How to Regret

Chapter Two

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    "Cato!" a strangely familiar voice screeched. "Cato!"

    "I'm coming, Clove!" Cato shouted breathlessly, frantically looking around.

    Her voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, all at once. He'd never get to her in time - not in the state he was in, anyway. Both physically and mentally, he was a disaster. His dark jeans were splattered with mud, and ripped at the knees. The simple white v-neck shirt he had on was tattered, and caked in mud and dried blood - but he ignored that as he pressed on, running through the seemingly never-ending forest, trying to get to her.

    She was his everything. She was the reason he enjoyed waking up in the morning - and he couldn't let her get away - not again. Never.

    "Cato!" the voice called again, seeming ever-so-slightly closer, this time.

    All at once time seemed to stop, as the location changed and he was no longer in a forest - but in a blindingly white facility. Two hallways - one going east, and one going west. Her voice carried down both of them.

    "Why is this so hard?!" Cato growled, pulling at his hair. But he wasn't ready to give up just yet.

    Suddenly, she was right there.

    In front of him.

    "Clove..." he murmured, reaching out to caress her cheek.

    But she pulled away, grabbing his arm and pinning it to his back, holding it there painfully with one hand while she held a knife to his throat with the other. "Sorry, Cato, " she sneered. "You're weak. Too weak. And we all know weakness leads to death." She pressed the knife to his throat harder, making him cringe as the cold, cool metal almost broke through his skin.

    Cato didn't say anything. He didn't want to make a sudden move and have that knife end his life...but he knew he needed to do something - and fast.

    "Oh? A little quiet today, are we?" Clove mused, laughing slightly.

    Cato squeezed his eyes shut tight. "This is wrong, " he thought, "All wrong." Never in his life had he expected Clove to be so cruel to him - well, except for in the Games, of course but that was different...they were different now. At least, he thought they were.

    On impulse, he grabbed the hand which held the knife, and pulled it away from his neck, then spun her around so he now had her arm pressed up against her own back, like she had done to him only seconds before. "Clove, " he said, sounding exasperated. "I don't want to hurt you."

    "You're too soft, Cato, " she spat, trying to squirm out of his tight grip. "And that will be the death of you one day."

    Those words rang in his ears, echoing through his head, making him sick. That will be the death of you one day...that will be the death of you one day...that will be the death of you one day.

    "No!" he screamed into his mind.  "I'm not soft, I'm not weak. She's wrong."

    Only somewhere, deep inside, he knew she was at least partly right.

    He scowled, and made his grip tighter as an attempt to show her that her little mind tricks weren't going to work on him, but as soon as she yelped in pain, he relaxed his grip, only making her laugh once more. "Aren't you going to kill me?" she questioned, smirking. "Oh wait, you can't. You're. Too. Soft. Just like that Loverboy from the arena...what was his name again? Peeta? Oh yes. You're just like him."