FUTILE DEVICES | clato

SEVEN

School seems to drag on the next day.

I move robotically from class to class, stopping in the bathroom every now and then to make sure the foundation covering my bruising is still there.

It's not until the end of the day, as I'm walking outside to leave, that Cato finds me.

"Hey," he nods.

As much as I want to talk to him, I can't.

Physically. Words will not come out of my throat, and I don't want to risk him hearing how strained my voice is.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye while continuing to walk forward. He follows behind me.

"What's up?" he asks.

His voice begins to aggravate me.

He follows behind me almost the entire way home. Finally, he pleads, "say something."

"Okay," I turn to face him. "Shut the fuck up."

I don't mean to snap at him, but with everything going on it just comes out.

Cato wrinkles his eyebrows. "Someone's got an attitude," he scoffs.

I shrug. "Are you gonna follow me home or something?"

This sentence is the one that reveals the true state of my voice: raspy and strained.

"What's up with your voice?" he asks. Perfect timing.

"I'm sick," I lie.

"You should probably drink some tea or something."

Jesus, can he stop having a response to everything I say?

"Shut up! Please! I don't want to fucking talk to you!"I shout. My throat instantly hurts, and I instantly want to take back my words.

Cato stops walking, freezing in place.

I stop as well.

He walks slowly over to me, eventually standing right in front of me. His muscular, tall body seems to tower over me. He lowers his voice to a throaty whisper.

"Talk to me that way again and I'll kill you myself."

Then he's gone.

The sobbing begins as soon as I lock myself in the confines of my room.

Crumbling on the floor next to my bed, I bury my face in my hands and start wiping the tears away. Neither of my parents are home from work yet, so I can be as loud as I need to be.

I begin rocking back and forth, trying to calm myself. It doesn't work, and my breathing grows faster and faster.

I wish I was dead.

Everything good that comes into my life, I fuck up.

I push everyone away.

I'm better off dying in the games like everyone wants.

These are all thoughts that race through my mind as the sobs escape my lips.

I stay like this for a long time, hunched over on the floor.

Finally, I make myself stand. Then I see Cato's shirt and pants on my bed. My heart drops. I probably need to give them back to him. And apologize.

It's currently 3, and my parents don't get off work until 7, so I leave for Cato's house, knowing I'll have enough time to return before they get back.

As I'm walking through the kitchen, I spot a note on the dining table.

'Called me into 1. Be back in two days. -Dad'