TWISTED // Clato | ✓

Chapter 32: I Really Belonged There

A/N: EVERYONE, I intended to make this the last chapter! But then I realized that the story really still had a lot to play out, and that it just was too much to cram into one chapter! WHICH MEANS you will have another update coming soon after this! Hope you enjoy this one!

CLOVE'S POV: 

Cato and I leave the building under the cover of darkness. The dark streets surrounding us when we emerge is too familiar as the home of that dreadful Snow and all those psycho Capitol citizens. It's late in the night, but lights are still everywhere as the Capitol folks continue to party late into the night, and the towers above us are sprinkled with thousands of glowing lights. 

Now I notice how similar this place is to New York City, but ten times worse. It's like New York City was headed downhill, always headed for this end: a terrible city where the president kills kids to display his power. It's one of the sickest things I've ever heard.

Cato and I cross the street and shrink into the shadows on the opposite side. I look up at Cato. "What should we do? Would they actually recognize us?"

Cato shakes his head quickly. "No; no one, especially not the Capitol, ever remembers the faces of the dead tributes. They won't know us. However," he continues, "we don't look like them."

My face is drawn again to the dancing Capitol people whose ridiculous drunken moves only make their blue makeup and green hair look more garish and insane.

"It's easy," Cato whispers with a grin. "To disguise ourselves we have to stand out." Before I can ask any questions, he turns and runs down the street in the direction of a small shop with its door leaning open. We enter amid stacks of feathery wigs, bins of weird-colored makeup, and racks of gaudy clothing.

We buy it all. We go all out. Cato wears a green wig, paints his face with silvery makeup, and dresses in a black ripped-up suit with its sleeves hanging in torn shreds. I wear a pink wig, a shiny navy dress with strips across the back, and stiletto heels. Then I coat my eyelashes with a thick mascara that makes it hard for me to open my eyes all the way. When I step out, Cato stares at me, as though transfixed.

"Clove..." he gasps exaggeratingly. "You look... amazing..."

"Stop it," I say firmly, glad my makeup disguises my blush. But then I start laughing and I can't disguise it. We quickly dive out of the store and back onto the street.

"Where are we going next?" I whisper to Cato.

"What I really want is to get back to District 2," he replies softly. In the dim light from a nearby streetlamp, I see his face is calm, pondering, thoughtful. He hesitates. The problem is, I'm not sure how we'll be received."

My feelings sink down inside my heart as I contemplate his words, weighing them in my mind. It's true that everyone in Two will remember us as the "dead" tributes from the Games. But would they believe us when we tell them we were rescued, especially now that we're turning up randomly over a year later?

When I was younger, I would probably have run from this fear. But time has changed me, brought me upward, lifted me to my fullest level of fortitude. I feel ready for anything... ready to take on the world. I already have.

I've defied reality. Nature. Everything. Cato and I escaped from the Games miraculously, turned up in past times, created a sensation that almost ruined the future, and falling back through a timeshaft into the place I belong.

Twisted. It really is. But I like it.

A breeze races down the dark Capitol street, catching in my pink wig, which doesn't flutter and billow like my own hair does. I reach up instinctively to brush it from my face, and my hands reach the matted wig instead. A sheepish smile appears on my face as it flutters from my fingers and lands on the road. Laughing, I pick it up and stand there in the moonlight, turning it over in my hands.