A Knife in the Dark | ✓

Thirty Four

Dear Atala,

If you're reading this, I'm dead. That's probably not the best way to start a letter (it's probably clichéd, actually), but it's definitely true. I wouldn't be letting you read this unless I had died, and it hadn't been something natural. You're most likely reading this because I died in the Games.

I'm not exactly sure the specifics of what I'd told you before I died. A lot can happen in a year. Maybe we don't even talk. Maybe you hate me again. I don't know. (I hope you don't hate me. You're one of the few people willing to put up with my shit). Whatever I told you, I want to tell you this: to start, I want to say that I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for ever hurting you. I'm sorry because I know that you're going through hell right now, and I'm sorry that I know that you think you have to be strong for everyone around you. I hope you don't feel guilty about any of this—my death, no matter what the ultimate cause was, is not, and could not have been, your fault.

I don't want you to mourn me too much. Maybe that's selfish, saying that—part of me feels as though you never really liked me, you only put up with me, and so my death will be no big deal to you. I know that if you found out that I was even entertaining the idea, you'd hit me so hard I'd have to worry about whether or not I have a concussion. Mom would say I deserve it, if she knew about the fucked up shit that was in my head. She doesn't. Neither does Bell, and neither does Tiberius. My father doesn't know, Lars doesn't know, Lucius doesn't know. Clove and Jake have an idea of what I think, but they don't really know how bad it is. Saylee likes to ignore it. I think she doesn't want to believe that I could ever hate anyone as much as I hate myself.

Atala, you're the only one that's really seen it. You're the only one that's ever pushed back against me when I tried to push you away to protect you. It used to scare me. I used to worry that I'd snap and hurt you. I'm surprised I haven't yet. I hope I never do. I couldn't live with myself if I ever laid a hand on you in a situation that wasn't taking place in the Training Center on a mat.

There's so much I want to write here, but your mood today is sour at best, and you'll be here within the next half hour or so to drag my ass down to training. I don't even know what to say. What do you write to the girl that you're in love with? What do you say? This would be so much easier if I could say these things to your face, but I know that when I leave for the Capitol and for the arena that could be where I die, I won't remember anything I need to tell you. Or I will, but I won't be able to find the words to properly say it.

Nothing is more difficult than writing this. I know what to say, but I can't figure out how to say it. "I love you" doesn't feel like enough. It doesn't feel...I don't know, big enough? I don't think that makes sense. Does it? "I love you" doesn't fit. I love a lot of people. Of course, you're included, but what I feel for you is more. I should move on. Sentimentality isn't my thing. Neither is confessing. But that's because I can't use my words very well.

I don't want to go into the Games. Something's been telling me for a while that I shouldn't volunteer, that I should stay back. Something's been telling me that if I volunteer, if I enter that arena, something will go wrong. I won't come out of it alive. And that sounds absolutely ridiculous because how could I know, right? It's probably nothing. Definitely nothing. I'm losing my mind.

I want to talk to you about everything, but there's so much I'm afraid to say. I'm afraid of telling you how I feel about you. I'm afraid you won't feel the same. I'm afraid of volunteering, afraid of leaving you, afraid of dying. I'm afraid of myself. I'm terrified of my family finding out. I'm terrified of Saylee's reaction when she figures it out. I'm terrified of what Jake says. I'm afraid they'll look at me differently.

Mostly, I'm afraid of losing you. That sounds ridiculous, considering the fact that I'll be leaving next year for the Games and it won't be for another two years that you'll be going, unless you decide not to. That's the worst—the fear of losing you or Clove or Saylee or Jake or my family. I can't handle it.

I guess, since you're here now, I'm going to finish this. I'm sorry, Atala, okay? I'm sorry. I love you, and I'm sorry, and that's all I can think of to say.

Cato

P.S.--you're my strength, you know that, right? Without you, I don't think I would still be here. Thank you for that.