𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔯 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 - Clove and Cato/Clato

II

"Get up," my father scowled, interrupting my slumber. I sighed and sat up. Another day. I changed my clothes but put on the same coat I wore yesterday and the day before. My hair was in a braid from the night before, and I decided to keep it. The sun had yet to rise, as it normally does by the time of my awakening. I felt my cheek, and it was less sore than yesterday. As I glanced in the cracked mirror, I noticed the bruise was still there. Good. Father says that blemishes make me look tough. That's why he does what he does.

My father went about his usual routine, but before he went out the door, he said something. "Make sure you eat. Victors can't be frail and breakable." I nodded in response. It was evident that my lack of eating habits was beginning to become more noticeable. I could not bring shame to the Kentwell name with a body like mine. People would think I was from a poorer district, like twelve. He had prepared some kind of stew for me. I wasn't sure what the ingredients were, but I knew it would be rich in protein; it always was. He needed me to be strong, mentally and physically.

I grabbed a piece of bread for later and broke it apart as I headed out the door, forcing a small bite before training. The air was cooler than usual, and I found myself wondering if the blond-headed boy would be at the academy. He never trained this early before, and I bet he never realized that I did either. I wasn't even sure if he even knew my name. Sure, we were practically raised together in the academy, but he was a year older than I with a different set of skills. It didn't matter, though. Whether we were raised together or not, the fact still remains that I do not wish to have any personal relationships with anyone. Even my own father was cold and distant. I was raised to show no attachment or remorse. I have seen people I grew up with in the academy die in the games, and I didn't shed one tear. This part of me will surely be beneficial in the games.

When I opened the door, the lights were already on, and I could hear grunts and hits coming from the dummies.

"Later than usual," the blond boy said as I made my way to the bench. I nodded in response, and he continued his training.  As I went to pick up my knives, he spoke again. "Are you actually going to volunteer?" He asked. I shrugged, not exactly knowing what he wanted as a response. Whenever it came to verbal interactions, I had always tried my best to respond to what the other wished. "Drop the act," he said in a threatening tone. He began walking toward me, somehow causing me to tense up preparing for a fight. "Stop thinking about what people want to hear. Tell me what you really think."

I was slightly taken back. I wasn't sure what he meant by that. Was he implying that I only respond to tell people what they want to hear? Well, in a way, this assumption was correct. I had to do it constantly with my father if I wanted to go a day without being hit. "I don't know what you mean," I replied, nonchalantly. Trying to avoid any further accusations, I picked up my knives again and began to throw, ignoring his presence.

He simply scoffed, and I could almost hear the blatant eyeroll. "Whatever," he mumbled, making his way back to the dummies. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, watching as he aggressively began stabbing. It didn't make sense to me why after all these years, he finally started talking to me again. I would have figured that he wouldn't wish to form personal relationships with anyone, either. The only time I saw him socialize was with trainers or when he needed something from someone.

7:30 made its way back and on schedule, Malachai comes through the door again and signals for Cato. The boy nods and follows him into the private training room again. Once they were gone, I shook my head in disbelief at the special treatment this boy was receiving. I knew his parents had more money than the average district two citizen, so they were probably pushing for him to receive better training. Like my father, I wouldn't be surprised if he was persuaded to volunteer this year. Any parent in district two would kill to see their child victoriously bringing pride to our district.