❝ it is sometimes an
appropriate response to
reality to go insane ❞
──⭒─⭑─⭒──
In which an innocent girl finds herself
trapped in an arena with monsters and
her only hope is to claw her way out.
──...
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𝔈ver since we returned to the clearing, hovering under a large plateau of rock, it had been raining. Not the normal, light shower sort of rain, but thunderous downpours like we had in the winter back at home.
Cato and I stayed close together, him starting to heal the wounds that Clove's dagger had caused, and me because the guilt of killing Clove me didn't seem to really leave, no matter what I did. There's a clap of thunder, lightning racing across the sky as rain drips down onto the ground.
"They're trying to flush Peeta and Thresh out." Cato muttered, tilting my head to the side as he examined the cut carefully. "Get them to kill each other. Leave us to Foxface, or vice versa."
We fall silent, before I wince as he presses his finger to a steadily forming bruise.
"Sorry." He muttered, taking more care this time. His calloused hands are warm, much warmer than the air around us, and he treats the injuries with a care that I had never really pictured him to have. When he finished, his hand rested on my cheek, rubbing my cheekbone gently as I looked up at him. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
"I want to go home, Cato." I whispered, shaking my head. "I'm so tired."
"You'll get home, I promise." Cato nods, catching my eyes with his icy ones. I stare at him, at the determination that hasn't seemed to falter for a moment, not since I met him at least. I manage to smile. "I'll make sure of it."
"I want to go home now." I sighed, before leaning into his touch. "I miss it."
"Tell me about it then."
"I miss the farm." I told him, smiling at the thought of the ramshackle buildings and large fields. "You know, we have over 150 cows at this moment, or at least there were last time I was home. I named each and every one of them."
"You remember all of their names?" Cato laughed, leaning beside me as I began to steal his body heat.
"Of course. When you call them in for milking, you call them in by their names." I explained, before laughing. "I have a favourite. We called her Cream Cheese, because she was cheese coloured and her milk was always creamy. I refused to let my father get rid of her when she stopped producing milk."
"Cream Cheese?" Cato laughs again at that, a warm laugh that in turn, makes me giggle. I like it when he laughs, he looks so much younger than the arena has made him out to be. He seems like a teenager.
