Needing the Impossible (A Clato Fanfic)

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Clove's POV

I can't sleep. Within half an hour of Cato and me returning from our interviews, we had retired to our separate quarters. I showered slowly, being careful to wash away all traces of makeup and body art before drying myself with a blast of hot air. I had wanted to give my body time to unwind. It did no good. As soon as I'd laid down on soft mattress, my brain had gone hay-wire. Every possible scenario has raced through my head in the past three hours. Every kind of climate. Every kind of Muttation. Every kind of trap. Every kind of death. Anything and everything I can possibly imagine. What if there aren't knives in the arena? What if Fabrizio was right after all? What if we all have to bludgeon each other to death? That would be fine for someone like Cato, or Thresh, but I'm not sure I could control a weapon that bulky.

I glance over at my clock for the umpteenth time tonight. It's a quarter to two. I can't go on like this. They're going to come for me before dawn. If I don't lose conscientiousness soon, I may as well stay up all night. I roll over onto my stomach, hoping a new body position will ease sleep. Nothing happens. And my legs are growing restless.

I throw off my covers in frustration and set my feet down on the soft, thick carpet. It feels fantastic beneath my warm, sweaty feet. I begin to pace slowly about the room, walking in an indecisive pattern from the window, to the door, to my bathroom, back to the door, now sit on the bed, back over to the door. Window. Door. Bed. Door.

Eventually I realize that subconsciously, I want to leave my room. I keep pacing towards the door. I feel caged here. On my seventh trip to the exit, I extend my hand and slowly turn the knob, making sure not to make any noise. The door opens without a sound, and I slink silently out of my room. I take two steps away and then stiffen at the sound of noise coming from the living room. My muscles tense up and all my senses go on high alert as the sound of human voices reach me.

My eyes dart from left to right, searching for signs of movement, and I finally make out a light coming from the sitting area. I focus on it, trying to decipher it's origin. It's flashing rapidly, the color changing with each new burst of light. I finally put two and two together: the TV is turned on. Relaxing slightly, I venture a little closer, trying to figure out who it is that's up this late. I'm roughly four yards away when I see the back of Cato's head over the top of the sofa. I stand frozen, trying to decide what my next move will be, when the mindless sitcom cuts off and a promotion for the Games appears on the screen. Shots from training appear across the screen, showing me hurling knives at dummies, darting through obstacle courses, and slashing a dummy in half with a sword. They even got a shot of me cracking Glimmer's spear. I stare, transfixed, as shot after shot of me appears on screen. My training, my interview, me and Cato in the parade. There are even a few random shots of me in District 2. The whole time, a lively announcer sells me as the clear choice for a tribute to sponsor – not doubt he also recorded Katniss's promo, telling everyone she would the Games if they sponsored her.

Finally, the commercial ends and an anorexic-looking, turquoise lady appears on screen to sell the latest trend in body art. “Creepy,” I mutter, regaining my composure. Cato's head whips around at the sound of my voice. Realizing it's just me, he relaxes.

“I'll say,” he agrees. “You should have seen Thresh's. Made him look like a complete beast.”

“He is a beast,” I sigh, sitting myself down on the opposite end of the couch to face him, hugging my knees up to my chest. He nods noncommittally and turns back to the TV screen. The sitcom is back on now. We sit in silence for a couple minutes of pointless cat fights when he speaks.

“Couldn't sleep?” he asks, still watching the TV.

I turn away from the screen and nod, “Not a wink.”