Needing the Impossible (A Clato Fanfic)

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Cato's POV

As soon as the District 12 reaping is over, Clove storms out of the sitting room. We hear a door slam and then a loud silence falls over the train. I glance over at Brutus and Enobaria. Her eyes had followed Clove down the hall and are still fixed there, but he's looking straight at me. His expression in unreadable. I half-shrug, looking for some sign of either approval or reproach. He just winks at me, and I take that to mean he approves. I nod and follow Clove down the hall, only I don't slam my door when I enter my private room.

It's the first time I've been anywhere but the public car since we boarded the train, and I'm pleased with what I see. There's a king-size bed in the middle of the right wall, and directly across from it is a large mahogany vanity. What use I'll have for a vanity is beyond my comprehension, but it does give the room more of an elegant feel. Upon further exploration, I find its drawers stuffed full of Capitol clothing. There's not telling how long it will take me to find something normal to wear tomorrow morning. And it's a good thing I sleep naked, or else I'd have to opt for an absurd, fluffy thing that resembles a bunny costume more than pajamas.

I shut the drawer and take another look at the spacious room. Everything that possibly can be decorated has been painted or colored some form or a rich crimson color, with black accents here and there for “contrast”. It's actually quite depressing. Even the walls are a light red color. I'm about to open the door to the bathroom to see if it, too, has such a morbid color scheme when there's a loud knock on my door. I turn back towards it, wondering who it is. When I don't answer right away, they knock again. No, not knock, bang. It literally sounds like someone is trying to break down the door.

“What?” I call out, perturbed with their lack of patience. I could be in the shower for all they know. The banging pauses.

“Let me in,” a sharp voice demands. I roll my eyes in exasperation. What does she want now? If she wanted to talk, she should have done it when she was sitting on top of me during the reapings.

“Cato!” she insists, “Now!” I have no intention of letting her in, but then I remember the doors don't have locks. She seems to remember that the same instant I do, because before I can stop her, Clove has swung my door open and stormed into my room.

“What the hell?” she demands. My first reaction is to snap back at her, but I realize this won't get her any closer to trusting me. I can't think of anything good to say though, so I instead choose not to respond. “What was that?” she prods, still dangerously pissed.

“What was what?” I ask, toying with her.

Her face flushes with rage. “In the dining car, genius. What do you think?”

I smirk. She's so hot when she's mad. I immediately internally kick myself for even thinking that. If I allow any of those feelings to resurface, I'm a dead man. “I thought dinner was fine,” I muse.

She then does something I wouldn't have seen coming in a million years. She slaps me. It's not a hard, forceful whack, just a quick, almost involuntary smack across the face. Apparently Clove didn't see this coming either, because a quick look of surprise flashes across her face before it contorts back into raw fury. It stings my pride more than it does my face – because it means this isn't working.

“What do you want, Clover?” I growl, my face darkening.

“An explanation,” she hisses back. “Is that too much to ask for?”

“Actually, it is,” I reply, taking a step forward, forcing her to back towards the open door. “I don't see how you deserve an explanation for anything I do.”