005. | dead weight

❝𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴

𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘯❞

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐊𝐔𝐋𝐋 with a newfound strength that afternoon, as she concluded her Victory Tour with an address to her home district during their Harvest Festival. Her encounter with her best friend in the Academy that morning had brought her a temporary release from its pressure, but ultimately, the crown's existence was permanent. The final speech had been weighing on Clove's mind almost as persistently as the weight of the victory itself, and she had been both anticipating it and dreading it all at once. Here, in her home district, she was looked upon as a hero and a victor only, not as a murderer or a villain, and her golden status earned her nothing but praise, but one thing took away from the feeling of glory.

It was the looks of sorrow plastered on the faces of Blaze's mother and father as they stood on their podium, clutching each other for comfort as they faced her. She knew that they sympathised with her, and had no grievance towards her at all - after all, she had been nothing but an ally to their son - but the look in their eyes still appeared harrowing to her. In their faces, all Clove saw was the image of their son's body being brutally murdered by somebody he had trusted, the moment that had provided the Capitol with the most gripping piece of entertainment they had seen all year, and it made her sick.

Still, the fragmented looks from his parents did not even nearly match the distress that greeted Clove from the image they stood in front of. Just seeing his face, so innocent and alive, staring at her from across the crowd, made the guilt build in her chest. Her stomach twisted into a knot, and she had to bite her lip to avoid the terror building up in her throat forcing its way out of her mouth.

And suddenly, she could not breath.

But today, weakness was not an option. And so, she breathed through her suffocation, she smiled through her pain, and she hoped that they would not notice that from beneath the crippling pressure from her crown, she bled.

As with most districts on the Victory Tour, the address to her district took place in front of the Justice Building, on the same stage that she had stood on six months earlier after volunteering. The atmosphere was oddly the same, though filled with much less anticipation, but the feeling was almost incomparable. Six months ago, she had stood here with her head held high and a spark of adrenaline burning through her veins, her district partner by her side. Now, she stood there with the feeling that the ground would crumble beneath her feet with just one misstep, with the feeling of eyes constantly watching over her to make sure she said the correct thing, and most importantly - she was almost completely, overwhelmingly alone.

She was introduced onto the stage by an address from Mayor Studwick, followed by a rippling round of applause from the loving citizens of her district, just soaking up the benefits of another victor for their beloved home. But they did not view her as an individual, and they never truly would. She was the newest in a long line of celebrities that they would worship until their death, somebody for children to idolise and adults to envy, but she was not her own. Not anymore, and as she was beginning to realise, not ever. 

Still, the Mayor had clearly seen many Victors standing on this stage in his lifetime, and greeted many of those himself, and it was clear from the encouraging smile he shot Clove after his introduction that he was sympathetic. Most people just congratulated her, nobody really considered that this had been the most difficult week of her life. 

She didn't like to admit it, but Clove felt heavily responsible for Blaze's death in the arena. She had not been the one to drive the sword through his stomach, but she felt as though she might as well have been. She had allowed him to leave their camp with the person who would ultimately be his murderer, she had foolishly agreed to stay behind and guard, she had allowed it to happen. The games were long over, and her district partner was very much dead, but one thing was very clear. 

His demise would haunt her for the rest of her life. 

Her speech was scribbled onto the cards that she clasped tightly in her hands, the harshness of her grip creating dents in the paper. Valeria's handwriting swirled and looped, and it made the ink difficult to decipher, but Clove was glad of it. It meant that if she stumbled, or lost her words for a second as her pain caused her throat to croak, she could blame it on something other than her own moments of weakness. She opened her mouth in an attempt to breathe out the words that were written on the card, to thank her district for allowing her to win for them, but as her lips moved no words left her mouth. 

She paused for a moment, and all that surrounded her was silence. She knew that they were all watching her, waiting for her move. She felt the need to look over her shoulder, to scan the line of victors that sat side by side at the back of the stage. Her mentor gave her a nod of approval, but there was a sternness and a sense of urgency in her expression. The rest of the line was busy, but incomplete. Only one victor had failed to make the appearance that day, and perhaps that was for the best. 

She shifted her view back towards the front of the stage, but she refused to let her eyes fall on the crowd below her. Instead, she kept them focussed tightly on the cards, tracing out the loops in her escort's elaborate handwriting in an attempt to ease her mind, but the ink only blended together to form a giant blur. She lifted her head and turned her attention to the back of the crowd, where her parents and siblings had separated themselves from the sea of people so that she had known where to look for them. Her aim was to focus on them to block out the rest of the crowd, and for a minute, it worked. 

And then, her eyes locked contact with her best friend's, who gave her a small nod of encouragement, and she finally found the courage to speak up. 

"I am delighted to be standing in front of my home district today", she attempted to project her voice, speaking with as much confidence as a Victor should show, but the pain still tried to break free from beneath the cracks, "It has always been my dream to honour my district, to earn my place amongst the other Victors that stand beside me today, and to provide for my family". 

As if by some cruel moment of instinct, or by some internal desire to cause herself even more pain, Clove's eyes drifted to the family that stood on their podium to the far right of the crowd. Blaze's mother was in pieces, her face bright red and stained with tears. She looked as though she had aged ten years in the past six months, her body wrinkled and frail, her posture hunched. Her husband had a much stronger composure, from what Clove could only imagine was due to his strong reputation and the need to care for his wife, but his usually bright face had still fallen grey and frowned. On his holographic screen, the colour still flushed in Blaze's cheeks, his eyes reflecting the white light from the camera flash and his tousled hair shining like silk. From this distance, he almost seemed alive. 

She felt her vocal cords become blocked by the formation of a lump in her throat, biting back the tears that she felt lurking in her eyes. She forced them back with a few blinks, settling her stomach with a long, drawn out breath. Robotically, her escorts instructions echoed in her head as she shuffled through her cards, finding no words that could quite fit what she wanted to say. 

Their words would never be enough. 

Smile, eyes bright, chin up, breathe. 

On that thought, the cards clutched tightly in Clove's hands found themselves turned over, and her gaze instead drifted back towards the mourning family, this time settling on them, "I'm filled with so much pride to be standing here today, but without Blaze's valiant fight, I'm not sure I would be at all. He had just as much of a chance as anybody, and he fought brutally and bravely until the very end - for that, you should be proud". 

Her words had come from a place of sincerity and vulnerability, and all she had intended to do was to apologise to the family that had been robbed of a son, and to honour the ally that she missed so dearly - but what she had achieved was much worse.

She had shown compassion, and that was not a quality that was appreciated from a victor, and certainly not a career. It was a weakness, and it appeared that Clove Kentwell had just sinned. 

As calmly as she could, she uttered the words 'Panem Today, Panem Tomorrow, Panem Forever' and felt herself ushered away from the stage. Pushed through the barrelled doors and into the Justice Building, she was met face to face by her escort and mentor, neither of which seemed particularly pleased. 

"Clove!", Valeria shrieked the moment the doors had enclosed them away from the crowd, "Why do I even bother writing cards if you aren't going to read them!". 

"I did read them", she snapped back, before biting her tongue and shrugging, "I just... added to them a little". 

The only response Valeria gave her was a huff of frustration, her arms folded across her chest and her bubblegum lips pouted in a dramatic resistance that would be expected of a child. Clove glanced towards Nyx, who shot her a gesturing glare, and she sighed. 

"Alright, I'm sorry", she spoke in a much calmer tone, "I just... I couldn't just dwell over the fact that Blaze was my ally, he deserved to be honoured". 

"You need to keep it together Clove", was all Nyx responded, but Clove could only imagine the urgency of her words. 

It was becoming increasingly apparent that the cracks were beginning to show. 

• → •

As the sun began to set, Clove found herself shuffling along the cobbled road that led up to her home completely alone, taking the time to dwell on the chaos that had ensued that day. It was almost hard to believe that her encounter with Caelia had occurred only a few hours before her address, the events of that morning feeling like nothing but a distant memory by the time she pushed through the iron gates that separated the Victor's Village from the remainder of the district. 

Despite it barely nearing the evening, the early sunset meant that darkness had already begun to creep up on Clove as she dragged her feet towards her home. The street was poorly lit, but the dim light that radiated from the flickering street lamps gave the cobbled pavements an orange glow. Under the moonlight, the white marble brick that made up the Victor's homes looked equally as dull as the grey brick that made up the rest of the district, and so as she glanced at the towering buildings that surrounded her she almost felt at home. 

Not the grand house that she found herself living in now, cold and rolling in riches, but the home in which she had spent her entire upbringing. The home where her parents had fallen in love, the home where her older brother had been raised before her, and her younger sister after her. The home where things had been so much easier. 

Now, that home was just another image that occupied her mind like nothing but a memory, barely distinguishable and repetitively overpowered by trauma. 

As she approached the stone steps that led up to her home, bringing her hand up to the handle to open her front door, Clove could not seem to shake away the feeling that somebody was watching her. For a moment she felt her body pause, as though she was frozen still, taking in a deep breath and attempting to listen carefully to her surroundings. In the silence, a scuttle from behind her sent her ears pricked upwards in alarm like a cat, and her head shot to the side only to find complete stillness - the only movement appearing to come from the swaying of the garden weeds under the light breeze. 

"Startled, Clover?", a slurred voice broke her enforced silence, the harsh volume of his words sending echoes rippling through the night air. 

The sudden outburst took Clove completely by surprise, sending her jumping out of her skin. She heard the owner of the voice break into a dark chuckle at her startled composure, causing the blood in her veins to boil as she spun on her heels. From across the street, Cato Hadley was perched on the step of his front porch, a bottle in his hand and his face barely visible under the dim light. It was by some cruel coincidence that her home had happened to be directly opposite his, her bedroom window having perfect view of the many women that entered and exited through his front door in the night. His laughing was barely audible from the distance, but it was enough to send her reeling. 

Clove immediately fixed her eyes on his face, trying to comprehend why he had felt the need to disturb her when she had not even clocked on to his presence at all. If the boy had not spoken, it was highly possible that she would have walked through her front door and into her home without even noticing that he was sat there, lurking in the shadows as he always seemed to do. His smirk was filled with amusement, but his eyes seemed lost, making his expression almost completely incomprehensible. 

"I'm sorry", she cocked her head to the side and narrowed her gaze into a tight glare, "Did you want something, Hadley?". 

"No, not in the slightest", he shrugged, taking another large swig from the bottle of  brown liquor clutched in his hand, "You just seem... jumpy - did the address not go as planned?". 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his sudden interest, and she contemplated ignoring his question completely, but given that she was plastered all over television screens at that moment, it didn't seem to matter. 

"I messed up", she replied with a sharp bluntness, rather spitting the words out at speed as opposed to enunciating them. 

"I know", he scoffed, "I saw you on the television, you were quite captivating, I must say". 

His words caused a pit to build in the bottom of her stomach, but she felt determined to stand her ground, "You were supposed to make an appearance, like everybody else - you didn't". 

Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden sound of Cato's front door swinging open behind him, a curvy figure with a head of fiery red hair emerging from the house. She tottered down the front steps and onto the street without saying a word, turning to flash Cato a wink and the wave of her hand before disappearing into the night. Clove found herself following the girl's trail with her eyes, curiosity taking over her, but she did not recognise the figure from the Academy or her classes. She was likely older, and there was little sign of muscle or strain on her small frame, meaning she was not a career. 

"I know", Cato interrupted her trail of thought with another dose of the same slurring bluntness, "What can I say, I was a little tied up". 

It took a moment for it to resonate in Clove's mind that he had likely meant the phrase literally, as opposed to metaphorically, given the energy that appeared to exist between him and the guest that had just left his house, and she could only pray that her late realisation was not evident from her expression. To her mortification, Cato once again found himself breaking into a maniacal fit of laughter, and it became clear that her obvious innocence had been used for his amusement. Attempting to return back to opening her front door, Clove began to turn back around, only to be interrupted by another call. With a roll of her eyes and extreme reluctancy, she turned to face him again. 

"I wouldn't stress about one tiny mistake in your address", he spoke with much more seriousness this time, "The Capitol might like the fact you showed a little emotion - you're different to the rest of us". 

"Why?", she could feel her defences building as her tone grew harsher, "Because the rest of you felt absolutely nothing after your games, or because I wasn't merciless enough to slaughter the boy in the arena myself?". 

"Woah, calm down Clover, that wasn't what I meant", his eyebrows raised at her outburst, "You're not afraid to show your emotions a little, even if it poses a risk. What you said today was brave Clove, braver than any of us could ever be - it's something to be admired, not ashamed of". 

The anger she had felt building in her chest eased, but what remained was a blank stare. After a prolonged pause, she finally spoke up, "I really can't seem to figure you out". 

"Oh Clover", he chuckled, drowning himself in the remaining contents of the bottle, "I don't think you want to figure me out". 

She really wished he had been right, but no matter how much he irritated her, something about him still intrigued her beyond belief. 

Perhaps Cato Hadley was just another mystery that she was inclined to solve. 

─── 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ───

Oh my, this update has taken me way too long to write!! I may have accidentally started a new Harry Potter fanfic in the past week so I've been way too preoccupied setting that up - it's taking a hefty amount of planning because its very canon diverted so it has been an absolute stress. I've also been editing a lot and just haven't had much time to write but I'm glad I've finally gotten this update ready, I promise other updates shouldn't take this long!! 

Some of you have been commenting recently and have been really supportive of this book, I love reading all of your comments so thank you so much, it's so appreciated!

Anyway, some more flirty hateful Clato to add to your day, you're welcome!

Thanks for reading, and much love,

Dani ♡