008. | haze

❝𝘪'𝘮 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪 𝘢𝘮

𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 ❞

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 with a pounding in her head so strong that she was sure there was a parade ignited inside her brain, she knew she had messed up.

Something very bad had happened last night, something so terrible she wasn't sure if she could ever forgive herself - she had opened up to Cato Hadley. No, not only had she opened up, but she had embarrassed herself beyond belief. Suddenly, she couldn't even feel sorry for herself over the pounding pain inside her head, because she knew she undoubtedly deserved it.

And this was before she had even realised where she was.

When had she gotten home last night - and how? Clove couldn't even bring her brain to attempt to comprehend the journey back from Cato's sofa to her own bed, or what hour they had finished their drinking session and called it a night, and she wasn't sure she would ever come to the correct conclusion considering how clouded her memory felt. And then, she attempted to roll over and found herself met with a face full of red velvet, and the shocking realisation hit her like a truck.

This was not her house.

The plush material underneath her skin felt like what she was used to lying on at home, but the sighting of the crimson fabric made several memories come flooding back. Of course, her sofas at home were not this colour at all - her sofas at home were blue.

She was on Cato Hadley's sofa.

It was almost fitting, when she thought about it. The deep red cushioning, in the home of one of the most brutal victors the nation had ever seen - the colour of blood. The thought of it somewhat pleased her, and yet suddenly she had the overwhelming urge to be sick.

Clove groaned and buried her head in her hands. This was quite possibly the worst place she could possibly have chosen to spend the night.

Suddenly, being back in the arena didn't sound like an awful idea.

And worse than that - her mind was not only hazy from the abundance of liquor that had entered her body last night, but her mind was completely empty. She remembered nothing. Evidently, the boy had been right when he taunted her for being a lightweight, or being unable to handle the alcohol. She was sure she couldn't have consumed that much in such a short space of time without completely passing out, and so there was no way she had drank that much at all - right?

The empty glass bottles gathered at her feet begged to differ, and she groaned again. Perhaps she really was just pathetic.

"Good Morning Sunshine", a familiar voice called from across the room, and Clove buried her head deeper into her hands, certain she wouldn't ever remove them. Hopefully, if she stayed there long enough he would disappear, or perhaps she would disappear herself - either option seemed equally appealing.

"Please", she mumbled, muffled by the hands covering her face, "Lower the volume, you're practically shouting".

Instead of responding, or lowering his volume, Cato's only response was to burst into a hysterical fit of laughter that made her ears bleed. As somebody who was so adapted to the after effects of excessive liquor, her lack of tolerance was extremely amusing to him. That was, until she attempted to push herself into an upright position and seemed as though she was about to throw up all over his velvet sofa.

"Don't move that quickly", he broke away from his laughter to move towards her and place a forceful arm in front of her chest, forcing her to lie back down, "You need water".

"I don't need you to baby me", she pouted, sulking back into the comfort of her blanket, "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself".

Come to think of it, she had no memory of obtaining a blanket at all. The soft material had been neatly draped over her skin when she had woken up, but she was almost certain she hadn't been wearing it when she fell asleep.

Had he put it there?

"Right", he rolled his eyes and left the room, returning with a cup of water, "Here - drink up".

The cup was wet and felt cold as ice in her hands, but she took it from him anyway. Several hours ago, she probably would have rejected the offer for fear of some kind of sabotage, but somehow Cato Hadley didn't seem like such a monster to her anymore.

A mystery, perhaps, but not one that brought such fear and turmoil. Rather, one that she was determined to figure out.

"How am I supposed to drink this if I'm not allowed to sit up", she questioned as he rejected her attempt to force her body upwards for the second time, "I'll choke".

"No, you won't", he reasserted, nodding towards the cup, "as somebody who has been in your exact situation a hundred times, trust me - drink it".

Clove paused for a moment and huffed, before pressing the cup towards her lips, "this is not going to do anything".

"You won't know until you try it".

Knowing he was correct, she sighed and brought the glass of water to her mouth, tipping her already awkwardly-positioned head back further into the sofa and attempting to pour the liquid down her throat. The anticipation of the cold liquid collapsing into her throat was met with nothing, and for a moment she was confused, before she felt a nudge on the cup and the water fell across her face in a wave of ice that sent shockwaves through her body.

Her eyes pierced open and she gasped, tossing the cup to the floor and jumping upwards in an attempt to shake the frozen liquid away from her skin, "Hadley! What the hell was that?".

She brushed the water away from her face and turned to the boy in front of her with a scowl on her face so violent it could have turned you to stone in an instant, but Cato was too busy laughing to even notice the girl shooting daggers at his skull. She had enough rage in her tiny body to power an entire army - Cato knew this already - but the image of her drenched in ice water diminished any threat her anger might have posed.

Well, that, and her meagre five feet and three inches of height.

Clove blew a strand of wet hair away from her eyes with a huff and began to search the surrounding areas for her belongings, finding her boots tucked neatly at the side of the velvet sofa. She was midway through an in-depth search for her jacket when Cato finally managed to control his laughter, and looked up to find her throwing his sofa cushions across the room in a panicked frenzy.

"What are you doing?", he asked with a more serious tone, but his voice was still laced with the laughter he attempted to hold down.

Clove didn't turn around, but continued to tear the living area to shreds piece by piece as she searched it, growing more agitated by the second, "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm looking for my jacket - did you move it somewhere?".

"I don't think you're going to have much luck with that, Clover", he began chuckling again, attempting and failing to muffle his laughter with the back of his hand.

She took in a long, drawn out breath and sighed, "What have you done with it, Hadley?".

"I haven't done anything with it", Cato responded, but she didn't appear to be listening. Having little patience remaining after what had been a painful morning, she left the living area and went to search the kitchen, Cato trailing after her and attempting to call her name, "Clove! Would you just listen to me? CLOVE!".

She spun on her heels and shot him a look that almost sent shivers down his spine, but it was clear her patience was wearing thin, "What? Just tell me what you've done with it Hadley before I take one of these knives and throw it straight into your-".

"You didn't bring a jacket", he interrupted, managing to stifle his laughter for a few moments to string together a proper sentence.

Humiliated, she directed her gaze towards her feet for a moment in an attempt to clear her mind and think about the events of the night before, only to come to the conclusion that he was indeed right - she hadn't brought a jacket at all. She'd been in such a fluster when her mother had sent her flying out the door with a container of stew and a couple of bread rolls for the broken boy's dinner that she hadn't even thought to bring a jacket. After all, she was only walking across the street, and she certainly didn't plan on staying the night.

Dear lord, she had stayed the night. What on earth was her mother going to think?

And Jonas, well - he'd never let her hear the end of it.

"Alright, so I didn't bring a jacket", she composed herself and looked up, "Even better - I'll be leaving now then".

"You can't leave like that, you're soaking", Cato reasoned, "It's the peak of winter out there, if you go out like that, you'll get sick. Take a shower and warm up, I'll find you a change of clothes and dry these - you can pick them up some other time".

Clove sighed, but the painful part was that she knew he was right.

"Fine."

When Clove stepped out of the bathroom half an hour later, wrapped tightly in a black robe she had been handed with before her shower, she found a fresh set of clothes placed neatly on the bed of the guest room nearest to her.

It felt odd, being so deeply immersed into the Hadley house, that looked so similar to her own on the outside and yet was so dramatically different that it felt alien to her. Sure, the furnishings were the same, but the atmosphere couldn't have been any more different. The Kentwell household was cluttered and full, each of its bedrooms possessed by somebody with only one room saved for guests. It was a mess, but it was loved and lived in nonetheless. It was homely, and the inside of those walls were always buzzing with some kind of noise and excitement.

But the Hadley house - well, the Hadley house felt as though nobody had been living in it for years. The bedrooms were so sparkling clean that it seemed as though they'd never been lived in, or even entered at all, and the house as a whole just felt empty. There was little sign of life in it at all, as though it was some kind of ghost town. Needless to say, it gave her the chills.

On the edge of the perfectly-made bed, Clove found clothes placed neatly in a pile, her shoes discarded just beside the mattress. She picked up the woollen jumper that was neatly folded on the satin sheets, pale beige like the colour of soft cheese and made from a thick wool like something her mother would knit, and held it close to her chest. Pulling it over her head, she could tell that the jumper belonged to Hadley himself - falling just above her knees and smothering her in so much fabric it almost drowned her, but it would certainly be warm. The bottoms, however, were a pair of black thermal leggings not unlike the ones she wore for training, and they fit far too well to belong to Cato.

They were a woman's, and all Clove could think was that they probably belonged to one of his many female friends. Suddenly she felt sick.

But alas, she didn't have anything else, and so she had no choice but to wear them.

When she made her way back down the stairs, buried in the cream-coloured jumper, Cato felt an odd stirring in his chest, but he quickly pushed the feeling to the side.

"Thank you, for the clothes", she spoke sheepishly and attempted to avoid sounding awkward, though she was shuffling her feet anxiously as she approached the front door, "I'll be going home now".

"You're going to go home like that?", he smirked as he opened the door for her, letting a blast of cold air into the house, "don't you think your family might suspect something is up if you turn up home the next morning in a man's jumper?".

She hadn't even thought of it like that, and she sighed, "Well then, I'll go somewhere else and I'll pick my clothes up in a few hours - is that a satisfactory answer for you, Hadley?".

"Indeed", he nodded, but she was already on her way out of the door, bounding into the frost-covered streets as though nothing had ever happened.

"Stop laughing at me, Caelia or I swear to god", Clove picked up the battered cushion from the side of her best friend's bed and chucked it towards her, but it didn't appear to break up her laughter at all.

"You turn up here in Cato Hadley's jumper, after getting obscenely drunk and spending the night on his sofa", the blonde girl managed to spit out through broken laughter, but her amusement made it hard to speak, "And you expect me not to find that funny?".

"I hate you", Clove sulked, getting rather sick of being laughed at by everybody around her.

Sure, her life was an absolute joke, but she didn't need to be constantly reminded of that.

"So", Caelia spoke in a calmer tone once she had finally stopped laughing, "What was it like to be in the house of the Cato Hadley himself, in the flesh?".

Clove scoffed at her intrigue and excitement, though she knew she couldn't be too angry - she found him surprisingly intriguing herself, after all.

"He's not that interesting, you know", she rolled her eyes, "You talk about him like he's some kind of celebrity".

"He is a celebrity", her friend reminded her, "But then again, so are you".

She groaned, but she knew that Caelia was right. She was much more like Cato Hadley than she would like to admit, no matter how deeply he made her skin crawl.

"That's the thing - for a celebrity, he doesn't exactly live in luxury", Clove responded, "The house is completely empty, it's like nobody's ever lived in there. It felt so quiet and peaceful and clean, being there almost felt... intrusive".

Caelia pouted, "That's odd - doesn't he have any family?".

"I don't know, but if he does, they most definitely do not live in that house", Clove straightened her back and stood up, "Do you have a jumper I could borrow, I don't want my mother making assumptions if I walk into my house in this".

She gestured to the cream jumper that hugged her body, and Caelia nodded, pointing towards the wooden dresser in the corner of the room, "Sure, third drawer".

Pulling open the third wooden drawer, Clove began to rummage through the unorganised piles of clothing to find something she deemed suitable. Amongst the many blouses and shirts of pretty floral fabric, she managed to find something plain and warm enough that she could wear it home without suspicion. As she tugged on the grey shirt, a flash of navy fabric emerged from the bottom of the pile and caught her eye. Clove looked at the jumper for a moment, letting the familiar wool run through her fingers as a million questions flew through her mind, but she pushed the thoughts aside.

"Did you find something?", her friend called from the opposite side of the room, interrupting Clove's thoughts.

"Yeah", Clove called back and discarded the jumper where she had found it, burying it with the other contents of the drawer, "This will do find, thanks".

She smiled at her friend to express her gratitude, removing the beige jumper and pulling the grey blouse over her head instead, but she couldn't shake away the feeling that there was something the girl was keeping close to her chest.

It was a little over two hours later when Clove found herself shuffling back towards the Victors Village with the jumper clutched tightly to her chest, and the sun was just beginning to set. Underneath the thin grey fabric her friend had kindly donated to her, her skin had turned to ice, but she knew that it was nobody's fault but her own.

She had gotten drunk and passed out, after all. She had chosen to leave her house last night without a jacket in the peak of winter, and so she had nobody to blame for her mishap but herself.

Still, it didn't feel good to admit defeat.

Her feet were dragging along the icy cobbles as she approached her own front porch, her breathing heavy and visible in the frosty winter air. Above her, the setting sun had transformed the sky into a dazzling hue of orange and blue that gave it a warm pink glow, but the bitter chill that ran through the air made it difficult for her to appreciate it. She was almost certain her nose was turning blue.

Perhaps it would snow, covering the mountains that surrounded her district with a blanket of white that made it seem almost angelic. A sheet of white to wipe the slate clean - maybe then things would begin to feel better.

But then again, maybe it would just make the nights colder and the days shorter, and burden her even more than she already was.

It was difficult to find the small things beautiful these days.

"Oi, Clover!", a familiar voice calling out from the opposite house interrupted her thoughts, and she groaned as she turned around to face the ghost across the street.

Cato was stood on his front porch with a pile of clothes and an empty container in his arms. Under the pink sky and the orange light, the ruffled, blonde locks on the top of his head looked almost golden, the beads of sweat on the surface of his forehead causing his skin to glisten, and for a moment, she almost saw the Cato she remembered from the television screens.

The boy who had light in his eyes and glory in his step - the boy that was a god.

"What do you want now, Hadley?", she turned to face him with a begrudged smile, "Haven't you bugged me enough for one day".

"I just thought you'd like your clothes back", he raised his eyebrows, "But if you'd rather I keep them as a souvenir, that's fine too".

He appeared to find himself highly amusing, but Clove, however, did not. She paced across the cobbled street with such conviction that it made her seem almost intimidating to him, with a determined look of ferocity and impatience that made his stomach turn. Pulling the pile of belongings from his hands and into her arms, Clove attempted to push the beige jumper she had been holding back into his own hands, but he shook his head.

"Keep it", he winked, but his gesture was met merely with another roll of her chocolate eyes.

"Whatever, Hadley", she turned to leave, but she felt a warm hand tugging on her shoulder, "Was there something else you wanted?".

He paused for a moment, composing his words before he managed to meet her gaze, "I've decided I'll help you".

"Oh?", she stretched her chin forwards in confusion and gave him a puzzled look, "am I meant to thank you, or something?".

"With your flashbacks", he reminded her, and things began to click, "you asked me after the tour, remember?".

She nodded, "Oh right, that - thanks".

"Come over tomorrow", he continued, "We'll talk about it".

And with that, the boy disappeared back into the house and slammed the door without another word, leaving her standing on his front porch - flattered, bewildered, and alone.

─── 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ───

GUESS WHO IS BACK!!

Ahhhh I missed you all - I'm so sorry that it's been so SO damn long since I updated this book (or any book). Honestly, I know I've posted on my message board a few times about it over the past couple of months, but my workload and stress load at uni has been so much more than I anticipated and my mental health briefly went to mush so I just could not find the time or motivation to write and it absolutely sucked!!

But - I'm back! It's finally Christmas break, the semester is over and I'm feeling so much better now. I have so many plans for this book and my other projects for the new year (and so many milestones I want to reach before the year is over - hello, resolutions) so I'll definitely be back and thriving for 2021!

Thank you so much to everybody for their support and patience with this book! I promise I'm trying my absolute hardest to get updates out for you all as soon as possible, but I care so much about the writing quality of this book being at it's ultimate highest so I don't want to rush anything and compromise that.

I love you all and I hope you all had a lovely Christmas!!

Dani <3