Bottom of the Lake

Chapter 3 - Clove

After my sheath is empty, I retrieve my arrows and start all over again. I try to ignore the stares and whispers in my direction. One girl actually threw a knife my way, though it landed on the floor six feet away from me. I can't imagine what her score might have been... Suddenly I'm snapped out of my head by a presence sneaking up on me. I whip around, fists up ready to fight only to find Cato.

"Geez, Eva. I've never seen so many hostile people in one room. You gotta stop being so good at pissing people off," Cato laughs and takes my bow from me. I pull a knife out of the harness on his hip and press the spine against the hollow of his neck.

"I don't respond nicely to threats."

"I wasn't threatening you. Simply stating that you are too talented for your own good. Me? I can be a cocky bastard and get away with it. You are just a girl," he says grabbing my wrist that is gripping the knife. His grip is steel. I try to escape, but fail. I take my free hand and grab the arm he is holding the bow with and twist. He groans and spins quickly out of my grasp, retrieving a stray arrow off the floor and aiming at me as I point his knife at him as well as one I have pulled from my boot; the entire room is watching us.

"You've gotta stop drawing attention to yourself," he says quietly lowering the bow.

"What if I like the attention?" I hiss. Why am I being so mean to my best friend?

"Eva..." he gives me a concerned look of disbelief. I lower the knife slowly and put it back in the holster at his side, snapping it in securely and putting mine back in the holster around my ankle.

"I'm sorry. I had the nightmare again," I frown. He hands the bow back to me and I resheath the arrow.

"Well that explains why you look so pale," he says touching my cheek with the back of his hand. For a boy of his size and lethality, he has the most gentle hands... "You're cold," he frowns. I lean into his hand and enjoy the comfort for a moment. He pulls away quickly before anybody has the chance to notice. They have all resumed their training, uninterested in a fight gone flat. I look into his eyes and wish he could comfort me, but not here, not now.

"Yeah? Well, if you had to watch a baby pop out of your mom you would be pale, too," I push his hand away and resume my practice.

"That's an image I really wish you hadn't put into my head. I'll have nightmares about that..."

"Yeah, well, it's better than having constant nightmares. Better than a mom who treats you like a pawn for the Games. I feel like I'm living in a nightmare..."I trail off, shooting at the heart of a target and hit the bullseye.

"You really feel like you're living a nightmare?" he asks. I turn and look at him trying very hard not to roll my eyes.

"My mother doesn't love me, Cato, she loves my talent. She was never given the chance to compete in the games. By the time she was trained and old enough to volunteer, someone beat her to it. Now, she pushes me every single day to be the best archer, the best knife thrower, the best snare-maker, the best tree climber, the best scavenger, the strongest fighter. I have to learn and master every skill that could be used in the games. She wants me to win. She has pushed me away from her and she will push my little brother or sister away too. Unless somebody is brave enough to start another war, the brutality of the Hunger Games will continue on forever," I almost start to cry, my grip on my bow tightens and it takes everything in me not to throw it at Spruce's head.

"Eva..."

"Cato! Pick up a bow or go to another station!" Opie shouts from across the arena.

"We'll continue talking about this at lunch," he says definitely. He picks up a bow and begins shooting with me. I am in my element. If he tries to talk to me, I do not hear him. I shoot arrow after arrow until my sheath is empty. I wait for him to finish and we retrieve our arrows together, resuming our stance and shoot some more.