A Thousand Years. (A Clato Fan Fiction) {Editing}

Chapter 6 "Private Sessions" {Edited}

Clove’s PoV

Private sessions is the thing I’ve been looking forward to the most. I am neither nervous nor excited; I am confident and I know Cato and I will be at the front of the leader board. We have to be. My goal is to get 10 as my score, since 11 or 12 is impossible and anything under that in unacceptable. They put us in order from districts, male first, so I’ll be going fourth. Marvel jumps up, excited to show off his spear-throwing skills. I wish him good luck, not that he’ll need it or anything. He’s really skilled and has a lot of accuracy when he’s throwing. I know he’ll do well; at least better than Glimmer. I don’t see Marvel leave when Glimmer is called up.

“Break a leg,” I mutter and she flicks her hair while striding to the room. I hope she practiced with the bow and arrow; she didn’t do very well before. If I could give advice to her, I’d tell her to use the dagger. While nobody is looking, I grab Cato’s hand and squeeze it.

“If only I could kiss you,” he whispers.

“Me too, Cato, me too.” I sigh. “Good luck.”

His eyes are determined when our hands aren’t in contact anymore. He walks to the door and doesn’t take a glance back at me.

Time goes too slowly for once. I am left fiddling with my fingers, wondering how Cato is going. My heart yearns for him in my arms. I stare down at the other tributes, suffering the same way I am. Thump, thump, thump. Cato should be done by now. It shouldn’t be taking this long. I squeeze my eyes tightly for the desire of time to go by faster. My head against my knees, I am finally called. Cato isn’t there to walk by me. Everyone has their eyes on me; I hear some snickers and comments about my size. I decide to ignore them and walk to the selection of knives.

“I am Clove Sevina, District 2.” I feel the blades against my fingertips, knowing which one will hit the target fast enough and with a lot of accuracy. In the end, I have six knives of different sizes and shapes, which I have carefully chosen. I don’t know how I can do that, I just can. A target pops up and catches me off guard, making my reflexes swing my arm. The knife stabs the target where the neck would be. Everyone applauses and that doesn’t distract me. Even if that shot would be fatal, it wouldn’t make you die instantly. I throw the next knife by instinct, without the target even popping up. It hits it where the forehead would be. Everyone claps again. I spin so my elbow cuts through the air and three knives shoot out of my hands at the three targets. One more knife left. The final target speeds towards me, moving side to side rapidly. I focus on the heart of the target and throw my knife to the left, when it is moving to the right. Everyone applauses and cheers. I give a little bow and exit the room as fast as I can.

My anxiety burns in my mind. What score did I get? Did I do any good? I don’t care less what the other tributes got though, except if they got a higher score than me. With a ding, the elevator doors open to an empty room. The only people around are the Avoxes. It’s filled with silence; even my footsteps are inaudible. I wonder where Spectra, Brutus and Enobaria are. Cato’s door is closed and I decide not to disturb him because he might be asleep. The thought of that makes me yawn. I go to my room and lay at the edge of the bed until I fall asleep.

My bedroom door bursts open with Brutus standing there.

“Come on, get up. Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay,” I say and sluggishly roll out of bed. My body feels like it’s been wrapped in chains, also dragging a ton of metal. Everyone is already eating; their faces joyful with no worries, even Cato’s. Steam fills the air with the delicious scent of a mixture of different flavours. More Avoxes arrive with servings of food. I continue to drag my body across the room to the seat next to Cato. Once I sit down, I place my head on the table. Cato rubs my back and asks me if I’m okay. I respond with a groan. The scores are aggravating me. I need to know what I got, and what Cato got. It is his best chance of survival. Enobaria checks the time furiously as she eats. The stylists enjoy their meal at their own pace.