𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄 ▸ HUNGER GAMES [ 1 ]

TWENTY FIVE

"Guess you've managed to earn a spot in Sidonia's good books. Cato – the only Hadley Sidonia Reyes will happily agree isn't a grade A jerk." I joke, motioning with my hands to form a banner in the air between us.

Cato rolls his eyes but scoots up closer to me. I lay my head in his lap and let the events of the day evaporate from my skull. The thrill of overcoming Katniss, her body pinned beneath my feet, the knife heading for her throat. Every second made me feel invincible. Like a ruthless queen. Somebody who deserved to wear the victor's crown on their head. And then Thresh plucked me into the air like a rag doll. The thought of it sends a shudder racing through my body and I hear the splintering crack of rock against bone in my head.

"Clove?" Cato's hand comes up to brush my shoulder. "You good?"

I mumble assent, and he presses a soft kiss to my temple in return. It's almost impossible to believe how gentle he can be, when he wants to be. Over the past couple of weeks I've quickly come to realise that whatever emotion Cato has, the dial is flipped to one hundred without any chance of turning it down. Pride, melancholy, rage. Love. He feels everything in its highest form possible. Perhaps others see it as a defect, but I think it might be the reason I've always been so drawn to him.

Thresh's face appears in the sky that night, and I have to force myself through the special delivery Capitol meal Sidonia has sent down to us via the second parachute of the day. Every bite makes me feel sick to my stomach, but I'm ravenous and need to keep my strength up if Cato and I want to have any chance at hunting down the final three tomorrow morning. It's only the two from 12 and Finch left now, and however clever the redhead girl might be she's still unarmed.

It's becoming more and more likely that the final battle of the 74th Hunger Games will be between the two pairs of star-crossed lovers. I bet the crowds in the Capitol are wild for it, placing money on their favourite couple to win.

And it will be us. Cato and I are going home. We will bring a pair of crowns back to District 2.

After Cato applies a fresh coat of medicine to the cut across my forehead, we finally get round to taking a look at what's in the pack we retrieved. With me out for the count for most of the day, Cato tells me he'd completely forgotten about the pack in favour of fretting over whether I'd live to see it's contents or not.

When he tips the bag, two rolls of strange material tumble out onto the leaves. Folded piles of tightly knit mesh, the same pale shade as my skin. I reach out and pull the smallest set towards me, opening it up to reveal a tough jumpsuit, designed to cover neck to ankle. Body armour.

Beside me, Cato opens up his own gift, scoffing in amazement. "Come on, you've got to be kidding me Reyes." He mutters to himself, grin spreading across his face. The one thing we required desperately doesn't heal or nourish. And it's become frighteningly clear that we didn't really need anything at all. 

° ° ° ° °

For the next two days, it rains. Relentlessly. Lakes are gathering in my boots and my clothes are soaked through, hair matted in a dark tangle and sticking to my neck. Even when Cato and I manage to find ourselves a spot to camp – a tiny alcove beneath a jutting canopy of rock – the storm seems determined to drown us. We prop ourselves against the stones, knees pulled up to our chests as we eat leftovers from Sidonia's parachute meals. Both of us are adamant that hunting in such weather would be impossible, however much we're itching to track down the last few tributes and jump on that train, so instead we try to keep ourselves amused with more stories from back in 2.

Cato tells me about his uncle's wedding, and how him and Aviva managed to trip the bride on her way up the stairs by stepping on the train of her dress. I can imagine the two of them as little kids, the young blonde boy with oceans in his eyes and the tiny girl with her red hair in two braids chasing after him. The thought makes me smile – perhaps Cato's childhood wasn't just filled with senseless bullying after all.

There's no doubt that Darius Hadley's quest for glory has ripped through that family like one of his famous arrows, picking off anybody too weak to hold up its stellar reputation, but maybe there's a chance that Cato might escape with some shred of reality left in him. And something tells me he might not have been so lucky if I hadn't come to Games too.

At nightfall, and with the sky empty of tributes, Cato helps me apply the last of the medicine to my forehead. It's pretty much healed up, and I'm able to open my eye fully, though if I move my face in a certain way it still sends a sharp jolt of pain behind my brow. I try to be careful of the expressions I use but it's difficult when Cato seems to be one of the only people able to bring out the silly side of me.

I take first shift on watch, knives braced in my hands as torrential rain continues to fall around our camp. It's unlikely anybody is going to ambush us in this – finding another tribute during a storm of this scale would be a mission in itself – but Cato and I both agree it's better to be safe than sorry. At first I manage to keep busy, chewing on some mint leaves and swigging water from my canteen. But every crack of thunder has the image of Thresh holding the rock above my head burning into my mind, until I'm curled up in a ball and rocking back and forth slowly under the sheeting rain, tears streaming from my eyes.

At some point the crying, the thunder or both must wake Cato, and he's pulling my shivering body back beneath the shelter of the rock. I'm soaked and freezing and still choking on the panicked sobs leaving my throat. I feel like my chest is trying to cave itself inwards, squeezing against my lungs until I can't breathe.

I almost died. I almost died.

"Stay with me Clove, you're okay. You're safe, he's gone. He can't hurt you anymore." Cato. His words repeatedly whispered into my ear, and his arms curled around me like a shield slowly help to loosen the knot in my ribcage. Gradually, my breathing returns to normal.

Ironically, for someone so prone to blind rage, Cato is incredibly talented at calming me down.

AUTHOR'S NOTE - 

As if I would kill off Clove when she has so much more to accomplish in the next two books! Come on guys I'm not that evil :P Also I don't like this because it's filler but we're almost at the enddddddd :') I'm SO GODDAMN EXCITED to write this ending I don't think you understand. Either way I hope you enjoyed even though it's short a fillerish :// Much love - Vee x