Career Love: A Clato Fanfic

Chapter 1

My long ponytail quickly dampens by my glistening sweat. I've been training nonstop, harder than I've ever. Tomorrow is the reaping and there's a frightened tension in the air. Even in the fearless Career districts. Two children will be forcefully taken from their families to fight to their deaths in a savage arena- but there will surely be at least one volunteer. There always is.

The children in District 1, 2, and 4 train for the Games starting at age twelve and all the way to eighteen. It's technically not allowed, but the Capitol doesn't take much notice of it. We have our own trainers- provided we can afford one, in an academy. I am only in the academy because my trainer Leilah took pity on me— although she claims it's of my skill with knives, not because I am wealthy. I live in the poorer region of District 2; where the men have to sharpen the dull ends of blades and the women do their best to make darts. The Capitol doesn't even take the weaponry we make. It's useless like the people who make it as the richer say.

I throw a long and serrated knife at one of the moving targets. I feel calm when I have the weapon in my hands. Like I have a certain fragment of power that I shall never withhold.

Besides me, there's only one person in the room. Leilah has already left and I'm simply training extra. His name is Cato. He's tall for his age and has thick, sandy-blonde hair that glows in sunlight and cold icy blue eyes. I already know that his weapon of choice is the sword, which he's very skilled at. He's a year older than me and has much more experience. I only know that much about him and I'll never know more. We don't acknowledge each other, we don't talk to each other, nor do we face each other. This is the closest we have ever been since the incident.

It was late May and school had just finished. The schoolchildren were eager to leave, maybe train a bit, eat dinner afterwards and help their parents make the weapons. It was only I that didn't want to return home. I dreaded that my family would starve, or the Peacekeepers throw us out of our own home.

I walked fast, the rich kids were trailing  behind me. Probably to gloat and sneer at my wealth. It's a popular sport that they often play when one needs amusement. I glanced my head back quickly to see the ringleader. It was Cato, but of course I didn't know his name back then. Now, now it is burned into my memory and flesh, never dying out.

"So, Clover, what're you doing tonight?" he asked casually, as if we knew each other well. I didn't even know how he knew my name.

I didn't respond, it would have lead to more trouble and my mother and father did not need that at that moment. We were already going through harsh stages of poverty.

"Well, sweetheart?" he questioned sweetly, venom hinted inside.

I ignored him.

"Oh, ignoring me now aren't you?"

I ignored him again.

Before I knew it, Cato was on top of me. And it isn't exactly fair when a boy who is a year older than you, who can eat as much as he desires, is a hundred pounds more than you, and is toppled over you.

His soft nutmeg and cinnamon scent filled my nose, I have never smelled anything so lovely. But I was not going to fall for that. He has a short knife in his hand, around the size of my ring finger. He circles my face with the sharp blade.

"Are you going to be a good girl and tell me what you plan to do this evening, Clover?" he cooed mockingly while he waved the knife.

I didn't answer, letting my eyes show no fear, but instead amusement, playing along.

He slashed a small cut above my eyelid and blood trickled into my closed mouth. I licked my lips, savouring the metallic tang. My fury won over.

I kicked his chest and he rolled over surprised, not expecting that move. I pinned Cato down with my worn boot and cut an identical wound he cut me. I watched the blood make its way down his flushed face. He was embarrassed, that much I could tell. His friends were watching with intensity. I heard one of them murmur something with the name "Cato". I figured it was his name.

"Well, Cato, aren't you going to tell me what you're going to do tonight?" I said mockingly, in the same tone as he just said to me. He didn't respond as I expected.

"Now, you leave me and the rest of the poor alone, do you understand?" I hissed. I have never used the term "poor" connected with me aloud. It stung.

Cato's eyes blared with hatred and I loosened the grip on him. I walked back home with no boy trailing me.

We keep ourselves to each other, pretending as if the other doesn't exist. I am perfectly fine with that, but Cato wants revenge. I embarrassed him in front of his friends and practically the whole school knows about it.

I lay my eyes off of Cato and grab six knives, sharpened at the ends and one accurate throw promised certain death. I face the moving targets and throw knife after knife with extreme accuracy and ease. They all land on bulls-eye. They always do, even when I'm not giving attention.

I hear the sound of footsteps coming close to me and wait for Cato to taunt as he did almost a year ago. But instead, he tugs my ponytail gently, causing me to whip my head around.
"Good job with those knives, Clover," he remarks, with that arrogant smirk he always wears. I notice he's still saying "Clover". Then he leaves the room, taking his training bag.

I do not know what that was for, a chance to entrance me, then get his revenge? I do not care, but his nutmeg and cinnamon scent is still clinging to my nostrils.
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How was that guys? Sowee if my grammar is bad, I'll try to fix it XD