Bloody and Broken (Clato)

Chapter Fourteen

    Hey y'all! Before I let you all read the newest chapter, I'd like to point out that I'm NO LONGER UNDER THE NAME OF MUSICXLOVE94. I've changed my name to LightningThief94. Yeah...I'm kinda obsessed with Percy Jackson (I'm in Zeus' cabin in case you were wondering...) ANYWAAAAAY. STORY TIME WITH HALF-BLOOD (NOT GRANDMA) STARTS NOOWW:

    I trot down the stairs and head into the kitchen where Cato is already slaving away on his hands and  knees using a sponge. I mentally chuckle. It's kind of adorable to see him do all the cleaning. Despite the fact that I just want to sit around and do nothing, I grab another sponge, plop it into the bucket, take it out and give it a good squeeze, then begin cleaning the gunk off the floor and stove.

   Cato is humming quietly to himself, seemingly content with the situation. I wonder why he's okay with doing all of this work, and whatnot lately. I mean, he grew up in a house where doing work was considered an offense. Apparently, he's looking past that. Which reminds me, he hasn't even brought up the fact that his parents were murdered right in their own home.

    It's like he's almost forgotten them or something. 

    By the time we've finished scrubbing, sweeping, and everything else, it's already mid-afternoon, and we are both completely exhausted. Despite being drained, we decide to head down to the training center. We really have no need to train anymore, but sparring has always been fun for the both of us.

    "Cato, can I ask you something?" I ask, getting a small rock along the road.

    He nods. "Well, you just did. But anyway, sure."

   "Do you, y'know, miss your parents?" I ask him gently. I'm not really in the mood for him to blow up.

   He visibly tenses and once again, I notice his eyes quickly dart around as if he's afraid we're being watched. It takes a couple more seconds, but he stiffly answers me, "No."

    No? Well...I definitely wasn't expecting that, especially after the way he'd flipped out when he saw his parents lying there in their own pools of blood. Of course, they were his parents, and really, it even made me feel a little bad. But to not even miss them now is a completely different thing.

   When we first got back home, he acted as if he at least liked them. But this is Cato I'm talking about. Which brings me back to my theory on him being bipolar. "Oh?" I question, "Why not?"

    He quickens his pace ever-so-slightly. "Because, all they did was criticize me. Cato you're doing that wrong, or, You could've done much better. Never just Good job, at least you tried. So no, I don't miss them. I may be related to them, but I do not at all consider them my parents."

    "Right, right. That makes sense." I agree, and the conversation ends. 

    A few minutes later, we push the training center's doors open and I inhale the not-too-pleasing scent of the place. Sweat, dried blood, and oh, more sweat. I watch as Cato strolls off to the rack of swords and spears. His friends immediately join him and start goofing off.

   I turn my attention over to the knives station, where a tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed girl stands, trying to figure out which knife she wants to use. Clenching my fists, I stomp over to her. "What do you think you're doing?" I demand.

    The girl turns to look at me. She raises her eyebrows and smiles sweetly, making me want to puke. "I'm just training, Clove. Congratulations on winning, and getting engaged to Cato." She replies, selecting a delicate-looking six-inch knife.

    I narrow my eyes. Something about her looks vaguely familiar...but I can't place what exactly it is. "Have I met you before?" I inquire, crossing my arms.