Gladiators -- Clato

-Staying Together-

hey yall, sorry about the long period of no update. I've hard the worst writers block recently, I hate everything I put down on paper and to be honest I really think this chapter isn't my best work, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway! Working on the next chapter now, let me know what you think of this one!

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Cato barely has time to speak before my first knife whizzes past his face, missing him barely. When he looks back at me, his eyes are wide in disbelief.

But he draws his sword. Cato is no fool. He's panting, A dangerous fury in his expression. He knows why I'm doing this.

"I'm sorry!" I scream, sending my second knife flying fast his leg. It tears a hole in his pants as the tears leap from my eyes.

"You don't wanna fucking do this," Cato roars as he swings his blade down on me. I dodge his blow just barely, squealing in fear as i feel the gust of air from it. He's not aiming to kill me; I know that much.

"I have to!" I shriek, pausing for just a second to stare at him with the third knife in my hand. "You know why!"

Cato spits on the ground and grits his teeth. "Fuck you," He growls.

He drops the sword, and just walks away, paying me no heed. I'm standing there, trying to calm the whirling demons in my head. What have I done?

"Cato!" I screech, running towards him with a fiery conviction. "Stop! I'm sorry!"

"Shut up," His voice is so devoid of emotion that it stops me in my tracks. "I don't know what the hell that was, but I want nothing to do with it."

"I-"

He turns toward me, and I choke on my words. His eyes are so dark they look almost black. I recognize that look on his face now, that same rage that came over him back when we used to fight in the training center.

"It's for the best," he spits.

I'm just about to say something when the loudspeakers crackle to life. For a moment my heart drops, and I think they're going to call off the rule change. I bet they're dying to see me and Cato slaughter each other right here and now.

"Attention tributes," says Claudius Templesmith. "I have an announcement to make. We are announcing a feast, taking place tomorrow at the Cornucopia. Some of you may already be declining this invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something, desperately."

I bite the inside of my cheek. Cato and I are good on food, weapons, everything we really need. But then I realize what they're giving us as Templesmith continues on about the rules of the feast and encourages to show up.

"Body armor," I say.

"Yeah," Cato mutters dully.

"Cato, we have to work together for this," I say desperately. "I'm sorry, I lost myself. It won't happen again."

He raises his eyebrows disbelievingly. "You lost yourself?" He says condescendingly. "You mean you tried to kill me."

"Cato, the rule change-"

"Oh, yeah? why's it so important for us to work together, then?" He snarls. "Tell me, Clove. I'd love to know."

The fury at his ignorance starts to annoy me. "Don't be arrogant," I hiss. "You know for a fact that if they revoked the rule change you wouldn't hesitate to slaughter me."

"Would I?" He asks. His voice is much lower now, lips pressed in a thin line. "You think I would?"

"We both want that crown, and you know it," I reply coldly. "We have our reasons. Feelings can't get between us." I grit my teeth, struggling to keep the tears down. "I never should've..."

"Never should have done what?" Cato's face is gaunt, begging me to finish my statement. "Say it."

"I never should have let us get close," I finish.

He smirks icily. "You know what?" He asks, a slight crazed lilt in his voice. "I should have just continued to hate you."

These words dig deep into my heart, but the pain only makes my defensive anger worse. "You can't hurt me," I spit.

Cato laughs, and the sound sends chills down my spine. "What a joke. Clove, you are the easiest person to hurt," He mocks. 

I bite down on my tongue until I taste blood. The clearing is extremely quiet, just the two of us, using our words like throwing knives. I look into Catos eyes and see absolutely zero emotion. Just hate. I wonder if that hate is reflected in mine.

"either way, One of us is winning this thing. I don't care what it takes." I hold his angry gaze, unblinking. "We are going to that feast tomorrow."

"That implies we're staying together," Cato growls.

"We are."

"Why?"

"Like it or not, it gives us the best chance of emerging victorious," I say. "Whether it's you or me."

He snorts. "Fine, whatever. But you keep your fucking hands off me."

I don't know what to say to this, so I just nod. Cato then goes and picks his sword back up, ambling back in the direction of our camp. He's packing up our supplies.

"Where are we moving?" I ask.

"Somewhere that's not near the Cornucopia," He grunts. "Come help."

I stalk over to the makeshift camp, grabbing some pots and pans, and stuffing the ripped pieces of sleeping bag into my backpack. I wait until Cato has packed up all the items and follow him as we move to the west side of the Cornucopia clearing.

The silence between us is hostile, uncomfortable and glaring. It's such a difference, I think, from the previous few days, where it seemed we couldn't get any closer.

I look at him, and all the hurled insults suddenly weigh on me. This is something I doubt we can fix. And even though I hate it, I know that we must stay together as long as we can.

We finish setting up our camp by sundown. Cato sits down nearly seven feet away from me, picking on a rabbit bone as he fiddles with a blade of grass at his feet.

I desperately want to break out silence. I want him to look up, just so I can see that that terrible darkness has left his eyes.

He eventually does lift his head, looks at me pensively, and I feel my chest ache with the effort of staying angry.

I don't see the blackness in his eyes anymore, and it relieves me. But it's replaced by something new, and arguably more upsetting. His blue eyes are clouded, unfocused. He looks lost, almost. I want to reach out, touch his hand, but instead I say nothing.