I'll Call Your Name (A District 2 FanFiction)
Cato and Clove have always been my favorite characters in the Hunger Games, so I decided to write a FanFiction about them. This FanFiction will be told in third person, but it will focus mainly on Cato and Clove. If you're looking for a story filled with romance, this is NOT it. This will mainly stick to the book and partially to the movie!
Read, comment, and rate!
But the voice came from behind him.
"Host!" Host whirled around abruptly at the sound of his district partner's voice. His eyes found the familiar, mousy brown hair and pale blue eyes.
"Maya," Host whispered. Without thinking, he tossed his spear aside, and sprinted towards her to pull her into a tight embrace. "I-I thought you preferred the Careers." Host couldn't help the hurt, helpless sound that rang in his voice. He pulled her closer to him.
Maya's breathing was uneven, and there was no doubt that she was fighting back tears. Host could feel her heart pounding against his chest, and he breathed in the familiar scent of Maya.
Maya's voice trembled. "I do." All of a sudden, an unbearable pain shot through Host's back. His eyes widened in a mixture of terror and shock. He fell against her like a lifeless doll, and Maya winced at the sight of her own dagger wedged into Host's back. She stepped aside, letting Host's body collapse to the ground helplessly.
The boy from District 4 stepped out from behind the shadows of the trees. The boy's smirk was full of both malice and appreciation. "Pretty good, District 2. Pretty good." He playfully fingered Maya's brown curls, but Maya couldn't tear her eyes away from Host's dead body that was now leaking with blood. A mixture of guilt and sadness flowed through her. The District 4 tribute nudged Maya's chin so that she was forced to look at him. "You're a pretty one, District 2. It's too bad that nobody will ever see your pretty face again." The pain was a sharp jerk in her stomach. Maya looked down to see a shadow of blood forming around the blade that was dug into her stomach. The boy from District 4 yanked his knife back out of her stomach and Maya collapsed to the ground, just like Host had.
Cato Foley awoke at the loud sob that filled the air.
Panting, he checked the digital clock that sat on his nightstand. The glowing, neon numbers read, 12:47 A.M.. Cato's body was covered by a layer of sweat, and the memory of his dream washed over him. He knew the scream had been his mother's, for surely she had had the same dream.
Cato considered getting out of bed and going to his mother's room to comfort her. A part of him wanted to wrap his large, muscled arms around her to protect her from memories and thoughts that had already left scars in her heart.
He shook the idea away, annoyed with himself for even considering it. Kindess was only a sign of weakness, after all. And although his skin seemed to be burning from the heat, Cato pulled the warm covers tighter around him. He pushed thoughts about his mother and his brother, Host, out of his mind before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
This routine repeated itself over and over to the point where it became a natural thing to Cato. Every night, he would have the same nightmare about his brother, wake up to his mother's miserable sobs, and try to resist the temptation to run to her room and just hold her.
One particular night, his mother's sobs turned into horrible screams. Cato's heart shattered at the sound of her agonized shrieks, and for once, he didn't bother to hold back glistening tears that slided gracefully down his cheeks. His throat ached but he didn't dare make a sound, for his mother would hear him.
When morning came, Cato's tears had dried and they had left a cold, lingering feeling that tingled on Cato's skin.
As he pulled on a crystal blue dress shirt, he silently rebuked himself for crying the night before.
Don't be a coward, He told himself in frustration.
He stumbled down the stairs, trying to grab on to any pride that he might or might not have had. When he reached the last step of the wooden staircase, he found himself face to face with his mother.
Dalia Foley was frail and looked as if she might break any second. She stared up at Cato, her sad eyes locking into his electric blue eyes. Oh, his eyes... How they reminded her of his father. Her face was traced with lines of age and pain, and her once beautiful blond hair was damp with what Cato assumed were tears. The tip of her nose was red, along with the swollen area beneath her familiar, hazel eyes.
His mother smoothed out the wrinkled parts of his shirt gently, and to her surprise, Cato didn't resist. Cato just stood there stiffly as his mother pulled him into a tight embrace. It had been a long time since he'd let her hug him.
Without making a sound, Cato silently began to stroke her hair. He knew the next few hours were going to be hard for her.
After all, it was Reaping Day.