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[shenevermisses]

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[shenevermisses]

[Go limp. Go down. Move forward. Side step. Elbow to the ribs. If she didn't want to use a knife. She can feel it, heavy at her side. She killed Twelve with it. She could kill him, too. Blood all over her. That's what she knows. Blood and a body at her feet.

Back in a week. And then what?

It's an excellent plan, and her eyes shine with it. With the lust for blood. Because that would be so much easier.

But she stays tense. She can't do it. She can't attack. She can't kill. Not him.

And the shine takes on a different tone. Tears, rather than murder. Sorrow more than rage. Yet a deep anger because she can do nothing with that pain.]

I hate you.

[Yet, even as she says it, her voice nearly breaks. She wants to cry; she wants to hit him. Anything to make this stop.]

[deadalready]

[He thinks about breaking her wrists. About breaking her neck.

That'd be easier than doing this. Playing house and pretending that love is something they do. It's so stupid, especially in hindsight. Why did he think they could do this? Because there's nothing else here?]

I don't care.

[And it's the truth. He could give less than two shits if she hates him. He hates mostly everything on a good day. Maybe the months of peace and learning to accept this is his future had rubbed off on him, because he realizes that he's contemplating killing her. Killing her of all people. And he lets go.

Cato backs away and doesn't stop till he's out the door and going to the lake. Moving by route.]

[shenevermisses]

[Clove watches him go. When he releases her, she only slides down against the counter, going to her knees. The words hurt, and that stings more than anything else. There are tears now. She's actually crying, now that he's not there to see her. Is this what she's become? Has she let herself get so weak?

She grabs the counter and pulls herself up. The pots and pans on the stove are spared. The glass bowl the noodles might have been served in? Isn't. She throws it, the thick glass barely breaking, even when it hits the wall. Not far enough to go to pick up enough speed. So she sees the glasses set out for drinks with dinner.

Those break much more easily.

A plate. Then two.

She steps over the shards, ignoring them. She wants to run. But he'll go to the camp. That can't be her haven here. But he might come back. She doesn't want to be here when he does.]