promises • cato the hunger games

Twelve

I push my way through all the cameras and people, back down the corridor, past Violetta and the rest of them, and walk back to the elevator.

I take a deep breath and stare at the floor, willing myself not to cry. I thought I'd found a way to control everything, but that stupid interview brought everything flooding back.

I manage to stop the tears spilling and walk into the living room. I switch on the TV, hoping to catch the end of Cato's interview. I manage to flick to the right channel and see Cato's familiar smirk.

"So, Cato, we've already clarified that you're vicious and ready to go, and you're sure you'll have no problem winning," says Caesar.

Cato's smirk widens. I shake my head. He's made himself look as arrogant and big headed as ever. I hope they buy into it.

Wait, I hope? Do I want him to do good in the interviews in the games? I'm not sure.

"So Cato, will there be anyone special waiting for you when you get home?" asks Caesar.

For some unknown reason, I find myself leaning forwards to listen better.

Cato's smirk falters for a second or two. "Well, er, not really," he says.

Caesar laughs. "Really?" he says. "I don't believe that, handsome young man like you."

Cato shakes his head. "No, I've never really had time for that. Too much training." He pauses for a moment. "But..."

Caesar raises his eyebrows and his face lights up, all exited. The Capitol love a bit of gossip.  My heart starts thudding. Cato better not say what I think he's going to.

"But what, Cato?" asks Caesar.

"Well, there's this one girl I've had my eye on, and she knows who she is, but I don't think anything'll happen," he says, and I can't help noticing he seems a little sad.

"Rubbish," says Caesar. "How could she not like you?"

"I think she does, she just doesn't want to admit it."

"And why on earth would she not want to admit it?" asks Caesar.

"Because she knows it could never work," says Cato, staring at the floor.

"Why, Cato?"

Don't you dare, Cato, I think, don't you dare tell them.

He looks straight up, faces the camera, and says, "Because she came to the Capitol with me."

There are a few gasps from the audience, followed by applause. I switch of the TV and throw down the remote.

Well done, Cato, you've just made me look weak, not like a real competitor, just something a little more than an object. He's made me look like such a girl. Thanks a bunch.

I stomp into my room and throw myself on my bed. Why did he do that? I already looked weak as it is. He knows we can't have any kind of relationship, even if I did want one. Which I don't, do I? Do I? Maybe.

But there's no point in thinking like that. I'll be dead, probably tomorrow. He'll win, go back home, and marry some other rich career, like every other career who's won the games. I've got no chance.

Plus, I can't really trust him. He could just be softening me up to make it easier to kill me. Would he really do that?

I sigh and stand up, I kick of my heels and go in the shower. I reckon I've got about an hour and a half at least before they get back.

I pull on a pair of black pants and an oversized jumper. My hair's slightly damp still so it's kind of heavy, it's starting to make my head hurt. Or maybe it's Cato giving me the headache.

I go to the kitchen and get a mug of hot chocolate, and some painkillers. I go back to my room, realizing that there's nothing else to do. I try to get some sleep but fail. There's too much on my mind.

I end up sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor. It feels like I'm going to cry, but I'm not entirely sure why.

I must sit there for hours, but it only feels like minutes. I hear them all come back. I think they'll forget about me, but about fifteen minutes later there's a knock at the door. I ignore it.

"Penny? Are you awake?" asks Cato quietly.

"No," I say bluntly. "Go away."

I hear him sigh, and I think he'll just walk away, but he opens the door and walks in.

"Get out!" I yell.

He shakes his head and sits in the end of my bed. I get up and try to push him off, but obviously, it's a wasted effort; I may as well be trying to push down a brick wall.

"Go away, please, Cato. I don't want to talk to you right now."

"Tough."

"Fine then," I say, and I lean over and turn my lamp off and lie back down, pulling the duvet right over my head. I think he'll give up and go, but he rips the sheet off me.

I sit up, knowing he probably won't go until I've talked to him.

"Why did you say that in the interview?" I ask him.

"Because it was true," he says simply.

"No it wasn't," I lie.

"You know it was. Is."

I look at him. Then some weird happens. I start crying. I can't help it. I'm not even sure why, the tears just keep falling.

"Just go away, please," I tell him.

"Why're you crying?" he says, more gently now.

"I don't know. Everything's so confusing and messed up."

He moves closer. "What's confusing? I love you."