CLOVE POV
My eyelids hurt when I try to push them open, so for a while I don't. I'm lying down, I think inside a hospital room. I can half make out the beep of whatever machine they've plugged me into, and the tug of tubes in my arm. My head feels groggy and when I lift it I find I'm either too weak to move or have too much medication in my system.
I strain my eyes open. There's a bright light shining into them, making me screw them up in frustration. All I can see is the blank, white ceiling and too much white light.
I try to remember what happened. I volunteered for the Hunger Games, right? Stupid move, really. Those Games make monsters, my sister, Winter, used to say. Before she went partially insane.
Oh, and there were all those people I killed. Damn it, Clove. I killed innocent kids, some of who were only just out of their diapers and I killed them. Their parents cried and cursed my name as I ripped at their throats with a smile on my face. I have no idea who they were. How old they were, their names, their district, nothing. I can picture their blood staining my skin and their screams piercing the thin veil between humanity and whatever is beyond. And all because I was just following their silly little rules. Do this, Clove, do that. Don't let that little twelve-year-old girl live, Clove. It's against the rules, Clove, you have to follow the rules.
A face comes into my head. A boy. At first I dismiss the thought, but he comes back. Screw guys, I say. They can't get you anything but pregnant, and that wasn't what I was after. His blonde hair and ice cold blue eyes chase me in my memories. He's everywhere, laughing when I kill, shouting when I don't. He gives me food, weapons, alliance, eventually friendship. He gave me his lips upon mine.
I guess Winter might like him. He's got that whole 'bad boy' look going on there, the kind of guy she's always bringing home for the night.
Cato. His name is Cato. I don't know how I remember, but I do. And something happened, back in the arena, but the details are so fuzzy I can hardly tell which parts are real and which I made up. But of what my drugged brain can dig up, I'll say I'm not very likely to see my Cato again.
Which I guess Clove wouldn't mind. She'd shrug her shoulders, wander off home to cook dinner and try to coax her sister out of buying some new high that's hit the streets. She'd go off and throw knives at the Training Academy to let out the anger that never stops boiling up inside her heart, giving everyone the cold shoulder, willing to push them away for their own good, to keep herself strong.
But I'm not her. Whoever that Clove is, she's gone. Gone with the wind that blew the leaves over the fake forest floor, washed away with the red waterfall I cut out for her. I'm not the Clove that anyone knew. I've been shaped, molded into what the Capitol want me to be.
I try to open my eyes again, and this time it's a little easier. Takes a moment to adjust my gaze to the burning brightness of the white room, but now I can see the lines of the tiles on the ceiling. Which I suppose is a good thing. Turning my head takes more effort, but I manage to twist it to my left. There's a glass door and an IVF drip hanging over me.
Somebody walks past, a man in a pinstripe suit with this toxic shade of pink spiking up his hair. Captiol. I quickly shut my eyes again, positive that I don't want to see him. The next time I open them is because the glass slides apart and in steps a uniform clad woman with kind eyes and wavy dark hair.
"Oh good, you're awake," she mutters, a kind smile framing her face. "You gave us all a scare!"
My mouth feels dry and cracked when I open it. "Wha-" is all I can whisper.
"Shh, now," she smiles. "Don't try to talk. I know you've been through an awful lot, but you're going to be okay now,"
"What happened?" I murmur, my voice croaky and unused.
She presses some buttons on the machine and checks numbers that mean nothing to me, tutting and muttering sums under her breath. I lose sight of her when she goes round the other side of the bed, and I can't seem to turn my neck again. I listen intently to what she's doing, but it's making me uncomfortable, being confined to look one way. "What happened?" I whisper again.
"Shh," she snaps, almost cheerily. "We'll tell you everything when you're a little stronger,"
I don't reply, because if she stays true to her word, they may never get around to clearing up the mess in my head.
YOU ARE READING
Careers Have Feelings Too | CLATO | GLARVEL |
Fanfiction"The thing is, I didn't expect to be like this," he says. The sunlight bounces off his golden hair, and it seems as if it's glowing. "Didn't expect what?" He smiles coyly, and all at once he seems more sure of himself than ever before. "I went wro...
