CLOVE’S POV
I traipse back up to my room and slam the door shut, immediately locking it behind me in order to keep Father out.
I know it sounds rude, but I just don’t want to see him right now. I’m not even sure is he’s here at the moment, but I’m not going to take any chances. Not when I need to be alone now more than ever. Not when I have a life-defining decision to make.
Come to think of it, I really shouldn’t have walked out on Cato like that.
Alright, I’ll admit it—I wasn’t exactly acting my age when I stormed out of his room like a whiny toddler. But it doesn’t justify that fact that he wasn’t exactly being as supportive about my decision as he said he would. His bias became clear far earlier than I thought it would.
I guess I left him hanging because the amount of hypocrisy in his attitude was way too high for my liking. If he decides to take on the position of the naysayer when we meet again, then he’s the one at fault. Not me.
However, I’m still just as lost as ever about the very reason why I walked out on him in the first place—our child.
I have issues with other people. No, I don’t gossip behind other people’s backs and make jokes about them like some scaredy-cat cliquester—I actually have real issues with other people. They drive me nuts on a daily basis. No one I know is an exception—that includes Enobaria, Cleo, Leonard, Father—even Cato. I’m no role model. Any child that I try to raise could become just as, if not more spiteful than I am.
I didn’t have to live this kind of a life. I could’ve just as easily taken up stone-cutting or something else if it wasn’t for growing up in less-than ideal conditions. I chose the life of a career tribute for a reason: because I had nothing to lose.
Because my grandparents decided to disown Father and leave us to fend for ourselves, the Games seemed like the only option if I wanted to prove my value to the world. If I had to raise a child under similar circumstances, I’m not sure I’d want them to suffer the same fate that I did.
Despite everything that training did for me, I can’t bring myself to kill an unborn child. Not right now. As desirable as it sounds to make life easier for everyone I know, the guilt trip sure to follow would inevitably eat me alive.
I’d probably spend the rest of my life wondering what that child would’ve become if they had lived. It feels like committing the same irresponsible crime that my grandparents committed—and they probably did it without any mercy or remorse.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m just going in circles. I’m not ready to be a mother yet.
If I change my mind about this whole thing later, I won’t mind. The only thing that I do know at the moment is that I’m probably not going to make any smart decisions after everything that happened in the last few weeks. I’m so stressed out that I feel like pulling my hair out—right in front of Leonard, mostly because of how he’d react if he saw me do it.
Maybe I’ll change my mind after things get a chance to return to normal again. Maybe I won’t.
I think the best solution for the time being is to see Cato again and just go with the flow.
Still, I don’t blame myself for walking out on him. If I wanted his opinion that badly, I would’ve asked him for it a long time ago. He can call me a witch like it’s a bad thing—I don’t care. That’s his problem, not mine.
I really need to calm down.
**********
Once again, after a long night of deliberation, I find myself back at Cato’s front door—and his room. I still have unfinished business to take care of.
Cato remains completely unmoved on his bed—he looks almost the exactly the same way he did the last time I saw him. I’m glad that he’s not going anywhere—yet. I still need him hurt for a little while longer.
“Hey Clove,” he greets me unenthusiastically.
“Really?” I challenge him. “No mood change? Not even going to defend yourself?”
“What’s the point?” he complains, somewhat dispassionately. “I get enough of you every day. There’s no point in trying to avoid something that’s guaranteed to happen in the first place.”
“Look,” I cut him off. “We need to agree on how we’re going to deal with the future.”
“You know what I think we should do?” he barges back in. “I think we need to let off some steam.”
I crease my brow in confusion as he unexpectedly changes the subject of the conversation.
“Come on, Clove,” he continues. “There’s no need to rush this. You’re stressed out and it’s not doing you any good.”
“Jeez, Cato,” I groan in frustration. “Could you at least try to avoid repeating what happened yesterday? You’re still not being very helpful.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he insists cautiously. “I only said what I said because you’re losing your mind. For real.”
Maybe he’s right this time. I haven’t exactly had a chance to calm in a really long time. It’s been at LEAST two weeks since the last time I tossed a knife.
Now that he mentions it, I’m really worn out from everything. Not just the last two weeks, but everything that happened during the last six months, including the Games.
But I’m NOT mentally ill. If he decides to call me a psychopath or a retard for no good reason, I’ll kill him. Period.
“Fine,” I capitulate to his will, albeit somewhat unwillingly. “What do you want?”
“I think there’s only one way to deal with this,” he continues, letting a subtle smile form on his lips. “We need to go out again.”
“Hold on,” I stop him with the intention of correcting at least one of his words. “What do you mean by ‘go out?”
“I mean out on another date,” he chuckles lightly. “A few skin wounds aren’t going to slow me down that much.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I question him apprehensively. “Our last two attempts failed miserably.”
“Who cares?” He challenges me, sitting up and letting his eyes light up with vigor. “Third time’s the charm, right?”
“You can’t expect me to just say ‘yes’ to something more than night-hunting after everything we’ve been through,” I scold him somewhat skeptically, knowing that we don’t have an unlimited number of screw-ups to spare.
“I want to take you shooting,” he adds deliberately, “at the Academy range. I got my license to shoot before the Tour, so…why not?”
“Seriously?” I look at him in surprise, feeling somewhat flattered by his offer. “We’re actually going to do something fun?”
“It’s better than wandering out in the middle of nowhere amongst a bunch of night-hunters, right?” he chuckles light-heartedly.
“You said it, not me,” I finish the joke for him. “Besides, it’s about time we did something different.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like the Clover I used to know,” he grins, sitting up from his supine state on the bed.
Not this again.
“Stop right there,” I charge at him, clenching my fingers into a bludgeon-like unit. “I thought I told you to drop the pet names a long time ago.”
“I know,” he chortles playfully. “I’m just glad to see you climbing back into your old skin again. Besides, a stressed Clove isn’t a pleasant Clove to be around.”
“That‘s not true,” I argue, placing my knuckles next to the side of his face. “I am who I am and I’m not going to change any time soon, so you better get used to it, punk.”
“I know,” he answers willingly. “I also think that you get your mind off that child for a little while.”
Maybe he’s right this time. Maybe I am over-thinking this whole thing.
“Alright,” I respond somewhat hesitantly. “I’ll go with you if you make an effort to avoid making me play doctor with you again. I’m not a physician’s assistant and I never will be.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he beams with delight. “Just know that I can’t make any promises with that one.”
“You’d better try,” I warn him, letting a slight frown form on my face. “I’m not inclined not to accept your invitation because of everything that went wrong the last two times we tried.”
“If at first, you don’t succeed,” he chimes in almost perfectly on cue, subtly grinning.
I don’t even bother to finish the cliché for him. I continue to stare him down as derisively as I usually do when he decides to act like an idiot or a jerk in front of me, which is almost all the time.
“This isn’t a time to get philosophical on me,” I complain, crossing my arms in disdain. I’m not impressed by his attempt at a lame joke at all.
“Fine,” he gripes like a toddler. “I just wanted you make to laugh.”
“Nice try,” I critique him directly. “Maybe next time.”
“So…is it a date or what?” he questions me, trying to fill in what would be another awkward silence between us.
“Fine,” I reluctantly accept his offer, “but only because I don’t have anything else to do for the time being.
“Be sure to meet me at your front door a week from today after the sun goes down,” he explains, letting a small amount of enthusiasm show on his face. “I’ll pick you up myself. You won’t regret it.”
“I guess I’ll see you later,” I answer dispassionately, waving him goodbye and leaving him alone in his room to recover.
**********
I decide to get out and purchase a shiny new dartboard before going back home for the rest of the day.
**********
As I return home, an unexpected though blindsides me out of nowhere: I think Cato’s starting to come around.
No, he hasn’t really changed that much. He may have his “attractive moments,” but I still think he’s just as block-headed as he was before the Games started.
I do, however, that that he decided to man up yesterday afternoon after the talk we had. I could be wrong. Knowing him, I’m not that optimistic about him having a life-changing epiphany at the most desirable time possible.
After setting up the new board in my room and tossing a few knives at the bull’s eye, it occurs to me that he was right about something: I DO need to clear my mind for a little while.
I’d still appreciate it if he finally decided to step off the pedestal he thinks the Capitol put him on top off. If anything, they took us off that pedestal when they made us go on tour for two weeks. We’re victors—we had no reason to flaunt ourselves in front of innocent people.
I’m just glad that it’s over.
However, I’m not ready to have a child of my own. Cato and I both made mistakes.
I’ll try to figure something out in the next few days. There’s no other way to go but forward.
I will admit one thing, though—I’m stoked to go shooting.
**********
After a few days of flip-flopping back and forth about some of life’s most challenging questions, a knocking noise finally emits from the landing at the bottom of the stairs. That can only mean one thing: we’re going shooting for the first time.
I don’t even bother putting on any extra makeup or eyeliner because appearance doesn’t really matter tonight. This time, it’ll be just like old days—the days that Cato and I used to fight each other out of the need for superiority. I really wish those days would come back, now more than ever. Things were easier when winning the Games meant everything in the world to me.
I step outside to greet Cato in the usual non-verbal manner—no flowers, no chocolates, no hugs, no kisses, none of that emotional stuff. It’s perfectly fine by me, because I don’t need expensive gifts from him to feel valuable. It'll be just like training together all over again.
“Well, Clove?” He starts, getting straight to the point. “Are you ready to go?”
“As long as you have the range booked for the night,” I answer back promptly. “We should’ve done this a long time ago.”
“Then stop talking and follow me,” he orders brusquely, motioning me in his direction. “It wasn’t easy for me to book the place again after what happened last time.”
“Look, just forget your excuses and get going already,” I whine in annoyance, feeling more than eager to get started.
He immediately complies with my demands and leads the way.
**********
Apparently, Cato already set everything up for our little rendezvous this evening. He places a small pistol in my hand not long after shutting the door behind us.
“Don’t worry about the technical stuff,” he blandly instructs, tossing me some ear guards and giving me the most minimalistic safety de-briefing he possibly can. “I think you know what to do and what not to do, so if you shoot yourself, don’t come crying to me for help because my name isn’t Cato and I don’t know you.”
“Got any last words before I take the first shot?” I chuckle knowingly back at him, feeling my focus shift downrange towards one of the targets hanging from the ceiling.
“I gave you a loaded gun,” he explains plainly. “Since I’m not going to take responsibility for whatever trouble you might get me in, the only thing I want you to do is be careful.”
“I’m way ahead of you,” I snicker back at him, placing the ear guards around my head and pointing the barrel of the gun downrange and pulling the trigger, letting the loud boom of the explosion engulf the entire range.
To my surprise, the recoil from the first shot generates enough force to push me backwards by a few steps. I’m genuinely surprised—that was a small gun. I guess I’m just not used to it yet.
I really hope Cato didn’t see that one. That was just plain embarrassing.
I turn to my immediate right to find him leaning against the wall, staring me down in his usual way.
I really hate it when he gives me that look—the look he gives me when he knows he’s done something wrong but completely refuses to admit that he’s at fault at all. To make matters worse, he can’t hide the fact that he’s completely unable to stifle the giggles at all. The smirk on his lips looks more detestable than it ever has before.
I remove the ear guards from my head and prepare to teach him a little lesson about what can happen when he deliberately pisses me off.
“Do you have anything better than to just sit there and gawk at me when I do something that I didn’t want you do see in the first place?” I snap at him, forcing him to look me straight in the eyes with his unusually giddy expression.
“You know what?” he answers, trying to hold back his laughter. “I don’t, because that was funny the first time around. Watching you stumble over and nearly fall like that.”
“You’re pushing it,” I growl at him, trying to make my point clear.
“I’ve got another idea,” he chimes in, completely oblivious to my emotions. “Why don’t you let me chop your head off so I can see how long you long you last and count how many times you crash into the wall before you bleed to death?”
That was not funny. Even if he’s joking, it still sounded like a serious threat to me.
I immediately point the loaded pistol right at his chest without thinking about the consequences of my actions.
“Woah there, Clover,” he cries out of surprise, raising his hands in the air. “You’d better put that thing down before you do something stupid.”
“You’d better take your little comment back,” I threaten him. “You know that I’m not a chicken and that I don’t like it when you use me as a means of comedic relief.” I can practically see the pupils of his eyes dilating with fear.
He starts to realize that he doesn’t have that kind of control over me. His tricks and treats can make him look charismatic enough to turn Capitol audiences into mindless zombies, but he can’t possibly sway me with his “baby-eyes” and “prissy little pretty-boy” methods.
“Alright, I’ll stop!” he whines, subtly letting a small amount of emotion show in his eyes.
I decide to show him mercy today, so I turn the pistol back at the target and fire without hesitating. I guess he decided to shape up before I decided to ship him out of here.
“You’re lucky I decided to turn away from you,” I warn him, turning back around to face him. “You may find yourself in the line of fire if you deliberately make me look like a fool again.”
“Fine,” he gripes, pouting like a child. “I was just having fun.”
“Whatever, dude,” I groan back at him rather dismissively.
Cato returns back to his station and leaves me to have all the fun to myself. Just the way I like it. No disturbances, no rude faces, just uninterrupted me time.
I’m really getting tired of having to teach him the same lesson over and over again.
**********
After Cato and I manage to settle another one of our usual one-on-one skirmishes, I finally learn how to handle the recoil of the handgun without losing my balance. I have to admit—it took some effort to get used to it.
But I don’t really care. If I can make things work in the arena, I can definitely do it again now.
As I start to lose myself and my attention span in the thrill of wielding a gun for the first time all over again, a series of short, loud blasts emits from one of the stations next to me. I can almost feel the empty shells rhythmically flying outwards, dancing in succession with one another as they clink on the floor.
I lock the safety on the pistol in my hand, set it down and lean in the direction of Cato’s station. As I would’ve guessed, he’s unloading a full magazine of ammunition on one of the targets.
There is definitely something wrong with this picture.
How come he gets the submachine gun and I'm stuck with a lowly pistol?
Just because he has “employee privileges” doesn’t mean that he should be able to hog all the fun to himself.
I want a turn. Right now. I don’t intend to play the lowly role of the spectator in this situation.
I instinctively tap Cato on the shoulder from behind before he gets the chance to refill the magazine in the awesome-looking rifle hanging from his waist.
“Hey, I want to try that,” I barge in to his station, cutting him off from whatever train of thought he’s having at the moment.
“Really?” he taunts, as if he’s trying to hide something. “Why?”
“Just give me the gun and let me have some of the fun for once,” I demand, getting straight to the point.
“Clove,” he continues, “I-“
I’m not waiting for him anymore.
I snatch the rifle out of his hand and grab one of the magazines from his station before I lock the new one in place and unload the entire stream of bullets down the line of the range without taking much time in between. I can’t be bothered to aim at something. Those targets aren’t very strong, anyway.
To my amazement, the sensation of ripping the automatic weapon out of his hands sends an overpowering rush of adrenaline through my entire body. Not only did I finally manage to physically manipulate Cato, I also managed to show him what happens when he stands in the way of whatever I want.
Taking the gun from Cato gave me a newfound feeling of power. It’s a sensation of power over not just him, but over myself as well. It makes me feel like an empowered bad-ass once again. I didn’t even feel any recoil this time around. It felt even better than showing up the other tributes before the Games.
Besides, the sweet scent of smoke left over from the muzzle flare makes this whole scene perfect in almost every way possible.
Come to think of it, he still hasn’t taken the gun back just yet. Oh well, that’s his loss—it just means more fun for me.
“Wow, Clove,” he chirps at me from behind me in a rather rude, sarcastic tone. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that little stunt was?”
“Excuse me, mister,” I turn around to ridicule him back, “but I don’t care what you say or what you do. I get a point for that one, no matter how hard to try to spin the outcome of the situation into your favor.”
“I’m sorry,” he complains, letting his frustration show, “but I wasn’t aware that we were competing for something. Would you mind telling me what game we’ve been playing this whole time?”
“Fine,” I respond both perkily and dauntlessly at the same time, knowing that I’m going to school him. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re playing the game where you let me win all of our matches.” I grin at him almost teasingly with the intention of riling up his attitude.
“Clove, I’m sorry, but in what world do I let you win every time?” he retorts, crossing his arms derisively.
“Blah blah blah, whine whine whine,” I mimic him in a bad impression of his own voice. “Stop complaining. You always hog all the fun to yourself.”
“You can have all the fun you want,” he asserts himself. “No one’s stopping you. But you should at least let me know in advance if you want to use a dangerous weapon before impulsively snatching it out of my hand.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” I tease him back and stick my tongue out at him. “I can do whatever I want, so shut your mouth and let me have a turn for once.”
“Whatever, Clove. Have it your way. But don’t come crying on my shoulder if you have an accident because you forgot to lock the safety lever in place,” he groans unenthusiastically, dismissing himself from the conversation and taking his place at the other station where I left the pistol from earlier.
As I pick up the assault rifle and spray a flurry of bullets downrange, a relaxed, victorious smile forms on my lips, knowing I came out triumphant in this round. I haven’t been keeping score since the day we met, but I’m glad that I got at least one point against him today.
**********
After emptying a few magazines, I set the automatic weapon down to take a quick breath.
I’m glad that Cato remembered how badly I wanted to do this a few months ago. This is the most fun I’ve had in a really long time.
I can go to sleep tonight knowing two things: the first being that we can do this again at any time; the second being that Cato has a sensible side to him. At least he’s willing to step aside and let me have my “me time” when I need it most.
I guess I’m just a little too stressed out for my own good.
Suddenly, something taps me on the shoulder from behind. I turn around to face Cato, who, to my surprise, doesn’t try to take the gun back, even after I stole it from him.
“C’mon, Clove,” he gently orders. “Let’s call it an evening.”
“Why?” I challenge him in denial. “I was having fun.”
“We can’t risk using up the entire weapon storeroom in one night,” he explains plainly. “I’m already in enough trouble with the staff here as it is.”
“I don’t care,” I protest. “I don’t want to leave yet.”
“Clove, we may not be able to come back here again if we make too much of a mess,” he warns me. “If I can’t get in here, then you can’t either. Do you want to do this again or not?”
Oh great.
I don’t know what to do. If I ignore him, he’ll never bring me back here. If I listen to him, we leave. Knowing that I lose the game either way, I simply take a few deep breaths and stupidly stand in front of him, completely out of options.
Before I get the chance to take any action at all, he makes up my mind for me and hoists me over his shoulder by my waist.
“Hey! Put me down!” I scream at him, trying my best to drive the balls of my feet into his chest.
Cato says nothing. Instead, he locks my legs in place and hauls me out of the room, locking the door behind him before setting me down again.
“What’s wrong with you?!?” I boom at him in fury. “I was having fun!”
“Slow down, Clove,” he hurriedly pleads, wrapping his arm around my shoulder without my permission. “Can’t you calm down for just a few seconds?”
CATO’S POV
I immediately wrap my arm around Clove’s shoulder and place my hand over her mouth with the intention of shutting her up as quickly as possible.
As soon as she stops fighting my grasp, I pick her up bridal style and bring her as close to my face as possible. Then, I lean my back into a nearby wall and gently let my rear end ease slowly onto the floor. Clove’s screams continue blasting at full-force into my hand, but I still can’t understand a word she’s saying.
“Breathe, Clove,” I gently purr in her ear before removing my hand from her face as I continue to cradle her like a baby with my other arm.
“I AM SICK AND TIRED OF YOU MANHANDLING ME LIKE THAT!” She booms at me. “IF YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN JUST DO THAT TO ME WHENEVER YOU WANT TO, THEN-“
Before I give her the chance to scream the rest of the air out of her lungs, I lean in towards her face and begin kissing her on the lips—just to get her to shut up.
She squeals in frustration for a few seconds before she realizes what’s happening.
She stops hyperventilating and ceases in fighting me.
CLOVE’S POV
I can’t fight Cato any more. I don’t feel like shoving him away. Not in this position.
Suddenly, the vixen in me that I thought had died before I was born comes back to life, making me feel more lustful than ever and leaving me craving more of Cato’s touch.
The last time he did this to me, he came on WAY too strong. I might have argued differently when it happened because we were on tour at the time. We were stressed, tired, and overwhelmed—it was inevitable after all of our failed appearances. However, it doesn’t feel overly aggressive this time around.
This time, it’s not too needy and it’s not too soft--it’s just right.
The delightful sensation of his lips against mine drives me to snake my hands around his neck, but he pulls away from me before I get the chance to really savor his taste, leaving me whimpering in my head out of frustration.
Cato’s probably thinking that I’m completely insane. I’m trying as hard as I can to look frustrated and angry—but I’m just too stunned to pull it off. I don’t think my face is doing a good job of showing him how I really feel right now.
I never thought it was possible to feel this way—stunned and physically starved at the same time.
“Relax, Clove,” he coos, gazing directly into my eyes. “I only did what I did because I want to be able to bring you here again.”
“Why’d you pull me away?” I challenge him; still stunned from the passionate moment we had a few seconds ago. “You could’ve asked me nicely.”
“Well…” he trails off rather ambivalently. “I guess I had an impulse.”
“You stinkhead,” I spit back at him. “I wasn’t finished yet.”
“Don’t worry,” he tries to reassure me. “If you really want to have one more go-around, you can have it.”
“Really?” I question him with a thrilled sense of surprise.
“Go ahead,” he answers politely. “I think a left an extra magazine in there.”
Cato releases me from his grasp. I stand up again and bolt towards the door leading to the firing range, only to find it locked when I try to open it.
As I begin to sense that Cato did something to trick me, I turn around to find him flaunting the key in his hand with a devilish grin plastered on his face.
“You…cheeky little devil,” I growl at him.
“You’ve had your fun,” he smiles rather fiendishly, placing the key in his pocket. “Now I get to mess with you.”
“Please don’t do this,” I plead, wanting nothing more than to discharge another clip of bullets at a target. ”You said I could have one more.”
“I didn’t say when you could,” he answers light-heartedly.
“Fine,” I concede in defeat, knowing that I have no way of pulling the key out of his pocket without doing something completely unethical. “Name your price.”
“Another date,” he answers, “of my choice.”
“You’re not blackmailing me, are you?” I grill him, hoping that he decides to get straight to the point instead of beating around the bush.
“No,” he answers plainly, “but if you want to know the score between you and me, I think you need to add one point to my total.”
“Stop bragging and tell me when you want to meet up again,” I grunt at him.
“Alright, then,” he answers rather deliberately. He thinks to himself for a few seconds before ending the period of silence between us.
“You got a nice dress?”
“Cato,” I complain, “I don’t want to go dress shopping.”
“Well, you need one where we’re headed,” he responds. “Besides, I can pick one out for you, if you like.”
“No thanks,” I scoff at him dispassionately. “I’d rather avoid the embarrassment of wearing something you picked out for me. I’ll just do it myself.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear,” he grins in delight. “I’ll pick you up a week from today sometime in the afternoon. If you aren’t ready to go by then, then we don’t have a deal.”
“This is blackmail,” I protest. “Don’t you have any alternatives?”
“No,” he answers. “I’ve taken the liberty of giving you the best possible option. I don’t think you want to deal with the other choices I have to offer.”
“Whatever, dude,” I scoff back at him. “Be selfish for all I care.”
“Sorry,” he teases sardonically. “No dress, no return dates here. Do we have a deal?”
“Fine, I’ll take it,” I concede in defeat, extending my hand in his direction. We promptly shake on it before he begins to back away from me.
“Then I’ll see you later,” he hollers to me before waving goodbye and leaving before I get the chance to criticize him again.
I only have one objective in mind at the moment: get some more time at the range.
The reality is, I’m stuck out here. Without the key to get in. In short, I need Cato to gain more access to fun time.
I guess I’m going dress shopping sometime in the next few days.
**********
After a few days of deliberation, I finally decided to go out and do some dress shopping—all by myself.
I’m glad that I decided to go alone, because I’m sick and tired of having the three blind mice armed with an arsenal of make-up brushes aimless scurry around me in complete circles—not to mention the big fat rat in charge of them.
Alright, Leonard’s not that bad. His taste in fashion and design comes in handy when I need it, but that only happens when there’s an official matter involved.
For once, I’m glad that I got the chance to pick out my own outfit. I selected something simple—a plain-looking purple dress. I know it’s nothing fancy, but I’d rather keep prepping to a minimum so I don’t have to waste time making decisions about something I don’t care about that much to begin with.
Not to mention that I really don’t like sparkles. Euugh.
They remind me of that pathetic blonde career from District 1.
Besides, I’m only doing this because Cato seemed vehemently opposed to letting me go shooting again if I didn’t agree to go with him on another date. He can deny it all he wants, but I’m still calling blackmail. Nothing can change my mind, no matter what kind of positive spin he puts on the matter.
**********
Come to think of it, I can’t help but notice that Cato was right about something—it was dangerous to rip the gun out of his hands.
But Cato was right about something else as well--I should’ve aborted the child as soon as I found out that we made a mistake and that I was pregnant.
If I’m going to have a child, I’d never want them learning the wrong thing from me. I wouldn’t want any kid of mine to get the idea the guns are toys. I’m not willing to risk it.
But...I still can’t bring myself to go through with such a risky operation. It feels too much like doing what my grandparents did to me.
If I have to keep this child, I’m not entirely sure that I’d want them training for the Games, despite my family’s legacy. Besides, my grandparents are mean people that only care about themselves and using the other victors as a means of flaunting their own power. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m prepared to do to them exactly what Father did—open defiance.
I can’t even begin to imagine what he went through when I left for the Arena.
I just wish that things could be easier. I wish that Cato and I could just slip away from the rest of the Victor’s circle and disappear into thin air so we could live our own lives as far away as possible from the influence of the Capitol.
But the fact is, I’m stuck here. The Capitol doesn’t let anyone cross district borders unless there’s an official matter involved.
Oh, what am I saying? I should just have an abortion and put this whole thing behind me.
**********
Cato told me that he’d be back in a week. He should be here at any moment now. I hope he has something interesting in mind for tonight.
If he wanted me to go out and buy a dress, then the attire can’t possibly be anything less than semi-formal. If he tells me to put on high heels, then he can learn what it’s like to get a stiletto-point shoved down his throat. I hated having to wear them during the tour and they make me feel like a paraplegic chicken walking on stilts—it just doesn’t work and it never will.
Besides, flats are enough compromise to begin with.
I even took the time to do my hair and face a little bit—all for a little more time test firing automatic weapons.
Long story short, I hope he keeps his word, because I didn’t go dress shopping and get myself prepped for nothing in return.
However, there’s still something notable about this whole thing. It might seem like blackmail at first glance, but there might be more to Cato and his diabolical ways that what meets the eye.
Even after everything that happened, there’s still something that I can’t forget, even to this day.
The way he kissed me. It seemed so…so…
…appropriate?
No, that can’t be right. I don’t know why he did it. Cato’s never been that much of a romantic, but I can’t help feeling that there might actually be something going on between us.
It’s not like the Games. Back then, we only did what we did because we only cared about ourselves. I’m pretty sure that both of us wanted nothing more than to claim our Victor’s privileges as soon as possible the instant we got home.
That kiss probably meant absolutely nothing to him. He probably did it just to shut me up. Either that or he found one of my few weaknesses, which could pretty much keep me from scoring any more points against him in our struggles for dominance over each other.
The reality is…that kiss really meant something to me. I don’t know or why it wouldn’t mean anything to him.
Now I’m really wishing that I tried to savor more of that one little moment in time.