Dangerous Affection- The Hunger Games- A Cato Love Story

Chapter 7: A Memory

About halfway through my glass of wine, my head starts to feel foggy, and I don't like it. I hope it will wear off soon, and I switch to water to try and help it. I don't know how that mentor, Haymitch, from District Twelve can stand feeling like that, times ten, all the time.

I try and focus on what everyone is saying, but it is just about our interview costumes, and I really could care less about the clothes I wear- as long as I have some on, I will be good. To further distract me, a boy sets a decedent looking cake on the table in from of me and deftly lights it. It blazes up and then the flames flicker around the edges awhile until it finally goes out. I hesitate a moment, knowing it had to be alcohol that made it do that. But then I think back to when Mother used to cook with it, and I remember that with heat the alcohol burns off. I turn my head to thank him, but he doesn't make eye contact.

"Cake, anyone?" Cass asks all of us. Everyone nods, and we're all served a peice of chocolate cake drizzled in chocolate fudge. Hello, diabetes!

We eat the cake and move into a sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies. A few of the other couples make a nice impression, but none of them were a match for us.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" Harry asks.

"Darien's." Cass answers.

"Just the right touch of rebellion." Garrett mumbles.

Rebellion? I never noticed before, but now I see and remember the rest of the tributes standing stiffly beside each other, never touching or acknowledging that the other was even there. As if they didn't grown up together, as if the Games had already begun. I know what Garrett means. Presenting ourselves as friends rather than enemies had stood out just as much as our icy costumes.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you two to play this." Garrett tells Ryder and me. "Now go and get some sleep while we talk."

Ryder and I obey, going and walking down the corridor to our rooms. When we get to my door, he leans against the frame, blocking my entrance and practically demanding my attention. "So, what do you think about this place?

My mind jumps to the child servants that have been catering to our every need. I don't what I'm allowed to talk about in this place, though, and get the feeling we are being watched. Ryder picks up on my hesitation, and asks, "Have you been on the roof yet? Cass showed me, and it's really a site. The wind is pretty loud, though."

I get what he's implying- no one would overhear us. "Can we just go up?" I ask.

"Sure, why not?" Ryder says, leading me to a flight of stairs that led up to a door leading to District Twelve's floor, and a flight off that landing that led to the roof. As we step into the cold, windy air, I feel a sense of relief. I feel like I am high in the trees again, though not quite as nice as that. I see the view, and I catch my breath. It's beautiful, with all its lights shining bright in the never sleeping city below. We hardly ever have electricity back home, and it never stays for more than a few hours. Many evenings were spent in candlelight. Only when the Games came on, or some important government announcement, was when you could count on the power being on so the television would work for us to watch the mandatory airing. Here, there will never be a shortage. Ever.

Ryder and I walk over to the railing on the edge of the roof. I look straight down, seeing the streets filled with people. You can hear their cars, shouts and a strange metallic tinkling. Back home, we'd all be thinking of bed right now.

"I asked Cass why they let us up here. Weren't they worried we'd jump?" Ryder says.

"What did she say?" I ask.

"You can't jump." He holds out his hand into what I had thought was empty space. He jerks it back as a sharp zap strikes him. "Electric field, I assume."

"Always worried about our safety," I mutter. Even though Cass showed Ryder the roof, I can't help but wonder if we are really supposed to be up here this late. I'd never seen a tribute on the Training Center roof before, but that doesn't mean we aren't being taped. "Do you think they are watching us now?"

"Maybe. Probably. Come see the garden." Ryder says, leading me over to the other side of the dome, where they've built a garden of flower beds and potted trees. From the branches hang hundreds of wind chimes, which account for the tinkling I heard. Over here, no one would be able to hear two people talking over the wind and noise. Ryder looks at me expectantly.

"Do you know what happened to those kids that keep serving us?" I ask him. "Why are they here?"

Ryder stares at some flowers that are so mutated I have no idea what they could have been a cross of. "Yeah. They're called Avoxs. Apparently, they're people that have committed crimes against the Capitol, things like running away, stealing, stuff like that."

"Oh... Are they not allowed to talk to us?"

"They can't."

I blink. "What do you mean?"

"They cut out their tongues so they can't talk," Ryder tells me, clenching his jaw.

"That's horrible," I whisper.

We stand there in silence for a moment, each pondering our own thoughts. Ryder's face remains strained; my mind runs blank, too tired to form coherent thoughts.

After a few minutes, Ryder breaks the silence. "You're shivering."

The wind and the story have blown the heat right from my body. When he comments, I really feel the cold.

Ryder starts to take off his jacket, but I quickly decline. He ignores me, wrapping the jacket around me anyway.

"It's getting pretty cold. We better go in."

With that, we head inside, the dome being warm and bright. When we are at my door, I hand Ryder back his jacket. "See you in the morning, then."

"See you." And with that, he walks off down the hall.

When I open the door, the red-headed boy is collecting my unitard and boots from where I left them on the floor before my shower. I want to apologize for perhaps getting him into trouble earlier at dinner, but I remember I'm not supposed to speak to him unless to give an order.

"Oh, sorry," I say, "I was supposed to get those back to Darien, I'm sorry. Can you take them to him?"

He avoids my eyes, gives a small nod, and heads out the door.

I'd set out to tell him I was sorry about dinner. But I know my apology runs much deeper. That everyone around him let the Capitol mutilate him without lifting a finger, that we do nothing to try to stop them.

Just like everyone does when watching the Games.

I kick off my shoes and snuggle deep down under the covers. I can't seem to get warm. I close my eyes tighter, as if this will help protect me against the firey-haired boy who can't speak. But I feel his eyes staring at me, penetrating the walls and doors and my own eyelids.

I then start to wonder if he'll be yet another that enjoys watching me die.