doesn't matter.

"Don't-don't touch me!" I thrash around in his arms, punching my clenched fists at his chest and kicking my legs so he can't get a hold of them.

"Prim, stop. You need to quiet down," He says irritated, still trying to get a hold of my thrashing body.

"No. You stop, Cato. Let me go! I don't want you! Let me go now!" I screech.

I look at anything but his face as his body freezes. His arms are locked in place, so I wiggle the rest of my body free and stand up.

"What part of 'let me go' did you misconstrue, Cato? I don't need you trying to control me. Or whatever the hell you're trying to do with me." I spit at him.

I know I'm unleashing my anger at the wrong person. Cato doesn't deserve to be my punching bag. He isn't the one I'm worried about who actually has control over me. Snow is. He's the one I'm angry with.

I wait for the transformation on his face to occur from My Cato District Two Career. But it doesn't come.

He doesn't show that side of himself to me like he does to everyone else.

I don't know why.

"I wasn't trying to do anything other than help you."

"I don't need your help."

I lift my chin slightly, feeling the leftover tears on my cheeks dry from the wind. My now tangled hair blows freely around my face, so I pull it back with one swift motion.

He steps closer to me

"What makes you think I have a motive? You think that just because of where I come from, where I was forced to train at, it means I'm automatically a bad person? I'm not like them, Prim." His voice is gentle, but his body language is showing his anger.

I sigh, knowing my anger is irrational, "I don't think any of those things, Cato."

I decide not to say anything, just stand there looking at my bare polished feet.

"Prim, I'm-" He starts, but I cut him off when I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around his torso.

I honestly don't know why I cry. I just do.

He just stands there stroking my hair while I stain his navy blue shirt with salt water. He doesn't say a word, doesn't push me to talk about it. I'm grateful.

I don't know what I'd say if I could even form a coherent sentence.

After what feels like forever, my eyes run dry and I pull away from him.

At first he is reluctant, his arms tightening before letting me go.

I need to know. I need to know why he has this other Cato.

Is it because of his father? His mother? The academy?

"Cato. Do you trust me?" I ask shyly, looking down at the ground in embarrassment.

"Yes. I mean you're the only one who knows I love fuchsia. That's a big secret Prim." He says, and I hear the smile in his voice.

I'm too nervous about the question I'm going to ask, so I don't have the energy to smile back.

"Prim, what is it?" He asks, concern seeping into his voice.

He must want physical contact, or eye contact, because his hand cups my face, forcing me to meet his eyes.

His blue eyes are full of all different emotions I didn't know a person could have at once.

I sigh, "A couple of things, actually."

I see concern in his eyes.

I need to apologize for my outburst.

"I'm sorry. I was being immature and childish and I let you be my punching bag. I wasn't actually angry with you. I didn't mean it. I was mad about... something else." I mumble.

I can't tell him about what I heard. I probably shouldn't even remind myself of it. I can't focus on that. I have two days left for myself.

Understanding and forgiveness fills his eyes, and he nods.

"I, um, I have a question. For you. From myself. To ask. You. I have a question to ask you." I manage to get out.

His eyes meet mine with amusement at my jumbled statement. He raises his eyebrows as if to say, 'go on'.

I clear my throat.

"Was it your father?" I ask so quietly I'm not sure if he heard. But by the way his body tenses in the darkness I'm positive he did.

I remember the way he talked about his dad. How his eyes would flash with anger, like a district two career.

I had a hunch it was his father's fault. But his reaction now confirms it.

His body tenses and his eyes become pained. He subconsciously clenches his fists and jaw.

"Yes." Is all he responds with.

I don't push for anything else. If he doesn't want to talk about it then I won't make him. He isn't ready.

But I can wait.

I just take his hand and lead him to the mat.

I don't think twice when I curl up next to him once he finally lays down next to me. He doesn't hesitate to wrap his arm comfortingly around my waist.

I hear his breathing even out and let his heartbeats guide me to sleep.