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The first sign that something was about to go very, very wrong, was the loud thud, followed by the buzzing of hundreds of insects.
I snap awake, but I hadn’t awoken fast enough. Searing pain shot through my forearm as one of the wasps made contact. I scream out to the pack, “Get to the lake! The lake!”
The rest of the pack is already on their feet and escaping, except for Glimmer, who seemed to be facing the brunt of the swarm. I briefly consider helping her, but what would I even be able to do? Another wasp sting to my neck snaps me out of it, and I grab my spear and bolt.
Cato, Clove, and I make it out of the woods, and the wasps seem to have vanished, but the damage has already been done. Static begins to flood my vision, as if I’m watching the world through a vintage television. Everything seems to be moving. I desperately try to fix my eyes to one point, to find some stillness, but focusing only makes things worse. The blades of grass that I attempt to focus on begin jumping around, almost like they are glitching. For a moment, I vaguely wonder if the arena is malfunctioning and the perfectly crafted Capitol visuals are falling apart, but quickly realize what’s actually happening. The wasp stings were hallucinogenic, and I’m tripping.
It dawns on me that my pack must’ve been stung as well, so they’re likely facing the same realization that I am. I want to look around for them, but somehow I’ve fallen to the ground. I don’t even remember my legs failing me, but they did. I’m not particularly angry about it, though, the grass beneath me feels like the softest blanket I’ve ever felt. I drag a hand through it, but suddenly the ground morphs into a thousand tiny, writhing green worms.
I can’t help the pathetic yelp that escapes me, and I scramble away from the grotesque creatures. I manage to make it to my feet, with the help of a nearby tree, and lean against it, taking in my surroundings.
Everything is still moving, it’s nauseating to look at, and it’s hard to take in anything other than the swirls of color and static flooding my senses. It takes me several moments to realize that both Cato and Peeta are nowhere to be found. Clove is a few feet away from me, puking up her dinner.
A cannon booms through the arena, and I know Glimmer lost the fight against the swarm. It had to be her, no way it could be Cato.
Even though I know this, Cato’s disappearance still sends a jolt of fear through my body, which is only amplified by my delirium. Was he caught by another tribute? Peeta? Katniss, even? No, there’s no way he’d let himself get killed by them. Surely he was here when we initially escaped the woods, right? I remember he was running ahead of me. Or was he? Did I hallucinate that too? Where did he go? My mind spins, and I ache in every possible way.
“Cato!? Cato!” I try to shout, but my voice comes out in a sort of croak. I slump to the ground, my legs too unstable to keep me up even with the help of the tree. I reach for the spear next to me, but my hands clamp around thin air. The spear bounces to another location, and I desperately reach for it, only to find nothing. I continue this game of cat-and-mouse with the nonexistent spear until lucidity hits me again, and I realize I am hallucinating. Then where’s the real thing? I know I grabbed it before we ran.
Before I can ponder it any further, Cato comes crashing out of the woods. His sword is spattered with blood, but he’s also injured. He grips the left side of his abdomen as he stumbles toward me, then collapses.
For a second, I just stare. I can't exactly make sense of what I'm seeing. The blood keeps moving. It crawls across his shirt like living things, twisting into shapes that vanish when I blink. His face flickers in and out of focus. One moment he's twenty feet away, the next he's right beside me.
"Cato?" My own voice sounds distant.
Cato groans and tries to push himself up. He immediately collapses again.
"Peeta..." he rasps.
The name cuts through the haze. Right. That's why he’s bleeding. The memory slowly pieces itself together in my head. The boy from District Twelve had split off from us during the chaos, likely to help Katniss. Cato must have gone back to kill him once he’d realized. We should’ve known he’d betray us.
"Cato..." I crawl toward him. The ground feels wrong. It keeps stretching beneath me like melted rubber. Every time I move forward it feels like I'm sliding backward. Eventually, I make it.
"Cato, you okay?”
His eyes are unfocused, blanketed in the haze of whatever chemicals the tracker-jacker venom is infused with. His expression is what scares me the most, though. He looks… afraid. Cato hasn’t been afraid of a single thing since we stepped foot in the arena.
"No, no, no…” He mutters, as he shoves weakly at something in front of him. Nothing is there. "Get away from me."
He's clearly hallucinating too, but his don’t seem to be limited to swirls of color and things slithering in the grass.
"Cato." I grab his shoulder, and he flinches violently. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment it looks like he recognizes me, but then his expression changes to one of pure horror. He scrambles backward, as if he's trying to escape me.
"No," he whispers. The word comes out strangled. "No, you're dead, I killed you!”
My chest tightens. Whatever he's seeing, it isn't me.
"Cato, Cato relax!” My own delirium has not yet subsided, and instead of grabbing his shoulder, my hand once again meets nothing but air. He’s bouncing around, just like my spear was, and for a moment I wonder if he’s even actually here.
His voice cracks. "Stop looking at me!” He backs further away, and I can tell he’s trembling.
I don't know what to do. I've seen Cato angry, I've seen him frustrated, I’ve watched him kill in cold blood, but I've never once seen him scared.
The realization sobers me more effectively than anything else could. I force myself closer despite the dizziness and his unwillingness to be near me.
"Cato, please, It's Marvel!”
He doesn't seem to hear me.
"You're dead." Another shove. Another desperate attempt to get away.
"You're dead." His breathing becomes ragged, and he yelps in pain, clutching his injured side again.
Whatever ghost the wasps dragged out of his head, it's currently destroying him. I look toward Clove. She's still several yards away, curled up in the grass with her hands over her ears, mumbling gibberish to herself.
Great. So I'm the least incapacitated member of our entire alliance, even though I can barely tell what’s in front of me and what’s not.
I stumble forward on my knees, and finally close the gap between Cato and I. The real Cato, not a hallucinated one that slinks out of my grip.
I grab both of his shoulders this time. He immediately tries to wrench away. Even delirious he's strong, and he almost manages to escape me again, but I can’t let him. I dig my fingers into his shoulders as he tries to pull away. The movement makes him hiss in pain, one hand flying back to his wounded side. Blood seeps through his hand.
"Look at me, Cato!"
He won't. His eyes dart around wildly, like a prey animal.
"Cato!”
Nothing. I place both my hands firmly on his cheeks, bringing his face in close.
“Cato, look at me! You’re okay, Cato, please!”
Finally his gaze snaps toward me. For one brief second I think I lose him again, but recognition flickers in his fearful expression.
"Marvel...?"
"Yeah."
The relief nearly makes me cry. I’m not sure what I’d do if both of my teammates were entirely delusional.
"Yeah, genius. It's me."
He blinks several times.
The static in my vision surges, and the trees suddenly become giant black skeletons reaching toward the sky. I squeeze my eyes shut until they turn back into trees.
When I look again, Cato is still staring at me. The fear is still in his eyes, and he almost looks lost.
“C’mon, we have to get back to camp.” I tell him, and I drag myself to my feet. The ground feels like waves under me, and it’s a miracle I stay upright. I then reach out a hand to Cato, who reluctantly accepts it with his own trembling hand. I hoist him up and support him with my body, and we go to collect Clove, who is now, thankfully, upright.
Despite her posture, she’s still pretty out of it. Her head darts around in every direction, as if she can’t make out her surroundings. Cato and Clove must’ve suffered more stings than me, because they seem utterly helpless, while I’m still at least a little bit lucid. It’s a strange state to be in, where I can recognize that I’m hallucinating and yet, the hallucinations still trick me. At least I know where I am, I can’t exactly say the same for the other two.
The journey back to camp should have taken roughly twenty minutes. It takes us nearly an hour, maybe longer. I’m not quite sure, time doesn't work right anymore.
I have to half-drag half-carry Cato, and he’s much heavier than he looks, which hinders me quite a bit. Clove is able to move on her own, but we’re both stumbling. The meadow slithers below me and the ground continues to tilt. Every few steps I catch movement in my peripheral vision and nearly throw my spear (which I’d thankfully been able to collect before we started heading to camp) at nothing.
"Cato, we gotta keep moving, c’mon." He's leaning almost his entire body weight against me now. His wound isn't life-threatening—I don't think so, anyway. It looks more like a slash than a stab, and I’m certain that whatever damage Cato inflicted on Peeta is much worse. Still, blood continues to drip between his fingers.
"Marvel." His voice is weak.
"Yeah?"
"He followed us."
"Who?"
Cato's eyes are fixed on something behind us that only he can see.
"Nobody followed us."
"Yes he did."
"Cato—"
"He's right there."
I don't look. I absolutely do not look. Some part of me feels that if I look, Cato’s hallucination will pass on to me, and I do not need that kind of paranoia. Luckily, Clove is brave enough to turn back.
“You’re high, Cato.” She mumbles. She almost trips over nothing, but manages to catch herself before hitting the ground.
I tighten my grip around him and keep dragging him forward.
"See? Nobody’s there.”
A rustling noise comes from somewhere to our left. All three of us freeze. Clove lets out a sharp gasp. She's staring into the treeline, with a terror stricken expression. All I see is a rabbit, snuffling around in the undergrowth (although it does look a little off. like a weird squirrel-rabbit hybrid), but she must see something much worse.
"No, no, no, no—"
She stumbles backward. Then she screams. The sound tears through the arena. Before either of us can react, she takes off running in the opposite direction. Running might be an overstatement, it’s more of a speedy hobble, but she tries.
"Clove!" I nearly drop Cato trying to go after her.
The ground immediately tilts beneath my feet. For one horrible second I lose my balance and we both almost end up on the ground. By the time I recover, Clove is gone.
"Shit."
"C-Clove?" Cato tries to pull himself to his feet, to no avail. I catch him before he falls.
"Stay here." I order, turning in the direction Clove went.
He immediately grabs my sleeve. His arm is still trembling, but his grip is like a steel vise.
"Don't leave me.”
The words are barely audible. For a brief second I forget how to breathe. The venom has seemingly stripped away every wall he normally keeps around himself. The Cato that I know, from our short time together, wouldn’t care about being left on his own for a little while, but this isn’t the Cato I know anymore. All that's left of him is fear. Raw and ugly.
I glance toward the lake where Clove disappeared. Then back at Cato. I can't leave him. Not like this. Injured, delirious, and with a look in his eyes that made him seem like a kicked puppy. The effects from the venom are giving him a silvery glow, and his dejected expression hurts my heart more intensely than any pain I’ve felt in this arena before. I’m not sure if tracker-jacker venom also enhances emotions, but for some reason I’m feeling very deeply about Cato at the moment. Clove feels like an afterthought, despite our alliance. All I care about is the poor, mad boy in front of me.
"Okay." I swallow hard, willing myself to sober up enough to take care of him. If I can get him back to camp (which is only about ten yards away), patch him up, and get him to go to sleep, then I can find Clove. That way it won't feel like I’m totally abandoning her. "Okay. I'm not leaving."
The relief on his face is immediate. Cato is the strongest tribute in the arena. He's not supposed to look relieved when I promise to protect him.
Another wave of dizziness crashes over me. The trees bend. The sky ripples. For a horrifying second, Cato's face becomes someone else's entirely. His face morphs into something unnatural, and I almost forget where I am. I nearly shove him away.
Then I blink hard. It's just Cato. Poor, delusional Cato.
"Okay," I mutter mostly to myself. "Okay, we're fine."
We are absolutely not fine, but I pretend anyway, so that I don’t spook him more. I try to help Cato to his feet, telling him camp is nearby, but his knees suddenly buckle. I barely manage to catch him. He's dead weight now. The slash in his side has soaked through most of his shirt.
"Seriously?" I grunt. "Cato."
No response.
"Cato!"
His eyes flutter open.
"Still here." His words slur together.
Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed.
"You can’t go to sleep yet, Cato. Not until I get you to camp and patch you up."
His eyes close again. I stare at him blankly. Then at the sky, where the clouds twist in nauseating tendrils.
The problem is obvious now. We were so close to camp, but Cato is fading out of consciousness fast, and I’m not sure I have the strength to drag his dead weight all the way to safety. If Clove were still here, we might’ve been able to do it together, but who knows what kind of torment she’s facing out by the lake via tracker-jacker hallucinations.
I lower him carefully to the ground, and pray that nobody is looking for a fight at the moment. Katniss likely ran (I don’t think she’s the confrontational type), and Peeta is surely injured from his altercation with Cato. Cato wouldn’t let him escape unscathed, hallucinating or not. Thresh has stuck to his field, and the little girl from his district couldn’t be a threat, not even when we’re this messed up. I try to think of who else is left, but my mind won't conjure anything.
Cato grabs my wrist tight, and I’m surprised at how strong his grip still is despite his state. It’s like he's afraid I'll disappear.
"Marvel."
"I'm right here."
His grip tightens. "Don't let them take me."
I stare at him blankly, the world around me still staticky.
"What?"
His eyes aren't focused on me anymore. They're focused somewhere beyond me, at whatever nightmare the venom keeps showing him.
"They're angry." His voice cracks. "They won't stop looking."
For a moment I don't know what to say. He’s utterly terrified of what he’s seeing, but it’s not like I can fight off hallucinations with a spear. So I simply crouch down beside him and gently pry his fingers off his bleeding side.
"It’s okay, Cato. I won’t let them hurt you. Just let me patch you up, okay? Focus on me.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t resist. His bright blue, anxiety-stricken eyes manage to center on me, and I suddenly feel warm under his gaze. He steals a few glances off to the side occasionally, but shuts his eyes quickly and whimpers, as if the hallucinations encroach on him every time he takes his eyes off of me.
I carefully lift up his shirt, and he winces as the fabric, stuck to his skin in places with dried blood, pulls away from the cut. The wound itself isn't deep. Thank god. Just long. A nasty slash that's bleeding a lot but missed anything important. My eyes play more tricks on me, and for a brief moment, maggots begin spilling out of the wound. I shut my eyes tight and hold back the bile that rises in my throat. It’s
not real. Just help Cato. I can’t just let him bleed.
I tear a large strip from the bottom of my shirt. The fabric swims in my vision. It takes three tries before I manage to wrap it around his waist tightly enough. My hands tremble wildly the entire time. I’ll have to clean the wound and bandage it properly once we make it to camp, but at least this should slow the bleeding.
"Cato."
No answer.
"Cato, stay awake, please." My voice sounds utterly pathetic, but I can’t just let him fade out. Not yet. I need to get him to safety while he’s still conscious enough to pull some of his own weight.
His eyelids flutter. "I’m tryin’." His speech is muffled and slurred.
"I know." I mumble.
The tracker-jacker venom is still doing a number on both of us, but for a brief moment the static seems quieter. The woods fade into the background. Then a branch beside me suddenly sprouts dozens of blinking eyes.
I immediately look away. Never mind. Definitely still hallucinating.
"Marvel."
I glance back down. Cato is watching me with an odd expression. His eyes have drifted to the large welts that rose up on my forearm and neck, where I’d been stung.
"What?"
"You got stung too?” His tone is sincere, as if he genuinely only just realized that I’ve also been hallucinating this whole time.
I laugh weakly. “No shit. It’s kinda hard to avoid hundreds of tracker-jackers.”
His brow furrows, and I see an expression I haven’t seen from him before. Concern? Somehow, in the middle of his own nightmare, he's worried about me. The thought sends a strange warmth through my chest. Before he can say anything else, I continue.
"I'll survive. You and Clove got the worst of it. And, uhm. Glimmer.” The last name is barely audible.
"You look awful." If Cato was actually lucid and we were in any other situation, I would’ve taken this as a snarky insult, but he’s still being genuine. His worried expression makes my heart ache. My state should be the last thing on his mind, considering how he looks right now.
"You’re one to talk.” I gesture towards his injury, and the multitude of stings that are visible on his body.
He tries to let out a small laugh, but it comes out between a wince and a cough. “I guess I look pretty pathetic right now, don’t I?”
“Oh, yeah. Like an injured puppy.” I muster up a grin, and he rolls his eyes at me. He tries to shift himself to an upright position, but it takes almost all of his strength.
There’s no way I can carry him, not in the state I’m in, so it’s either he manages to hold up a bit of his own weight or I use all of my strength to drag him all the way there.
“C’mon, Cato. We’re too vulnerable here. Do you think you can walk if I help you?”
He nods, but it’s still a struggle to get him on his feet. I have to hoist him up with all I’ve got. His knees wobble immediately, and his weight crashes into me again. My vision briefly fills with stars.
"Whoa. Careful.” My feet stumble slightly, but I manage to keep us both upright.
"Sorry." His apology comes automatically. That catches me off guard. Since when does Cato apologize?
"You're really not yourself right now."
"Shut up."
"There he is."
Another eye roll. At least he’s conscious enough to be annoyed with me. I adjust my grip around him. One of his arms ends up draped across my shoulders while mine wraps around his waist, carefully avoiding the injury. Even the slightest pressure makes him flinch.
The camp is right there, I can see our mountain of supplies and the cornucopia just over the hill. Ten yards. Maybe less. We've survived tracker-jackers, hallucinations, Peeta, and whatever nightmare Cato's brain decided to torture him with. Surely we can survive ten more yards.
It’s slow going, with Cato unable to support his own weight and my vision still swirling, but we do make it, and it feels like one of my greatest triumphs so far.
In my venom-induced haze, I had completely forgotten about the meek District Three tribute that we had recruited to help with our supply pile. He knew how to reactivate the mines and replant them, so he’d secured his safety and was left to stand guard. He wasn’t standing guard, though, and was instead enjoying an afternoon nap in the cornucopia. Apparently Clove’s screams, the firing of a canon, and Cato’s whining weren’t enough to wake him. How has he even survived this long?
I don’t dwell on it, though, I just don’t care enough right now. All I care about is getting Cato safe and as comfortable as possible, before finding Clove.
I bring Cato to his own sleeping bag in the cornucopia, and gently lower him to the ground. Luckily, we kept our packs near our sleeping quarters, so I wouldn’t have to cross that treacherous minefield to
get some first-aid for him. I’m not sure I’d even be able to get to our supply pile right now, without being blown sky high.
I dig through a few packs before finding everything I need. Clean, purified water in a canteen, a roll of bandages, and some gauze. I’m not sure what to do about the tracker-jacker stings, but at least I can patch up his cut.
My hands shake as I unscrew the canteen. Some of it is from the venom, some of it is from the exhaustion that’s been slowly creeping in. And some of it is because every time I glance at Cato, he somehow looks worse. The strength that carried him (even if I was doing most of the carrying) back to camp is gone now, without it, he's fading fast. I quickly remove the makeshift bandage.
"This might hurt."
A grunt. His eyes are closed, but he’s responding. At least he's conscious.
The water hits the cut and he jerks. His entire body tenses.
"Easy. I have to clean it.”
He clenches his jaw and I continue. The blood washes away in pink streams. Thankfully, the wound looks just as shallow as I thought it did near the woods. Painful, ugly, and maybe needing a couple stitches, but definitely survivable.
Peeta got a lucky swing with his knife. That's all.
Cato got lucky too, though. The thought makes my stomach twist. Because if Peeta's knife had landed a few inches deeper— No. Not thinking about that.
I soak a piece of gauze and carefully clean up the remaining dried blood. Cato hisses through his teeth. His hand reaches for my wrist, and his fingers close tightly around my arm. I wince slightly.
Then he realizes what he's doing and immediately lets go.
"Sorry."
There's that apology again. Weird. Really weird.
"You've said sorry twice today."
"Why are you counting?”
"I'm just saying. The venom's turning you nice."
His eyes crack open. A small grin tugs at the corners of his lips.
"Maybe I just like you.” He mumbles, his speech slurring still. He’s so out of it, the statement should mean nothing at all. And yet, it makes my insides burn. I’m not sure why, it’s not like I’ve been dying for his friendship. Only one of us gets out of here alive, attachment has no place here. But somewhere between all the tracker-jacker venom and my hands against Cato’s skin and his pretty blue eyes following my every move, some lines begin to blur and my heart aches.
I just give a simple response, “Yeah, yeah.”
I hope he’s still too delirious to notice how red my face has gotten. I tell myself it’s just the venom getting to my head, but I’m not sure I believe me.
As I finish cleaning his cut, I catch sight of the tracker-jacker stings littering his skin. There are more than I'd realized. Several on his neck. One near his jaw. A cluster disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. No wonder he was hallucinating so badly.
Unfortunately, I have no idea what to do about them, so I focus on bandaging him up. I help him up to a seated position and get to work. One wrap. Two wraps. Three. The world briefly melts into static again. The bandage becomes a writhing snake in my hands. I freeze. Blink. It's cloth again.
Okay. Great. Fantastic. I'm definitely qualified to be doing medical care right now.
When I finish, I tie the bandage off and sit back on my heels.
"There."
Cato studies my first-aid, and deems it acceptable. He slowly lays back down. It’s clear the exhaustion is taking him, and it’s starting to really get to me too.
This time, I finally let Cato sleep. The cut is bandaged. The bleeding should be stopped. He's safe. At least as safe as anyone can be in the Hunger Games.
For several minutes the cornucopia is strangely quiet. Even the District Three kid is still asleep. How he hasn't died yet remains one of the arena's greatest mysteries. I lean back against one of the metal walls, Cato resting right next to me, and finally allow myself to breathe.
My entire body hurts. The tracker-jacker stings burn. My head pounds. The hallucinations still linger around the edges of my vision, and if I focus on any one point for too long it begins glitching like the grass did earlier.
I should go look for Clove. I know I should. The thought immediately fills me with guilt. She’s our ally, and I’ve left her to fend for herself in favor of Cato. But every time I try to stand, another wave of dizziness crashes into me. I wouldn't make it ten feet, and if I wander off in this condition, I'll probably end up just as lost as she is.
A movement beside me draws my attention. Cato has shifted in his sleep. He’s rolled over, and one of his arms reaches towards me. It lands lazily across my lap.
I freeze. For a second, I just stare at the arm draped across my lap. Cato doesn't seem to realize he's done it. His eyes are still closed. His breathing is slow and even. He's already asleep, or close enough.
I should move his arm. Instead, I sit there like an idiot. The tracker-jacker venom is still making everything feel distant and dreamlike. The metal walls of the cornucopia pulse faintly. The shadows move when I’m not looking directly at them. Maybe that's why I don't immediately shove him off. His arm is like an anchor to the real world.
Or maybe it's just because he's warm. The evening air has started to cool, and despite the lingering burn of the stings, I find myself shivering. I tell myself that's the only reason.
A few minutes pass. Then Cato twitches. A faint noise escapes him. His hand suddenly grabs a fistful of my pants at my thigh. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. For someone unconscious, he's surprisingly strong.
"Cato?"
No response. His face twists. A nightmare? The venom is probably still messing with his head.
"Hey."
I carefully put a hand on his shoulder.
"Cato."
His breathing quickens.
For a second I consider waking him. Then his body jolts and his grip on my leg becomes painful.
Yeah. Definitely a nightmare.
"You're okay," I murmur. I gently place my hand over his, hoping he’ll release my leg at least a little bit.
It feels stupid. I doubt he can even hear me. But slowly his breathing steadies. His grip loosens slightly, but not enough to let go.
I glance at the field in front of us. Still no sign of Clove. Guilt twists in my stomach, but it’s getting darker now, and I'm utterly exhausted. Just a few minutes. I'll rest for a few minutes. Then I'll go find her. That seems reasonable.
So I slide down the metal wall a little farther, finally moving Cato’s arm back to his own personal bubble. My sleeping bag is on the other side of the cornucopia, but for some reason my delusional brain would rather sleep on the cold metal next to Cato, than crawl the few feet to my own sleeping area.
The movement causes Cato to shift towards me again. And suddenly most of his weight is pressed against my side.
I stiffen. His head bumps awkwardly against my shoulder. Neither of us are exactly in a graceful position. If Clove walked in right now, she'd never let us hear the end of it. I hope the Capitol doesn’t have any cameras set up in the cornucopia, and if they do, Cato and I are probably on every screen in Panem right now. Unless something much more interesting is happening than the two Career boys cuddling up to each other, which I highly doubt.
I should move. I know I should. I hear Cato let out a long breath. His entire body relaxes. Something about that keeps me rooted in place. The tracker-jacker venom has stripped him down to the bare bones of who he is underneath all the arrogance and threats and confidence. And underneath all that— he’s just a sixteen-year-old kid who needs some comfort. Same as me. Same as Clove. Same as Glimmer. The thought hurts.
I stare out toward the darkening arena. Eventually my eyes start drooping. Just for a minute. Just one minute. That's all.
The next thing I know, I'm being dragged out of a deep, dreamless sleep by a distant sound.
The anthem? No. Something else. I blink blearily.
The world is slowly lightening. Sunrise.
Oh.
I fell asleep.
Shit.
I try to sit up.
Something immediately stops me. Confused, I glance down.
At some point while we were asleep, Cato has moved impossibly closer. One arm is wrapped around my waist, his hand clenching my shirt. His forehead is pressed against my shoulder. And somehow I've ended up with an arm draped over him too.
For several long seconds, I simply stare. My brain refuses to process what's happening.
What.
The.
Hell.
Tracker-jacker venom.
That's my explanation.
That's all I've got.
Tracker-jacker venom.
Because otherwise I'd have to acknowledge that the deadliest tribute in the arena is currently curled up against me like an oversized housecat. The ridiculousness of it almost makes me laugh.
I glance around the cornucopia, and realize Clove has returned. She’s passed out on the cold metal, sleeping just as deeply as Cato. Her body is also littered with tracker-jacker stings, but she has no other injuries from what I can tell. The District Three boy is huddled in the corner, munching quietly on a handful of dried fruit. I don’t meet his eyes. What is he thinking about Cato and I right now?
I breathe a small sigh of relief, despite the boy. At least Clove found her way back. I turn my attention to the sound that woke me up. A soft beeping, coming from the parachute that’s slowly descending towards our camp. A sponsor? Really?
I’m shocked we managed to score one, considering how pathetic we were yesterday, and considering the fact that there’s currently two Career boys cuddling like a couple.
I want to get up and grab our parachute, but Cato’s arm has me firmly in place. I don’t want to wake him up, and if I moved at all I surely would. So finally, I decide to look at the District Three boy. I lift my head up slightly, and meet his gaze. Then I tilt my head toward the entrance of the cornucopia. A silent order. Thankfully, he nods and runs out to grab it.
He returns with a small container with a note on top of it.
“It’s for you, I think,” the boy whispers, handing it to me.
I carefully take the container from him, trying not to jostle Cato.
The moment I move, his grip on my shirt tightens.
I freeze. The District Three boy freezes too.
For one horrifying second, I think Cato is about to wake up and realize exactly what position we've fallen asleep in. Instead, he just lets out a sleepy sound and buries his face further into my shoulder.
The boy's eyes widen. I immediately glare at him. His expression snaps back to neutral and he turns away. Smart kid.
I look down at the container. It's a round metal tin, filled with some kind of earthy smelling ointment. Tracker-jacker sting treatment. It has to be.
I squint at the note that came with it in the low light.
"You're making yourself look bad, Marvel. Sober up and get that boy off of you. -G"
"What's it say?" the District Three boy asks quietly.
"That my mentor's an asshole." I scoff, tossing the note to the side. Still, I suddenly feel a burning shame prickle throughout my entire body.
I’ve known for a long time that girls don’t particularly interest me, but it’s something I kept very close to my chest. Though not illegal, unconventional romance isn’t exactly accepted, and no protections are in place for those who love differently. Despite several girls attempting to get close to me, every advance has been shut down. Most of my district friends just assumed I was too focused on volunteering for the Games to have time for romance. And now, the entirety of Panem has witnessed me cuddling with Cato. The cat’s out of the bag, I guess.
Somewhere, right now, there are probably thousands of people laughing. Thousands more making assumptions. Thousands watching me wake up with Cato wrapped around me and deciding exactly what kind of person I am.
My ears burn.
I shake the thoughts from my head and examine the tin. The ointment is pale green.
I glance over toward Clove. Still unconscious. Still breathing. Then I look back down at the boy attached to my side.
His hair is sticking up in every direction. One cheek is squished against my shoulder. His arm remains locked around my waist like he's afraid I'll vanish if he lets go. It's absurd. It's humiliating.
It's...
...kind of sad.
I sigh.
"You're lucky you're unconscious."
Cato makes a sleepy noise. The District Three boy snorts. I shoot him another glare, and he immediately looks away again.
I dip two fingers into the ointment, and I carefully dab some onto one of the swollen stings near Cato's neck.
The effect is almost immediate. The angry redness begins fading. Whatever we got sent must be top-tier. Gloss must’ve really wanted Cato and I sober enough to realize what we’re doing.
"Oh, thank god."
I quickly move to another sting. And another. I get every single one that I can reach in our current position. Every time I touch him, Cato relaxes a little more. The tension slowly drains from his shoulders. His breathing deepens. The lines between his brows soften. Eventually he lets out a long, exhausted sigh. The first genuinely peaceful sound I've heard from him since the tracker-jackers attacked. The
knot in my chest loosens.
"Yeah," I murmur. "That's better."
I don't realize I'm smiling until I catch the District Three boy staring again. I immediately stop.
After treating the visible stings on Cato, I scoop out another portion of ointment and start applying it to my own arm. The relief is immediate. The burning fades. The dizziness eases slightly. The static around the edges of my vision recedes. Not completely, but enough that the world finally feels solid again.
Enough that I can think with complete clarity again. And unfortunately, the moment I can think again, I become painfully aware of my current situation.
Cato is still attached to me. Very attached.
Nobody would ever let me live this down.
Especially Clove. I won’t hear the end of it for the rest of the Games.
Actually—
A horrifying thought occurs to me.
I slowly turn my head.
Clove has woken up. She's managed to sit up without a sound, and she's staring directly at us.
My soul leaves my body. For several seconds, nobody says anything. Clove blinks. Then blinks again. Then looks at Cato. Then at me. Then back at Cato.
"Oh my god."
"Please don’t start."
"Oh my god."
"It's not what it looks like."
"It’s exactly what it looks like."
"It’s really not."
Her grin grows. "Oh, this is incredible."
"Clove."
"I thought I was hallucinating it when I found you two like that last night. You’re actually cuddling.”
"He's unconscious and high on tracker-jacker venom."
"That doesn't make it any better."
The District Three boy starts choking on a piece of fruit because he's trying so hard not to laugh. I consider killing him.
Clove points at us. "Wait until Glimmer hears about this."
The words leave her mouth, but the smile quickly disappears. The sentence had slipped out before Clove’s fogged over brain caught up. Glimmer isn't coming back. The silence that follows is brutal. Clove lowers her hand.
I look away. Nobody says anything for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly—
Cato stirs. His brow furrows. His eyes slowly begin to open.
"Oh, shit," I whisper.
Immediately, Clove's grin returns. "Oh, this is going to be amazing."
"Please shut up."
"Never."
Cato squints at the soft morning light. His gaze drifts upward. Directly to me. Confusion flickers across his face, then realization, then horror. Pure, undiluted horror. His entire body freezes. Neither of us move. Neither of us breathe.
The District Three boy has abandoned all attempts at hiding his amusement. Clove looks seconds away from exploding.
Cato slowly looks down at his arm around my waist. His face turns bright red.
"Marvel."
"Yeah?"
"I’m not hallucinating this, am I?”
Unfortunately for him, Clove immediately loses the battle and bursts into hysterical laughter.
For a moment, I genuinely consider throwing myself into the minefield. It seems preferable.
Clove is doubled over laughing so hard she can barely breathe. The District Three boy has given up entirely and is openly grinning. Even the birds outside sound like they're mocking us.
Meanwhile, Cato looks like he’s just seen a ghost. Slowly—very slowly—he removes his arm from around my waist. Then he scoots backward. He notices my arm is still draped over him, and his face somehow becomes even redder.
"Marvel."
"Yeah?”
"Move."
"Oh. Right."
I immediately yank my arm back.
Clove makes a strangled noise that somehow turns into another fit of laughter.
"You two are unbelievable."
"We were delirious," Cato snaps.
"Sure."
"We were!"
"Uh-huh."
"The tracker-jackers—"
"Obviously."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"Because you look like you're about to cry."
Cato opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Nothing comes out.
Clove points dramatically. "He has no comeback for once."
"I have several."
"Then give me one!”
"I don't need to."
"That's because you don't have any."
"I do."
"You don't."
Cato looks ready to strangle her.
Unfortunately for him (and me, if we're being honest), the ointment is clearly working. The redness around the stings is already fading, and the delirious panic that had haunted him yesterday is gone.
Which means normal Cato is coming back, and normal Cato does not appreciate being embarrassed. Especially not in front of all of Panem.
He abruptly stands, but immediately regrets it. The world apparently tilts beneath him, because he sways dangerously.
I catch his elbow before he falls. The moment I do, both of us freeze again.
Clove makes another delighted sound. "Oh, for—"
"Shut up," both Cato and I say simultaneously.
That only makes things worse. The District Three boy actually laughs this time. Cato looks like he's considering murder, and so am I.
I quickly let go of his arm. He quickly pretends he didn't need the help.
"Anyway," I say loudly, desperate to change the subject. "We should probably get some medicine on your stings, Clove."
"Good idea." She is still grinning.
I toss the tin toward her.
"Here."
Finally she shuts up, as she starts applying it to the stings on her arms. Cato sits back down beside me, much more carefully this time.
Not touching. Very deliberately not touching. I pretend not to notice the heat radiating off his body, and I ignore how cold I suddenly feel now that his warmth isn’t pressed up against me.
For several minutes, the only sounds are the distant birds and the occasional rustle of the trees.
Eventually, Clove breaks the silence.
"Do you guys remember anything from yesterday?"
Cato’s jaw tightens. "No."
The answer comes too quickly. He’s trying very hard to cover this all up and write it off as venom-induced stupidity. I can’t help the pang of disappointment that I feel. Maybe it’s just because we’re in the arena, and all but one of us will be dead soon so I’m clinging to every ounce of comfort I can get, but I find myself desperately wishing for Cato’s affection to return.
“I was probably the most functional, but I got stung the least,” I respond. “I practically had to carry Cato back here.”
Clove snorts. “I wish I would’ve seen it. I bet he looked like a damsel in distress, hoping his knight would save him!” She bursts out into another fit of laughter, and for a moment I think Cato is going to lunge out and attack her.
Instead, he just sits beside me, quietly fuming. I quickly change the subject.
“You ran around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. I’m surprised you made it back here unscathed.” I tell Clove.
“Yeah, well, no thanks to you. You were too busy-“ she dramatically wraps her arms around herself, making kissing noises and mimicking a makeout.
That finally made Cato snap. He stood up, slower this time so that he wouldn’t need me to catch him again, and stormed out of the cornucopia.
I groan, and rest my head on my knees.
“He’s got it ba~a~ad!” Clove says, in a singsongy voice.
My eyes widen. “What?”
Clove giggles again, but when she speaks her voice is barely above a whisper, hoping the Capitol cameras won't pick up on it. “You’re so oblivious, Marvel. Do you not see the way he looks at you? I mean, he’s practically been attached to your hip since training. Whatever happened last night wasn’t something random and venom-induced. He was just too delirious to keep up his act.”
I feel the heat rise in my face, and silently wish Clove hadn’t said anything. I noticed Cato hovered around me quite a bit, but I always assumed it was just because I’m another strong Career tribute.
“As if Cato would ever be interested in guys. He could have any girl he wanted, especially if he wins this whole thing.”
“I know him better than you do, Marvel. We grew up together. He could have any girl he wants, but he doesn’t have one, because he doesn’t want a girl at all.”
My breath hitches in my throat. What are the odds that both of the Career boys aren’t interested in girls? I feel an ache from deep inside my chest. If only we had met under different circumstances. If only we weren’t in a death match, where only one of us can come out.
“He’d never admit it, though. Good luck ever getting him to cuddle with you again. Shit, he might even take you out just to preserve his reputation.”
For a moment, neither of us speak. Clove's words hang in the air between us. The thing is, I know she isn't entirely joking.
We're Careers. We were raised on reputation. On strength. On appearances. District Two is worse about it than District One, from everything I've heard. A place where weakness gets beaten out of you young. Where victory matters more than anything else.
And Cato—
Cato definitely cares what people think.
The idea of Panem watching him curled up against another boy?
Yeah.
I can imagine him wanting to bury the evidence.
My stomach sinks.
Clove watches my expression carefully.
"Oh, don't look like that."
"Like what?"
"Like somebody just kicked you in the stomach."
I don't answer. Clove sighs dramatically.
"For the record, I don't actually think he'd kill you over it."
That earns a look.
"You literally just said—"
"I said he might."
"Very reassuring."
She snickers.
I rub a hand over my face. The tracker-jacker headache is mostly gone now, but somehow I feel worse than I did ten minutes ago.
Despite the delirium, yesterday was much easier than what I’m facing now. Yesterday, neither of us were thinking about the implications of our closeness. Today, it’s the only thing that can possibly be thought about.
"Marvel."
I glance up. Clove's grin is gone.
"He trusts you."
I blink. "What?"
"He trusts you."
"Since when?"
"Ever since training."
I stare at her. She shrugs.
"You don't notice things."
"Apparently."
"No, seriously. You're oblivious. Cato really doesn't trust people, he didn’t even want the Career pack to last past the bloodbath when we started."
"I’m just useful. That’s all.”
"No," Clove shakes her head, "That's not it."
I open my mouth. Then close it. The confidence in her voice makes me hesitate. She continues applying ointment to one of the stings on her shoulder.
"When we were kids, he wouldn't even sleep near anybody during training camps."
I frown. "What?"
"He said it made him too vulnerable. He would always volunteer to keep watch, and would only sleep if I was awake, because I was the only person there he trusted."
That sounds exactly like Cato.
"If someone bothered him in his sleep, he'd wake up swinging."
I stare toward the entrance of the cornucopia.
"...Oh."
"Yeah."
The realization hits me like a spear to the chest. Last night he hadn't just fallen asleep beside me. He'd wrapped himself around me, held onto me, and stayed there all night. The thought makes something warm and painful twist inside my ribs.
Clove notices immediately.
"Oh, wow."
"What?"
"You’ve got it pretty bad too, don’t you?”
I nearly choke. "No."
"Marvel."
"No."
"Marvel."
"Absolutely not. I’m just— the arena is lonely, okay? And we were both really out of it. that's the only reason he cuddled up to me.”
She laughs. “You’re such a terrible liar.”
I hate her.
A movement outside saves me from the conversation. Both of us look up.
Cato is returning. His expression is carefully blank. He walks back into the cornucopia carrying a canteen.
The moment he notices Clove looking between us, suspicion flashes across his face.
"What?”
Clove's grin returns instantly. "Nothing."
"Liar."
"Mhm!"
Cato groans. He drops down across from us. As far away from me as physically possible.
I try not to notice. Unfortunately, I notice immediately. So does Clove. The little traitor smirks.
Cato points at her. "If you start again, I'm tying you to a tree and letting the other tributes take care of you."
"You say that like we're not friends."
"We're not."
"We've known each other for ten years."
"I've tolerated you for ten years."
"Aww."
Cato looks genuinely exhausted.
I almost laugh. Then his gaze flickers toward me. Our eyes meet, and the air changes. Neither of us say anything. Neither of us look away immediately, either. Then Cato abruptly looks down at the canteen. And I suddenly become fascinated by the metal floor of the cornucopia.
Clove makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a suppressed cackle.
The District Three boy chooses that exact moment to quietly stand up. Even he can tell this situation is becoming a disaster. He slowly begins backing toward the edge of the cornucopia. Nobody stops him. Honestly, I think all three of us are too distracted.
Especially me. Because despite the embarrassment, despite the cameras, despite the fact that only one of us can survive this arena—
A small, traitorous part of me keeps remembering how warm Cato was when I woke up.
And an even more traitorous part keeps wishing he'd do it all again.