Bred To Kill [A Clato: Hunger Games OneShot][Completed]

Bred To Kill [A Clato: Hunger Games OneShot]

Thud!

Thud! 

Thud!

The three knives embed themselves into the dummy. One in the forehead, one in the chest, and the last in a place that no knife should ever go. Clove throws the last knife in her hand with such force, it nearly knocks the dummy over. She snatches two more knives that are on the table beside her, and she throws them at the dummy's eyes. Perfect shot, every time. Of course. They are always perfect shots. 

Clove huffs, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. She is exhausted, but the damage done to the dummy isn't enough. She storms on over, rips the knives out, and then stomps back and begins to throw them again. When each dagger leaves her hand, she lets out an animal like growl. The process repeats itself over and over again, until Clove's shoulder is so stiff she isn't sure she'd be able to move it the next morning. 

Her hands are fiery red, and spotted with blisters the size of a penny. They sting, but she pushes the pain aside. When her right arm feels as if it were to fall off, she switches to her left. Over and over, knife after knife, she lets out her anger and frustration. It is never enough. 

"So stupid..." she mutters, tearing a blade from the dummy's, so to speak, skull. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." 

The light from above her flickers, and every so slowly, the training center in District 2 becomes emptier and emptier. Soon enough, Clove is the only one in the whole building. It is nearing ten o'clock, and her father would want her home. Does she care? No. Clove does what she wants to, when she wants to. Clearly, so did Cato. 

Clove lets out a growl, spitting a knife out of her teeth. Instant kill, right in the head. She pictures it is Cato's head. The ever so name makes her insides burn up like fire. Her eyes turn dark, and her fists clench at her sides. She feels like a bomb, ready to explode at any moment. 

How could he? After everything that they'd been through? 

Clove is so deep in concentration that she doesn't notice the other presence in the room. It isn't until he decides to clear his throat, hat causes her to whip around, her pony tail whacking her in the face. "Oh..." she snarls. "It's you." 

Cato emerges from the shadows, sword balanced with both hands. "Hey," he speaks softly, she almost doesn't hear. She wishes she doesn't hear. "I figured you would be bored here all by yourself. After all, you are used to having me around." 

She rolls her eyes, throwing another knife over her shoulder. It sinks in so deep and with so much force, that the dummy teeters, and falls back to the ground. Cato doesn't seem to notice, but if he does, he chooses to ignore it. Clove folds her arms over her chest as he hacks apart dummies to his heart's content. 

"Well, you won't be seeing much of me anymore," Clove calls, organizing her weapons. "I talked to Thiago. I'm getting a new training partner this week." Cato drops his sword. "You did what?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. He strides toward her, but cautiously. Everyone in the damn District know that when Clove has her knives, she can kill. 

"You heard me, I don't want you anymore," she says with a smug grin. "You aren't good enough for me." The words hit Cato like a knife in the chest. He narrows his eyes, struggling to understand the girl in front of him. 

"I'm not good enough for you?" Clove laughs, nodding her head. "Good job Cato," she says, as though talking to a toddler. "You can use your ears." Cato rolls his eyes, his temper rising. "That's not the response I wanted." 

"Well too bad," Clove sneers. "That's the response you're getting." She brushes past him, making her way to the door. Cato rushes up to Clove and grabs her shoulder and pulls her back. "What the hell do you want, Cato?" Clove questions, throwing her arms up in the air. He sighs, running his fingers though his hair. "What is the matter with you?"