TWO

Chapter Seven

{AUTHORS NOTE: HUGE S/O TO @KNIFETHROWER_ FOR THE MOOD BOARD FOR THIS CHAPTER! SO MUCH LOVE FOR YOU. HOPE YOU LIKE THE CHAPTER! <3) 

Walking through my front door I notice my dad sitting at the dining room table looking over his tablet, "Where's mom?" I ask, walking towards him.

He glances up at me, "Work."

"Work?" My mom hasn't been to work in months.

"Yeah, she volunteered to help out somewhere. Not sure." My dad sets his tablet aside and takes his glasses off, rubbing his nose, "How was training?"

"Fine." I glance around the dining room.

"You work on throwing at all?"

"Yeah."

My dad looks over my face a bit before responding, "Why the short answers?"

"Just had a long day, that's all."

"Alright," he nods, "don't forget tomorrow that paper is due in your communications class."

"I know, dad."

"What was it on again?" he taps the table with his fingers lightly, scrunching his eyebrows in a thinking manner.

"Interviews."

"Ah," he hums, "that's right. We should practice right now."

I shake my head, "I'm not really in the mood."

"You don't need to be," my dad pushes his tablet more to the side and rests his hands on the table, "let's begin."

"Dad I really-"

"Clove you need the practice," he interrupts.

"I've been training all day, the only thing I want to do is shower and sleep."

"Well that isn't an option at this moment in time."

I narrow my eyes, "I'm not doing this."

"Clove-" he starts but I start to stand up and head to my room, "Clove Rivers, sit down right now and do this with me."

"No." I spit, looking at him from across the room, "I'm sick of never getting a break."

"When you're a career you don't get breaks, Clove."

"Paris gets breaks!"

"Paris isn't as strong as you because of those breaks."

I stay quiet a bit, my voice harsh, "Yeah, but she's happy."

My dad taps two fingers together and purses his lips, "What are you trying to say, Clove."

"What I'm saying is that sometimes having a break or being able to relax would be great. Everyone in this district knows I will be the one going into the games and have a high chance of coming home-"

"Because I taught you-"

"Excuse me?" I interrupt, walking towards him.

"I taught-" he starts again but I slam my hands on the table, glaring at him.

"You taught me that life as a kid was meant to be cutting your hands open on knives and staying up so late studying for a test while your best friend is out laughing with her other friends. You taught me that the games are more important than my childhood. You never once showed me how to throw a knife or punch. You never once walked into the training center to guide me. You never once woke up at the crack of dawn to help me do anything, ever. The only thing you've done is constantly suck the life out of me. Constantly drag me into a state of mind where feel like I'll never be good enough. Well, I've had it, dad. I don't train because you want me too, I train because I want to be the best. I want to be ready for myself, not because you want to watch me succeed. Not because you want the fucking bragging rights, but because I want to finally come home, look you in the eyes and say, I did it. I did it all by myself and not once did I need your help." by the end of my speech I'm practically screaming; hands clammy against the table. I don't give my dad time to respond. Instead, I storm out the front door and start running.