Pierced Heart {A Cato Hadley Love Story}

One

Hi! So I wanted to do a book for Cato x OC and here it is! Enjoy! All author's notes will be in bold.  (I am trying to make this a bit original, so I will stray from the beaten path of the story in some places.) No one is perfect, even after editing, so please notify any mistakes I missed after proofreading. Advice and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism will be answered through message. Please feel free to comment your thoughts as well! I appreciate your opinions! I will post up to twice weekly. All characters belong to Suzanne Collins besides my originals. Okay, sorry for rambling and Happy Reading!

{}{}{}{}{}

"Pull the net! Up Sierra!" my father shouts at me, holding the opposite corner of the thickly knit fishing net. A plentiful amount of fish is hoisted onto the deck, and I brush the heel of my hand across my forehead. The humidity kills during this time of year, but so does the Capitol. I'm working harder than usual today. It is the reaping. The day where some lucky contestant gets randomly pulled from the jar of faceless names and is confronted the fate of an untimely death.

If I am going to be reaped, I'll have to leave my father and eight-year-old brother for these sickening 'Games,' I want to leave them with enough provisions to last. Yes, my father can take care of himself and my brother Henry, but I don't want to feel as if I left them with nothing if I somehow do get picked. I have always been this cautious before the reaping since my first year because of what had happened to my mother. 

"You better get home. Clean up and dress. We have to be in the square in an hour," he advises, adjusting his fisherman's hat. I nod at him. Kissing him on the cheek, I then grab the edge of our dinky boat and swing myself over into the thirty-five foot water. I hear Dad call my name, he has always told me to stop that. Why worry? All that's in these waters is sunfish and occasionally a very small bass.

The water feels refreshing as it cascades over my skin, and it's also the closest thing to a shower I'd be taking today. I'd leave the one warm shower for Henry or Dad. I have a sickeningly bad feeling about this reaping. This would be my fifth year in the drawing, but this time I have a worry-like knot in my stomach that hasn't left since I opened my eyes this morning.

I reach the shore and wring out my now drenched clothes and sopping hair as best I can. I start running toward my house located a half mile away. Henry's probably waiting for me. Within five minutes I'm walking in the loosely hinged door holding my sopping wet sandals. Our house is enough to keep a roof over our heads and warm in the winter from the flames in our fireplace. It's nothing too fancy or posh, but it is home. 

"H, I'm home!" I holler, then feel my favorite little boy's arms around my waist.

"Please don't go," he says. I could hear the tears dripping from his voice. He does this every year, though I can't blame him. The first time, I didn't know what to do. I simply picked him up and held him until he was convinced I'd be okay.

Henry loosens his grip earlier than usual and says something I thought he'd never speak of. 

"Do you miss Mom?" it's barely a whisper. We never speak of her; it always brings back the feeling of nervousness for the reaping.

Immediately tears pool in the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill. My mother had died in the Games. Seven years ago, before the age limit was changed to eighteen, it was twenty five. With my mother at twenty-four and Dad at twenty-six, she was eligible; he wasn't. Of course I told him the story when he asked, I can't keep secrets from him. But with Henry at one year old, he couldn't possibly remember her or her death. But I do.

I remember her kissing our foreheads before stepping behind the velvet rope of the twenty-five year-old section. I remember seeing her dark brown hair sway back and forth as she steadily mounted the stairs to the stage after her name was called. She didn't even enter extra times for tesserae- extra food from the District government in exchange for putting your name in more than one time. 

My father stayed speechless with Henry atop his shoulders and my child sized hands clutching his khaki pants. Mom stayed strong and dry eyed. Her first rule was to never admit your weaknesses to others. And all through those horrifying Hunger Games she held her own.

She survived into the top three tributes, up until a career, the illegally trained monsters raised to volunteer and win, from One sliced her throat. Oh, how I wanted to scream and cry and let it out. The one that had taken her life came in second. He got what he deserved.

I couldn't manage words there. My mother meant more to me than anything. I respond with a nod and pick him up. I carry him to his bedroom, the smallest in the house.

"Put on your slacks and striped button up. Take the shower when we get home," I say, forcing a smile and pull the squeaky door closed.

I yank the door to my worn room closed and wipe the tears away from my eyes. Sliding the dress from under my bed sheet, I inhale its scent. Somehow it managed lingered over all the years it's been under my blanket. She had always smelled of Vanilla and flowers.

Although we never knew how she had that particular scent, we all reeked of fish and saltwater here in District Four.

After the Games, they sent home her reaping dress. Ever since, I have slept with it under my bed sheet. I've worn it for two years now. My slender, muscular figure fit perfectly inside the silky sea-blue dress. It brushed my knees as I tied the black ribbon sewn around the waist. I love it, even though I only wear it for this terrifying occasion.

My blue flats and seashell necklace complete the ensemble as I tie my hair back into a loose fishtail braid.

"Hen, it's time to go." I walk into his room and find him fiddling with the top button.

"There. It's fixed," I say, putting the button into place and swinging him onto my shoulders.

{}{}{}{}{}

I blow a kiss and wave to Dad and Henry as I make my way to the verification table then the sixteen-year-old section of the square.

District Four's lunatic escort, Leta, was dressed up with seashells in her hair and more glued all over her discombobulated dress. "Before we begin, we have a special feature from the Capitol," she babbles. I tune her wretched, squeaky voice out.

Just get on with it, I think. Surprisingly, it finishes faster than usual and she is then pulling the slip from the ladies' bowl.

"We have our female tribute!" My palms begin to sweat crazily. "Sierra.... Hamilton! Congratulations!" I freeze and every muscle in my body tenses. My suspicion is proven correct. The girls next to me step to the side and I hear murmurs of "Oh my God" and "Good luck."

Without a single tear, I mount the stage. "Now for our young man!"

"Logan Calder!" Leta practically yells into the microphone. From the seventeen-year-old section, I spot a tall boy with sandy blonde hair, only a shade or two darker than mine. His face has flushed a pale eggshell white, that's how I know he is the one chosen. Logan steps upon the stage shakily.

"Now shake hands!" Leta gestures daintily as Logan emits a few silent tears. His hand firmly grasps my sweaty one.

Logan is fairly handsome with his sandy hair and hazel eyes. His pointed features make him seem like a threat, along with his muscular arms. But most everyone here is decently built. We all have to harvest food from the ocean, and the only way to do that was hoist nets over the edge of a boat.

I glance at Henry and Dad. This is, most likely, our last day together.

"We have our tributes for the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games! Let the Games begin!" Leta concludes before ushering us into the Justice Building for final goodbyes. On the way to our imminent death.

{}{}{}{}{}

Did you enjoy it? I hope you keep reading! Please remember to comment, vote, and share if you like it so far! Thanks! xoxo (: