Clato: The Cost of a Broken Heart

Chapter 26

CATO

After last night I convinced Brutus to take away Clove's medicine. It isn't helping her. In fact, she is absolutely terrified of being put to sleep. It wasn't much of an argument. Tonight, Clove will not be handed a syringe. She can find herself again. Not that it makes a big difference with Enobaria around. She insisted on sedating Clove for the District 11 ceremony in place of drugging her during the night.

District 11 is almost as bad as 12. The speeches are just as awful. I can't say I feel as bad about them though, Thresh would have killed Clove. For that, he deserved death. The crowd is full of dark skinned people with angry bark colored eyes. I can almost feel their hatred.

They sedate Clove for the ceremony and although she isn't totally drugged, her eyes are glassy. As we talk I can see people whispering. Clove doesn't speak and it almost seems like the people of district 11 can tell she isn't herself. If people figure out we're faking Snow will surely kill more of the people we love. But there isn't a way to fix this. I can't not be in love with Clove.

Yes, I am in love with Clove. Every last part of her, even the broken ones. Especially the broken ones. I realized it last night as I carried Clove to her bed. And I found myself wishing more than anything I could curl up beside her and just forget the world. I think I have been in love with her all along, but I was too dense to realize it. I love how she can disappear into the book she's reading. I love how she gets excited about little things like movies and chocolate. I love that she's tough and strong and a survivor. I love the way she crinkles her nose when she sleeps. I love her and I'm done missing her. I need her.

That's why I'm wandering the train at night. Because I can't have her. I wonder into the dining car. There's a large granite island with pastries. I help myself.

A small pattering sound distracts me from my eclair. We're not usually allowed to eat desserts....oops. A thin, chocolate haired girl in a light pink robe shuffles in. Clover. Her hair's a mess and she's so thin from refusing to eat. Her eyes are bloodshot. She couldn't be more beautiful. Just the sight of her makes my heart begin to ache. I have to grip the counter to keep from pulling her into my arms.

She looks up, sees me, and starts backing away. "Wait! Clover," my voice putters out. I don't know what I'm doing but I can't bear to see her go. She seems surprised, but stays. Clove bites her lip nervously. "Want a pastry?" Her eyes light up as I dangle a cream puff by her face. Clove tries to snatch it but I pull away at the last second.

"You're evil!" She cries, but she's smiling. Clove is smiling for the first time in months and it makes me smile too.

"If you want it you better come get it," I smirk. She runs at me and chases me around the island.

"Slow down, Blondie!"

"Never, I'm keeping my prize!" That's when Clove grabs the can of whipped cream and sprays it in my face. I freeze in shock and huff whipped topping from my nose. Clove cracks up and it is the most wonderful sound in the world. The ring of a harp, the call of a sparrow. Oh man, I want to kiss her.

Instead, I spray her in the face with my own whipped cream. Clove snorts in disbelief and grabs her aerosol can. A whipped cream war commences. She sneaks up behind me and tries to squirt down my back but I spin and tickle her. Clove laughs giddily. It's like the Games never happened. I ignore every thought warning me that this is wrong. Clove squeals as I move to tickle her again. She darts around the gigantic island and climbs up. The pastry pyramid in the center wobbles precariously.

"You can't get me here," she jokes.

"Oh really, Clover?" I grab her ankles, spin her so she faces me, and pull her to the edge of the counter. Clove surprises me by leaning forward and sucking a dot of whipped cream off the tip of my nose. Our faces are so close. I can barely breathe. Very slowly, I place my hands on her shoulders and lick whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. I don't know what possesses me to do it but I can't stop. Her robe falls to the floor, leaving only our pajamas between us.

Clove's legs wrap around my waist. I can't help it. My mouth finds her lips. I kiss her. And I kiss her. And I kiss her. I am drowning in her. She tastes like strawberries and whipped cream. I smile against her mouth. Tearing my lips from hers, I find her neck. My lips glide across her skin and I hear a small sigh. After a minute, or possibly an hour, Clove's hands cup my face and draw me back to her. She kisses me this time. My brain turns to slush. I can't think. It is intoxicating, just the smell of her. Her hands on my back, in my hair.

I am shaking.

Our chests press against one another, heaving with the racing beat of our hearts. For a few moments in the dark we are safe tightly held in each other's arms, not drugged, not full of rage. Alive.

Then the cabin lights flicker on and footsteps echo close by. I am still kissing Clove when the door is flung open. All I can think is, what else can they possibly have left to punish us with?