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The cold metal spear in my hand slips, clattering onto the floor as my and Clove's training session's interrupted by the sound of a metallic crash. I turn and see the fumbling blond boy from District 12 standing at the edge of the chaos, the slight girl with a braid next to him. I feel Clove look up at me, and I quickly pick my jaw up from the floor. I raise a brow and take every ounce of strength I've gained over these 18 years to plaster a cocky grimace on my face. I turn to her and scoff.
She and I have spent our entire lives fighting for this moment, preparing for our chance at glory. No clumsy-looking coal miner is taking that from us.
'From me.' I remind myself. No us. There will never be an us. I look into Clove's brown eyes and search for any worry she might have, for any doubts that mirror mine. She gives me a small, private smile. It transforms into a grin as her eyes shift to the other tributes around us. I swallow, deliberately, then kneel to lift the spear I dropped. As I get back up, I realize the foxlike girl from 5 is only a few inches behind me. I glare at her, and take a step back, knocking her over. I barely turned as I watched her hurry to her feet. I stared down at her as she tried to collect herself from off the floor, but it didn't matter. She wouldn't look up and see the regret I knew coloured my face, and she would never know that it took everything I had to help her up. For the second time in 30 minutes, I felt Clove's warmth next to me. I heard her musical laugh, and her soft stray hairs brushed my arm. I looked over at her and I saw an odd wistfulness in her eyes. She elbowed me in the ribs and I realised I must look pathetic. I hit her shin with a metal rod in my hand and moved into a ready position. She had a playful grin on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes, but I knew, from years of experience, that it was nothing to match the fire in her soul.
As we walked in circles around each other, I felt like I was living through hundreds of memories. Hours of our lives have been spent learning how the others foot would half-step before committing to a swing. As I neatly dodged the carefully crafted arc of her staff I wondered how many summer evenings we spent painting each other black and blue, while our peers were having their first loves, while having fun. But this is the closest we'd ever get. To fun anyway.
I made a quick stab at her leading shoulder, and she spun, moving out of the way with such ease it felt as if we were dancing. I watched her smile widen as she felt the same way. As if it were an extension of herself, she used her momentum to try to land a jab in my stomach. I took a step back and ducked my head to roll back over my shoulder.
"Just like you to run away from me." She almost coos and I feel a small ball of heat settle in my stomach. "I'd never run from you, darling," I say with a crooked grin, and watch her face go a little pink. I feel a deep pang of regret, realizing what I've just said. What I've just done. She puts her weight on her heels, a mistake I've seen her make a million times, and I take my chance to lurch forward. I turn my spear so that I catch the head, and the chilly metal of the handle meets the fair skin of her throat. We stand there, surrounded by our competition, taking quick deep breaths. I'm so close to her, that I feel her warm breath on my collarbones. She could back up, could turn tail and knows I'd never bring it up, but she doesn't. Clove just stares up at me with her doe eyes, through her lashes, and it's ruining me.
Even now, this isn't the first time we've done this.
How many times have we ended up so close I could kiss her if I leaned forward? How many times have I been dragged away by our couch, chewed out, and reminded that I will have to kill the girl I've spent my entire life knowing? I look down at her and remembered every time I'd been told it was my job to keep her from falling for me. I breathed in her scent one last time before I took a step back. I watched the glimmer of hope in her eyes fade, as my head forced my heart to take the backseat. I tossed my spear vaguely in the direction of the rack and walked over to the knife collection. picking one up, I weighed it in my hand, then threw it at the target on the far wall, meant for archery.
"Bullseye." I sneered. I lifted one of the weights the big guy from 12 lifted, and I raised it over me before throwing it at the closer wall, scratching off some of the paint. I then stalk over to the elevator and take it to my floor.
With each floor I transcend, I feel the gap between me and Clover, and I have to remind myself this is a good thing.
But good for who?
Walking around in the spaceship-like interior of our capital dorm feels like living out my wildest dreams. When I wasn't training, I was dreaming of this. Or Clove. But as I walk into the showers, I know even my childish imagination didn't encapsulate the lavishness of the space here. Glass divided the shower and the bathroom, and within, multiple glass nobs controlled different facets. I smelled the variety of soaps and picked the one I liked the most and scrubbed every nook and cranny, hoping the scent would linger. As the water ran over me, washing away the bubbles residing on my shoulders, I still felt the odd tension in my whole body. I try not to think of home, but it's hard when home is all I know. I recap my day instead, thinking of each kid I'll have to kill.
"Tributes. They are no more than obstacles Cato. They are just another candle to put out before you can go to bed, before you can go home." I almost hear one of my couches telling me, as she grilled statics into my head. The past 18 years of my life have been spent learning how many tributes I'll have to kill depending on what our arena looks like, depending on how good my counterpart will be.
That's what my teachers always referred to Clove as, and apparently, that's what they referred to me as, too. Anything to alienate us from one another. As if any amount of dehumanizing could ever change the fact that Clove and I have spent almost every day together since we were old enough to practice. Every birthday, every Christmas, and almost every waking hour has been spent laughing and smiling and talking to one another. Our couches noticed, and warned us, over and over, to stay apart, and we'd laugh, or roll our eyes. Because when you're 11 and told it's best if you never converse, best if you never really talk, you don't understand it. Wouldn't it be easier to fight a friend? Why not get close to one of the only people you properly know? But when you're 18 and know they've come inside simply by their footsteps, you know it'd be easier to fight a stranger.
I press my head to the cold tiles and inhale the fragrance I just covered myself in, then shut the water off, and begin to dry off. I tussle my hair with a towel and meet my eyes in the mirror.
"Strangers," I tell myself absolutely and zip up my new jeans. Pulling on the tight white shirt on top of the cabinet. The door automatically opens as I walk towards it, and I slip into the dark chilly hallway. The scones on the wall only let off a soft warm light, but it's barely enough to let me take in the intricacies of the walls, which have risen gold designs I trail my fingers along. I creep into the brighter dining room and see Clove, in a tight black shirt, that ends just above her torso. Her hair's out of its usual knot at the back of her head, and it flows around her face, to her chest. She's beaming at her stylist, laughing at an awful joke he made about wanting her eyelashes. I stand in the mouth of the hallway, absorbing how happy she is without me, and feel every ounce of resolve I'd built up evaporate.
When you're 11 and your father tells you that "you cannot fall in love with your competition in a fight to the death" you think it'll be a piece of cake. When you're 18 and see that her eyes light up, as she notices you, you hate every part of you thats proving you wrong.
I make my way to my seat, and give Clove a small grin. I watch her take a shallow breath through her smile, and then she resumes whatever polite chatter she was making with the capital citizens. I stare at what's on the table and recognise nothing. I try and take stock of what things might be when, without missing a beat in conversation, Clove starts putting things on my plate, skipping over specific ingredients, or things.
"What are you doing?" I mutter and glance over to see her wink at me. "Clove." I keep my voice flat, but I know she doesn't miss the smirk I can't hold back.
"Don't act like I'm not doing you the favour of the millennia." She sticks her tongue out at me, and sits back down, staring at her empty plate. The Avox take it from her and she nods, knowing not to thank them. One of our stylists, with electric blue hair and cat-like yellow eyes, asks about training today and Clove takes a quick breath in.
"The boy from 12 made a fool of himself with the weights today. But the girl hasn't done much. We'll take them both out easy." I say, more for my mentors than anything. The three nod, knowingly. They probably aren't fooled by my cocky act any more than Clove is, but I keep up the facade for the capitol citizens, who I know will hurry to call friends and colleagues that I will definitely win.
"What do you plan on doing tomorrow? For your score?" Clove asks, and I don't even hesitate to oblige her.
"I haven't really planned anything yet. I'll have to be memorable, going third and all. Probably line up and spear all the test dummies at once. Throw some knives at the ceiling. If I was sure enough that it would help, I'd probably show off some fancy sparing routine, but I don't think it'll hold up that well." I ramble on, and others have lost interest, but Clove still watches me intently, nodding along. "What about you?" I ask, after a few moments of silent eye contact. Her eyes widen, along with a smile and I know she's been thinking about this a fair bit.
"Something flashy! I think I'll like, do a backbend and throw a knife upside down." She glances at the female mentor and I see her nodding back. "Anya says it'll help me sell the 'delicate and deadly' concept." They share a smile, and she continues. "Having a clear aptitude for physical capabilities isn't something we all benefit from." She rolls her eyes with a smirk, gesturing to me. "So I'll have to show off my feats of strength some other way." I chuckle as the others laugh, not quite knowing if it's at my expense or hers. My plate's empty, and an avox hesitates to take it. I nod and it's swiftly taken from me.
"We'll touch base tomorrow. Goodnight" Anya states, and leaves, the other mentors following in tow. The stylists still chatter among themselves, but Clove and I seem to sit on the outskirts of the conversations, not welcome to do much more than nod. I look over at her and see that she's already been looking at me.
Giving into the silence between us I finally ask something. "If you could go back, to before we started this. If we could magically be 5 again, and decide against this life, would you?"
"I guess that depends."
"On what?" I shove my seat back and she follows suit, and we walk over to the couch pit. A conversation pit is what the stylists called it.
"A lot of things. If I win. If you'd still be doing this. If I didn't get to meet you." I hate how that makes me feel wonderful. I should hope I don't matter, but I know better. "Like you're my," she pauses, looking for the right words, "best friend. I have no idea what my life would look like if you weren't in it. Would I still love acrobatics? Would there be a life where we are still us without the murderous rage instilled in us?"
"Who would we be without murderous rage? God don't make me think about that." I wipe my hand on my face with a chuckle, but the truth in that statement leaks through.
"Do you think our parents are proud?" She asks, catching me completely off guard.
"I think your mother hates herself forever doing this to you and I think mine is pretending she has complete faith in me." I picture my mother pacing around our kitchen floor, insistent that she feels completely fine. "Our fathers are probably just betting their life savings on us. knowing them they probably want to see who racks up the most." I can imagine a stand they set up, bets for each of us being compared.
"My sister is probably sick to her stomach with worry. She always is. Josie could always do a fantastic job of that." She lets out a half-hearted laugh and I think of her and her little sister, a smaller brown-haired Clove who was always fretting about innocuous things. I watched a small tear run down her cheek, and I reached out to wipe it away with my thumb. I realized my hand was cupping her face, and I had to fight to keep my breathing deep and even.
"It'll be ok. You'll be ok." I hummed I reached out and pulled her close to me. She leaned on the side of my torso and took ragged fast breaths. I ran my hand through her raven hair, trying not to cherish this moment.
"No I won't Cato." She whimpered, so quietly I almost didn't hear her. "Look at you. You're a tank, a machine. I-" I shushed her, holding a finger to her lips. I knew if she kept talking. I'd make the promise I could never keep. If I thought more about her sister, and her doting mother I know I'll tell her I make sure she wins. And no matter how much I want to, I know I cannot do that. My whole life has been spent working to win this. My parents have been going into debt paying for my programming for years, knowing my winnings will fix it all. I can't do this to them, I can't abandon one kind of love for another.
"Clove, I will keep us together as long as possible," I whispered in her ear, hoping I could at least keep this promise.
We sat like that for God knows how long. It could have been minutes or hours, but I knew we stayed there for however long because it was a relief to be close for reasons other than violence. I leaned my temple on her head and felt her shoulders rise and fall. Finally, the stylists came in and one gasped, a bit taken aback. I jumped up, off the couch and away from Clove like a coward. To my relief, she too was standing up, a ways away. We smiled at each other sheepishly, and she wiped her tears away with the heel of her hand, sniffling. The citizens glanced at each other and then quickly hurried away. I heard the main door open and close, and we stood there, watching each other. I tore my gaze away from Clove, not wanting to get lost in her moonlit divinity. I instead turned and looked out the large window, behind me, seeing the lit-up city. We may be on the lowest floor, but we were far from the bottom. Literally. I reached out for the large glass screen on the coffee table and clicked buttons until soft piano music started playing. I then walked over and threw the patio doors open.
"We have wasted every summer night preparing to commit a lifetime of atrocities, why not waste this one doing something worthwhile," I said spinning to look at her. I hadn't realized but she was wearing a floor-length flowy skirt that matched her shirt. A warm breeze ruffled it and for a moment I saw the outline of her hips. I tried not to focus on that, instead thinking of what comes next. What I've been too scared to do. "Dance with me Clove." I smiled at her, and reached my hand out, for her to take. Neither of us had danced before, but I understood the idea from films and small-town pageants.
"I don't know how." She murmured, hesitating as she reached her hand out for mine.
"Yes, you do. It's like fighting, but replace the hate with-" Now it is my turn to hesitate. "a better kind of passion." She beams and takes my hand. We move in step to the music and travel outside, spinning, and turning slowly. I slowly move closer to her with time. My hand finds the slope of her hip, and soon she wraps her arms around the back of my neck, closing the gap between us. I feel her breathing, I feel her moving, and most importantly, I feel my heart beat so fast it may explode. With each breath I take in, I inhale her scent and feel that much closer to her. We spin and her hair blows into my face. I move my hand to brush it away and find, I am again touching her face, cupping her cheek. I stare into her big brown eyes, and we both stop moving, and the world seems to stop spinning. She moves her hands to my face and I slowly lean down to kiss her, waiting for her to move, or for someone to interrupt. But no one does.
Thank god.
Once I feel the soft skin of her lips on mine something deep within me snaps, and I run one hand through her hair and the other travels to her waist. I press her closer to me, and she lets out a small sigh. I take that as my queue to lift her, and she knows to wrap her legs around my hips. I move my lips away from hers and start kissing a small trail of kisses down the side of her jaw. I move back once again and reposition her, shifting her in my arms, so that I'm carrying her bridal style. She kisses my neck as I quietly walk us to my room. The door opens and closes without our help, and it takes all of me not to drop her on the bed and continue. I gently place her on the bed, and she looks at me with such tenderness I almost cry and collapse in her lap. Instead, I kiss her forehead, her nose, then her chin, moving lower, down to her collarbones, where I make my way across both. I finger the waistband of her skirt as I do, and she omits another soft noise I only use as fuel. I lower the neckline of her shirt and trail my lips across the top of her bra. She let out a small gasp and I grinned against her warm skin. I looked up at her, watching her fight to take deep breaths. I moved lower, the bare skin on her torso, and trailed my fingers over the top of her skirt, lowering it slowly and I went.
'What are you doing?" She asked breathlessly leaning forward as I hooked my fingers under the band of her underwear.
"What I've wanted to do for years," I say and lower them with the skirt. Kissing the inside of her thighs I hummed lightly, then began undoing her at the seams. She grabbed fistfuls of my hair and began gasping for air and all I wanted to do was bottle this feeling, and keep it forever, to remember it. I slow down as she relaxes, and finishes then I put her clothes back in place, moving back up to lay next to her.
I wrapped her up in my arms and pulled her close.
"Clove," I whispered
"Mhm?" She mumbled with closed eyes and a sleepy expression.
"I love you."
"Obviously." She smiles up at me and kisses my lips softly.
Even though this cannot last, and we should cherish our time, we both quickly fall asleep, arm in arm, my lips to her forehead, hearts beating next to each other, savouring what little time we have left.