Careers Have Feelings Too | CLATO | GLARVEL |

Chapter 35

CLOVE POV

My (new) stylist seems a little better. It's one of the ones twelve had, the one who made their otfits on fire at the parade. I don't think he likes me as much as he liked them, but Enobaria said he was the only one who'd take me after she said what happened previously. Maybe he's some kind of guidance counsellor, or something.

He twists his golden earring before telling me to get out of the awful teardrop dress and undo my hair. I quietly do as he says, trying to hide the broken skin on my wrist, even though I know he knows it's there. It's a little awkward for me having the stylist of a tribute I killed personally, but I'll have to take it. 

Looking in the mirror, I expect to see my silver eyeliner and long lashes dripping down my face, but it's clean. All the makeup is still perfect, beautiful and orderly with not a single smudge down my eye. I frown at my reflection. Whenever I get out the shower with makeup on, it's everywhere. I would have thought it would be the same with tears, especially the ones I was messing with. 

"It's waterproof," my stylist murmurs, coming and standing behind me with a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. "They expected you to cry tonight," he says, sounding almost disappointed. 

I guess I should feel angry about being objectified, but my mind is too preoccupied with more important things, happy about Cato being alive, annoyed they didn't tell me and terrified that I won't be believable tonight and Snow will put two and two together and realise I knew. Then Enobaria, both our familes and eventually me are all completely screwed. 

My new stylist unzips another bag and pulls out what looks like a little lacy blue dress with a blazer over the top. I shrug. It's better than the freaking teardrop one. "Here," he says softly, brushing my now moose hair away from my eyes and helping me into the dress. "I'm Cinna, by the way, I don't think anyone told you my name," he added as he handed me the blazer and smiled. 

"Clove," I mumble, although he knows that already. 

"It's nice to meet you, Clove," he says, at I have to say it's convincing. Although I'm not stupid, I know he'd rather it was his Girl on Fire right here right now, he does make it sound like I'm special. Which is a nice change from Enobaria. 

He doesn't know I know. I don't think he knows at all. Enobaria said if I let anything slip to anyone, she'll cut off my tongue and say it was some horrible accident. She's not kidding, and I know it'll cost us more than our tongues if Snow finds out. 

Cato's alive, but I can't see him. He can't know. Not ever. Cato's alive, but until I see him, he might as well not be. 

"Put these on," Cinna orders. "Carefully," he stresses, helping me into a pair of black heels. They're pretty dull, but they look nice with the dress and the blazer. 

I tell Cinna I can walk fine in heels, but he makes me practice around the room for a while as he checks things on the screen in the corner of the room. It doesn't take me long to figure out why he's making such a fuss with them. "Is this gonna be another Fire Girl thing?" I ask, eyes pinned on the clock, counting down the hours. 

My stylist nods. "Just try to look powerful when you walk on stage. Trust me, it'll be great," he says, wiping his fingers under my eyes and tucking my hair behind my ear. "I had to keep the quote on your shoulder. The life thing," he says. "It's been scripted into the interview," 

I nod frantically. I don't have time for this, I want to tell him. I want to be on that stage with Cato. I want to see him again, I need to see him again. I know it can't show I'm excited, I know I have to play the sad little girl who lost her boyfriend in the arena. Snow can't know. 

But that doesn't mean I can't be anticipating every moment of it. 

I'm rushed off to the stage, Cinna following in my wake. Black-clad backstage workers buzz about, fixing microphones and my hair and makeup. "It's waterproof," Cinna says. "Cry all you want," before standing me behind the curtain and taking my shoulders in his firm hands. My heart is thumping. Cato must be back here somewhere. I wonder if he's seen me? 

"Listen, Clove," he says, looking into my eyes. "I'm your stylist now. Not Katniss'. And I'll be here for you, no matter what. Just hang on. You're about to go home," he says. 

I nod, trying to pull off the blank, grief-stricken expression I've grown to be used to when I look in the mirror. "I know," I say, and then he's turning me towards the curtain. Enobaria leans down next to me, whispering in my ear. "Cato's dead, I lied,"

My heart thumps with pain for a moment, but she winks when I turn towards her. "Not funny," I hiss, but she smiles, heading off to wherever she has to be. 

I can hear the audience applauding. All the other people from Two are up on stage, and soon it's going to be my turn. Taking a deep breath, I wipe the wide grin off my face. Cato is dead. I have to believe he's dead. 

The curtain opens.