Chapter 2
I spend the better part of the next few days arguing, mostly with the medical staff of District Thirteen. For the first day, when I demand they let me know what's going on, our heated debate was about the fact that, multiple times, they tried to convince me that the odds were against Cato making it. I told them that was crazy, which brought on a while of boring lectures that made no sense. The day after, and for a majority of today, it was because they were all refusing to let me see him. But now, finally, they gave me consent to do just that.
Though I want- no, need- to, I feel as though I'm being pushed back, as if, for some reason, I can't.
Pushing these feelings away, I take a deep breath and twist the doorknob. Slowly, uncertainly, partially… but then entirely…
Quickly, as not to prolong the uncertainty, I push the door open and step quickly past its threshold.
Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I allow my other senses to explore before becoming completely orientated. First, it's the smell; the sterile antiseptic I have grown accustomed to over the last week is in a stronger concentration here than it is in other places. Then, about four seconds after my entry, there is a slow mechanical beep. It comes between every four and six seconds, so, whatever it means, I suppose the steadiness is a good thing.
With my eyes still closed, I take a few tiny steps to where I know for sure that Cato is. Still not looking, I reach out and take one of his hands in mine. Its texture isn't exactly the same as before. Though it was always rough and slightly scarred from years of training, it now is full of raised edges of fresh scars and blisters. Running a finger over the top and bottom of the palm, near the wrist, I can confirm that there are multiple tubes and wires plugged in. What they're for, I have no idea.
Tentatively, I open my eyes again. Despite all of the previously mentioned tubes and wires, and well as the long, jagged scars covering every inch of skin I can see, he actually appears peaceful, almost child-like, in sleep...
Slowly, I take my other hand and brush it gently against his cheek. For the next fifteen minutes or so, I continue doing that. To add to the illusion of childish innocence, he snuggles in closer to my hand. Perhaps it is just my imagination, but I'm pretty sure he might be murmuring my name a few times.
But after fifteen minutes, our time together doesn't end; it only changes. Slower than mine did, Cato's eyes slide open. They're foggy and unfocused, but I suppose that's to be expected. It seems as if his hand-eye coronation is a bit off at the moment, too, because when he reaches up to touch my face, he misses me by several inches. But it doesn't matter. Not at all…
I move his hand from where it ended up, a little behind my head, and hold it closely, careful not to interfere with anything still plugged into it. Not knowing what to say, I simply stare down at our intertwined hands and try to think. I guess it takes a minute or so before the warm wetness on my hand still caressing his face snaps me out of it.
Stunned, I look down; never, absolutely never, have I, or have I ever thought I would, seen Cato cry. Feeling his eyes on me, now, I look down. His gaze is more intense than earlier, with the lingering haziness fading. I move my hand into a different position, and use my thumb to wipe away the tears. After only about ten seconds of that, he grasps my hand tightly, as if refusing to ever let go.
Now it is almost as if he is choking on the tears that he's attempting to force back. Kind of awkwardly, I lean down and wriggle my hands underneath his back, rubbing in small circles to help with breathing. "Shh," I whisper. "Everything is okay. I promise you, everything's fine."
Between cries, I am able to make out a few bits and pieces. It all goes back to a few nights ago…
And then I understand. Removing one hand, I touch my fingertips to my forehead. "Oh," is all I can manage to say. Taking a deep breath, I allow my sensitive side to come out. It so rarely does that I don't even think most people know it exists.
I use the other hand to guide him up into a sitting position. When he complies, I hold out my arms, silently offering a hug. Once again giving the impression of a slightly naïve, young child, he leans in and buries his face in my hair.
Wrapping my arms around him, I start to rock back and forth, as if trying to comfort a baby. After a few minutes, I can tell that he calmed down mostly. Yes, when he pulls back, I can see that the only remnants of his tears are some slight hiccups and redness around his eyes. Oh, those eyes… Focused on mine, they are both soft and gentle and intense and passionate. I gaze back, only for a few seconds, before, slowly, he leans in and gently presses his lips against mine.
Once again, the room is spinning. Whether from rushing emotions, this still-lingering concussion, or from the breathlessness, I'm not sure. All I know is that this- right here, right now- is amazing. So unexpected, as I thought that I was the only one out of the two of us who felt we can be more than friends, but so incredible.
I'm still tingling when he pulls back. I guess that persistent beeping is keeping time with his heart rate, because it speeds up. I can tell that mine is faster, too. This was my first, and I didn't really have any idea what it would be like, nor did I have any expectations. But this would surpass any expectations I could have had.
After a few moments, I push back on his shoulders until I get him to lie back down, still remembering all too well what happened on his last night in the arena. Stroking the hair back from his forehead, I silently coax him back to sleep. He does comply; but not before grabbing onto my hand and holding onto it, tightly as if afraid to let go, for the next several hours.
