Behind the Mask

Clove

Clove stood on the stage, her hand clasped in Cato’s and made sure that absolutely no emotion showed on her face.

She had so many different feelings about her being Reaped that she didn’t necessarily know what exactly to think.

She felt perplexed. How could they have chosen her, out of so many names? How was it that her name happened to be the one grasped by the Capitol woman? Clove couldn’t tell if the odds were in her favor or if they weren’t.

She felt defiant. She could do this, she thought. She could win these Games. A big, giant “HA!” to her parents, who didn’t really care much about her. Clove was essentially an expert killer. The only thing her parents truly cared about, it seemed, was Clove’s training. They didn’t care about her, but they cared about her being strong, skilled, and deadly. Clove could chuck knives farther and more on target than anyone in District 2. She knew she had a good chance of winning.

But Clove also felt… almost afraid. Almost. But she couldn’t show anyone that. Showing people emotion didn’t help in the slightest, Clove had found out. She had tried, with her parents, ‘friends,’ but no one really cared. Clove was alone in this and she knew it. Her parents would watch at home, proud—for the first time in their lives. She knew that they thought she could win. But they didn’t matter to her anymore. Clove had long since stopped searching for their love.

Clove was torn away from her thoughts when Cato gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She looked up into his eyes. They were bright. He gave her a smile, and she returned the smile in the littlest way possible. This is probably the first time someone has smiled at you in who knows how long, Clove thought to herself.

Cato was someone who could squish Clove like a bug. By just looking at him and his strapping build, she almost felt threatened. But she wasn’t afraid. She was never afraid. Even as she watched Cato train, and do serious, deadly damage with those swords of his, Clove wasn’t afraid. She was a little bit impressed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your District Two tributes!” The Capitol woman exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air.

Cato’s hand detached itself from Clove's, but his touch lingered. They turned to face the crowd that had burst into applause, and they waved. Cato with a smile, Clove with no expression. Just as she preferred.

Suddenly, they were whisked away by Peacekeepers to their single rooms to say goodbye to their families, something Clove wasn’t exactly looking forward to.

Even as Clove was veered away from the direction Cato was going in, her thoughts switched back to him.

On multiple occasions at training, Clove would notice Cato watching her. Every time she glanced at him discreetly and his eyes were on her, she trained harder. She had no idea why, but every time she noticed this, she would throw her knives harder, longer, faster. Perfect shot every time. Clove had never had any true friends before, and no siblings. She wasn’t used to such attention, and she could never really sort out her thoughts enough to know how she really felt about it all. Cato was an attractive guy, and he was paying attention to Clove. And she had no idea what it meant.

Clove was seated in a waiting room just as her parents burst through the doors. They enveloped her into a 3-person hug.

“You’re going to win this, sweetie. We’ve put you through so much training, there’s no way you can’t,” trilled her mother. “You’re an expert.”

“We know you’ll be crowned victor, honey. The training has done so much,” agreed her father.

Of course, Clove thought bitterly, they think I’ll win because of them.

There was no real love in this family, Clove could feel it. She had been feeling it, for years. Years of neglect has made her a strong, skilled girl. She was invincible.

After the goodbyes with her parents, Clove was told that they were to make their way to the train.

“For the next two weeks, you’ll be on a train to the arena, making stops along the way. You’ll enjoy lavish meals—which you’ll be grateful for once you’re in the arena—and we’ll be stopping for tribute interviews and such along the way, understood?” Clove was told all of this in a rush by her District escort, Helenia.

“Yes, I understand,” she answered. Helenia then dismissed her to her room.

“Oh, but don’t forget; dinner will be served in an hour. We’ll have someone come and collect you. Now go wash up, pip pip!” And with that, Helenia bounced out of the room.

Clove let out a small, involuntary chuckle. She couldn’t help it. Helenia was definitely an interesting woman.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh.”

Clove whipped around, startled by the unknown speaker. She looked down the hall of the train where the bedrooms were.

Cato stood leaning against the doorframe of his temporary room, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.

Clove cleared her throat and stood tall. “Well, that makes sense considering I’ve never talked to you before.”

This time, Cato let out the chuckle and stepped forward. “Then let me formally introduce myself,” he walked up right by Clove, towering over her tiny build. “I’m Cato.” He offered his hand, yet again, and Clove took it for a second time.

“I’m Clove.” she stated, and she shook his hand with a firm grip. She was strong for her frame, and the minute surprise on Cato’s face showed that he just realized that.

“I know.” Cato said quietly, his hand still in hers. His eyes were locked with hers.

For the first time in Clove’s life, she felt tongue-tied.

“I—I should, go… get ready for dinner.” Clove said, withdrawing her hand from his and hastily walking away.

She didn’t look back to see Cato’s expression. She went right to her room, stripped herself of her Reaping clothes, and jumped into the shower. As she washed herself of the day’s events, Clove was angry. She was never speechless. She hated the feeling. It made her feel powerless and weak. She should always know what to say. But beside her anger at herself, she wondered. Why had Cato made her so speechless? She had only just met him. Yes, she had seen him before and wondered about him… But what was this affect he had on her? She was unfamiliar with what was going on, another thing she didn’t like. Clove liked being in control.

Once she got out of the shower, Clove changed into suitable clothes for dinner and brushed her hair in loose, black waves down her back.

She sat on her bed and drank everything in.

In two weeks, she was fighting in the Hunger Games with 23 other tributes.

She was going to win. Clove knew she was capable of winning; she hadn’t trained so hard her entire life for nothing. She had the strength, she had the skills, she had the smarts, she had everything she thought she needed to survive.

But something was nagging at her, making her feel empty inside. She knew only random strangers from her district would be rooting for her, if only. Clove had no one she loved back home. No one back home loved Clove. She was a strong girl, but everyone has their weak points—as much as Clove absolutely hated to admit it. She had no one. All she had was herself. She was alone in this, through and through.

She laid back on her pillows, and willed herself not to cry. She was angry again. Feeling weak was yet another thing she hated. You are strong. You are strong and you can do this alone, Clove repeated to herself over and over again. She ignored the emptiness she felt and chanted the words in her mind, trying not to let any tears fall.

A knock on the door, and a high-pitched “Dinner’s ready!” alerted Clove that she had to go and face Helenia, servants, her mentor, and, of course, Cato. Cato was not something she wanted to face right now. She already felt like she was lacking her control, and she knew Cato was only going to make that worse.

But then again, Clove didn’t know who Cato really was. And, truly surprising herself, she wanted to find out.

And with that thought, she stood up and walked out the door to see what awaited her at dinner.