Clato: The Cost of a Broken Heart

Chapter 18

CLOVE

Scarlet was a beautiful young girl. She was supposed to turn nine in less than a month. I know everyone says the person who has died is special, but with Scarlet it is true. I remember chilly days spent in Cato's backyard, playing games with him and Scarlet. She was a happy, energetic kid, but behind that was a wisdom that usually comes with age. Even then, she was always smarter than me. Even then, she was special.

Now, she is dead. And it is all my fault.

What isn't?

I have caused Scarlet's death, Old Ella's disappearance. Possibly even the death of my parents. Cato is right, I destroy everything I touch.

Cato. Even when I had no one I convinced myself I had him. But I never did. All the caring things he has done, every time he saved me--it must have been fake. If it was real, Cato cannot feel the same way about me. Not after everything I've done. I'm poison. Although I know he hates me, although I know I shouldn't, part of me still wants to wake up beside him, to feel Cato's lips on mine. And that is why I hate myself even more.

I crash into my house, not even bothering to lock the door. Who cares if Favian gets me? Who cares about anything anymore? My very existence has destroyed everything I care about. The list of horrors keeps growing longer and longer.

My parents. Favian. The Games. Marvel. The Tributes I killed. Scarlet. Old Ella. Cato.

With every awful thing my breathing becomes harder. I scream as if it can make up for all the pain I feel. I never get a break. I never win. I never escape. My world has become an arena and I'm not sure it's a world I want to live in anymore.

This is a world where Favian rapes me. This is a world where I have nightmares of Thresh bashing my skull in with a rock. This is a world where not even Elise can be happy because Roni dumped her. This is a world where the only person who loved me threatens to kill me. This is a world without Scarlet. A world without Old Ella. This is a world where Cato hurts me and I want him back anyway--but I do not have Cato. I can NEVER have Cato. I remember the night before the games when Cato said, "Maybe in another life I could run over and kiss you but not this one. Never in this life."

Maybe it's time to end this life.

I pull my knives from their sheath on the kitchen counter. Wicked deadly silver. Like always, they call to me. They long for blood. I give it to them.

Every cut is a physical scar of my pain. It feels so good to finally hurt the person hurting the people I love. My blood stains the kitchen floor red.