Into The Wilderness: A Hunger Games Story

9: No Exceptions

Cato's P.O.V.

I don't know what I was thinking. I really don't. Every part of me was just so confused. It's a different experience for me; being confused. I've always been so sure of what I'm doing, what I'm feeling. But Primrose Everdeen is the somehow only exception to that.

And to me, that's really special. Because there are no exceptions in my life. To anything.

I'm pacing back and forth in the tribute waiting room. I'm barely listening to Prim finish her interview because I'm so wrapped up in my own thoughts.

I run my hand through my hair as I start to think, Maybe-

Clove bursts in first yelling, "What the hell Cato?! What was that about?!"

I sigh, wondering if I should tell her.

Best to keep my issues to myself for now, I suppose. No one can know this.

"I was too hot. About to pass out. I need air. What's it to you?" I sneer.

By now, the rest of the tributes are filing in.

"We'll talk later," she hisses.

"No, we won't," I retort coldly.

Prim's walking shyly in right now with Bread Boy directly in front of her, almost like a bodyguard of sorts.

She keeps her gaze on his back, her cheeks still flushed, avoiding my eyes.

She walks right behind Peeta, ignoring me entirely. This infuriates me to no end. So, I push past her and take the two flights of stairs because I can't stand to be in an enclosed space with them right now.

I almost fly up the two flights of stairs and when I get to my temporary prison, I trash the place completely in a fit of anger and blindness of rage.

When Brutus, Enobaria, and the escort, Florrie Mae, walk in, they're completely floored. I wonder how shocked they must be, to see this brute of a tribute with blood on his hands, his face, his hair messed up from its usual spiky perfection. To see the ceiling fan hanging by a thread, which is now snapping and falling onto the glass coffee table with a satisfying crash. Enobaria flinches at the sound.

Clove starts in and bumps into the three of them, saying: "What the hell? What's wr-," and then she stops dead in her tracks.

"Cato," she whispers. "What the hell happened?"

The others are still speechless.

I look around the room, surveying the mess I had so gleefully created in my fit of blinding rage and frustration.

Instead of responding, I turn on my heel and walk briskly to my room and close the door, sinking down against it to the plush carpet.

Her angelic voice replays in my mind.

"It's complicated."

Then the wall I've built inside my mind over all these years collapses somewhere, and I break inside.