the girl who played with knives || clato ✔️

30

Cato

I wake up sometime in the middle of the night and look down to see Clove in my arms. Just knowing she's there makes everything so much better.

I pull her as close as I possibly can and breathe in her scent. She smells like... something I can't really place. Maybe it's the smell of the arena.

I hold onto her like she's a lifeline. Because she is. She's what's keeping me here. She's the only reason I haven't died in the Games yet. She's also the reason I'm going to. But I'm not going to think about that right now.

-

When I wake again, Clove is already awake and just sits there watching me.

"Hey," I say groggily with a tired smile.

"Hey," She bites her lip a little and I can't help but think how cute it looks.

"How are you?" I ask. It's the only thing I can think of and maybe asking a question like that, so simple and innocent, could let us escape for a bit. Clove just scoffs.

"Cato..." she mulls over her words. After probably five minutes of a painful silence she whispers, "I'm fine."

I reach over and put my hand on her knee and she just smiles sadly.

We sit like that for a long, long, long time. Just thinking. Just being there. Just existing.

I lose myself in a daydream.

-

I wake up to the chirping of birds and the creaking of a door.

"Clove?" I whisper. She stands in my doorway, staring down at me.

"Cato... it's time for the reaping. I was going to get ready."

"Oh," I say. I'm screaming inside though.

We get ready and I hold her hand all the way to the reaping. When we get there, the reaping starts abruptly. The mayor reads to us. He introduces some people I don't give a damn about.

Then, finally, the escort chooses the names.

First the girl.

And it isn't Clove.

Then the boy.

And it isn't me.

That's how it should've been.

-

"Cato," Clove rouses me from my daydream. She kisses my cheek and her lips are cold. We're still laying on our backs in the tiny clearing. "Wake up."

"I'm here," I say, my eyes still closed. I feel her lips move to my jawline. I clench her waist with my hand. "I'm here." I whisper, pressing my lips to her cold ear. I feel her shudder.

I feel so dazed. If I opened my eyes I would see, I would see that we're in the arena. The sun would attack my eyes. The Games would attack my mind. I decide not to open my eyes.

Clove nestles into my shoulder and lays her hand on my chest.

Clove

I can feel his heart beating under my hand and it's oh so reassuring. It's almost enough to just feel the thrum of his pulse. I squeeze my eyes shut and I don't open them again until the anthem blares and the sun has set on this perfect day. This one perfect day.

Cato

No one has died today. It's been completely uneventful, and that's a little scary. I'm afraid the Gamemakers will send some awful mutts or cause another forest fire to draw us together and cause some action.

There really aren't many of us left. Clove and I... Katniss, Thresh, Peeta, a few others. The pool is narrowing down. I wish for a moment Clove and I were already dead so we wouldn't have to face something like- damn, like being the last two.

Why are we even trying? Couldn't we just die now and end this miser-

"Cato! Oh my god, Cato!" Clove is screaming my name and shaking me violently.

I just catch the end of Claudius Templesmith giving an announcement.

"-same district can win," Claudius's voice booms. Clove grips my shirt. My eyes are wide. What? What does he mean? What did he say? As if he understands my confusion, Claudius repeats himself. My heart drops down to my stomach as it sinks in. Holy shit... "both tributes from the same district can win."

Clove

I can't believe what I just heard. Two of us. Two of us can win. Cato and I could...

"Oh my god," I whisper. "Cato, do you know what this...?"

Cato doesn't answer. Maybe he's too dazed to. He stares into my eyes and I into his.

"Clove," he whispers. He's crying. I'm crying. "We can win."

"I know," I pull on his shirt and bring him close enough so I can lay my forehead against his. "I know!" I sob.

I fight against the tears but they just keep coming. My mind wanders to a million different places. It settles on a dream that feels like a memory.

-

I can hear our daughter's giggle roaming up the stairs. Cato is playing with her.

In my arms is a nursing baby boy. Just born last week.

I look into his eyes. They're like Cato's: beautiful and blue and like staring into the sky.

-

We finally manage to stop crying and all I can think are these two things; thank you and please.

Thank you Claudius Templesmith,

And please, oh god please let it be real. And please let Cato and I make it through.

Please make my dream a reality.

I remember our baby's sunshine eyes and start crying into Cato's shirt again.