Needing the Impossible (A Clato Fanfic)

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Clove's POV

 I awaken to the sound of Enobaria knocking loudly on my door. “Go away,” I call pathetically. I feel like I didn't get any sleep last night, and the last thing I want to do is sit through endless hours of mentoring and lectures that will lead up to tonight's interview.

“Get out here, Clove!” a high, sharp voice calls through the door. “We've got a lot of ground to cover today! Can't have you looking a fool during your interview!” It's Cleo, not Enobaria, that's trying to knock my door down. I roll over and let out a low moan as I force myself out of bed.

Examining myself in the mirror, I try to decide how to play it today. Quite honestly, I feel like being just as bitchy as I have the past three days, but I know that won't work. I have to continue what I started last night. Cato needs to think I actually trust him. I swore to myself on the train that I would let him think he had control over me, but I've done next to nothing to work towards that goal. Of course, his antics with Diana haven't helped anything. It caught me completely off guard and totally threw me off track. Still, I need to start acting fast, before all my opportunities slip by.

Turning the water on full blast, I splash the frigid liquid onto my face, hoping to freshen the hideous mess that a night devoid of sleep has rendered me. Once again, I couldn't stop dreaming about Cato. The dreams have become even more disturbing, and I'm beginning to worry. It'll do no good to enter the arena fatigued. I wipe off my face with the towel nearest me and am sorry – but not too surprised – to find that the nippy water has had little to no effect on my disheveled appearance.

I walk into the common area looking and feeling like crap. Everyone else is already at the table, as usual, so after preparing my plate, I sit directly across from Cato. “Morning,” I say quietly, making a small effort towards civility.

He glances up from his mound of eggs. “Morning,” he replies nonchalantly.

“So you've decided to be reasonable today?” Enobaria comments snidely. I take a purposefully large bite out of my muffin and pretend I didn't hear her. Losing my cool with Enobaria will make it impossible to focus on the head games I'm playing with Cato.

“How did you sleep?” Cato inquires, surprising everyone at the table.

What does he think? Anyone can see I got next to no rest.“Is that a joke?” I spit, and then I look up at his face – it clearly was. He's wearing that arrogant smirk that I despise so much. “I slept fine, thanks,” I snap, countering my own implications.

“Glad to hear it. You'll need to be your usual, charming self for all the cameras tonight,” he responds quickly.

“I assume you didn't have any trouble sleeping?” I remark in turn, in an effort to keep the conversation going and ignoring his previous remark. No matter how uncivil it seems, banter is better than ignoring each other. He knows if I hated him, I wouldn't be wasting my breath.

He shakes his head. “Slept like a baby,” he says, folding his hands behind his head and leaning his chair back onto its back two legs. If only my legs were a little longer, I could reach out with my foot and-

“Glad to hear it,” I mock. He just smirks at me.

I don't make any more effort at conversation. The last one was utterly foolish and depleted most of my morning's supply of good humor. I eat the rest of my breakfast in silence and then Cleo whisks me away to teach me everything there is to know about etiquette.

“Now would be a good time to thank me for my generosity,” she says a little too perkily. We've been going at this for two hours now, and she's grown weary of my attitude. Right now, she's playing the hostess of some stupid Capitol party and I'm supposed to be acting grateful, or some shit like that. I don't really give a rip. This whole exercise is completely pointless, as I won't be going to any parties unless I make it out of the arena alive, which is by no means a given. Instead of a warm thank you, I send her a ice cold glare.