A/N: So this is my response to SkyeElf's prompt. Hopefully this is good, sooooooooo enjoy! Oh I'll be posting up my next chapter for my fic, She Who Holds All Secrets, a.s.a.p.! R&R!

Ever since they pulled out my name on Reaping Day, I knew that I was going to be the winner of the Hunger Games. I just knew it. No one was a better fighter than me. I knew how to use almost every weapon that was invented, especially knives. I've never missed a target. I don't lose; I win. And I was going to win the Hunger Games.

It might sound crazy, but I loved to kill. It was my passion. I saw it as an art. I remember looking at every single one of my opponents and thinking of ways to kill them; so many amazing, torturous ways. The moment I saw Marvel, I thought of ripping out of his jugular with my teeth and watching him bleed to death. I wanted to light Rue's body on fire and watch her burn and scream in pain. I wanted to peel off the skin from Katniss's back with a rusty knife and then gauge her eyes out with my fingers. You can already tell that I don't make that many friends.

Then there was Cato. I never knew him personally. I only knew that we lived in the same district, and that we had a few things in common; we were both strong, skilled with many weapons, and have a savage pleasure for killing. We had talked once before we were to leave for the arena; he said he couldn't wait to rip apart everyone there. He also told me if he could choose anyone to kill him, it would be me. When I asked him why, he said, "I don't know, I just would." After that, I couldn't think of a way to kill him. If you knew me, you'd know that that would be very unusual. An old habit of mine has been when I first meet someone, I would know exactly how I wanted to kill them. But with Cato, I just...didn't know. Which made me mad, even stressed out. What if he charged at me randomly and I had to kill him? Just slitting his throat would be unsatisfying to me. I needed something more than that; something that would make me chuckle and smirk whenever I would relive the moment. Something that would make all the people I tell shiver, cringe, and stare at me in shock. Something that everyone watching the Hunger Games would never ever forget.

It was dark out. I was snug in a narrow space between two thick bushes. I laid down flat on my back and looked up at the night sky. A thousand stars were scattered above me, twinkling like a thousand distant candles or a thousand sparkling diamonds. This arena might be a hell-hole but at least there was a nice view.

Suddenly the giant screen appeared in the sky. Let's see who died tonight. Only three people died today; none of them were Cato. That meant he was still out there somewhere; hiding in the dark, waiting for his next victim, like me. I also noticed one of them was that little girl, Rue. It was about time that brat died; I'm just disappointed I didn't get to do it. I such great tortures planned for her.

The thoughts of torture started to tire me out, making me yawn quietly and stretch out my aching body. I wanted so badly to fall asleep, but my paranoia poked at me too much for me to close my eyes. When you're in the Hunger Games, you never know when someone will sneak up behind you and stab you in the chest, or shoot you down with an arrow, or snap your neck aggressively. That's why you should never trust people around here; even if they appear to be nice or harmless. Trust me, they won't be so nice once they're faced with death. Which is why I don't trust Cato. Honestly, he's my biggest threat. Most people around here would say Thresh or Katniss is their biggest threat; I'm not worried about them, I'll take them down any day. But Cato, he's different. He confuses me; it's hard to describe.

A snap of a branch stopped my train of thought. I rose my head slightly at the sound and shifted my eyes to look around. I rose up even more, slowly and cautiously. I heard another snap. Quietly, I slipped out from the bushes and pressed myself against the dark side of a tree. Another snap. Whoever the hell this was, really wasn't good at being quiet. I nervously gripped onto the handle of my knife, ready to strike at any moment. I could feel them coming closer, and closer. My heart pounded destructively, seconds away from exploding out of my chest. I breathed in deeply, and then calmly breathed out. I then heard the soft patter of cautious feet. I could hear them turn; they were coming closer towards me.

Calm down. Just count to 10. Count to 10. Breath in...Breath out...Breath in...Out...In...Out...5...4...3...2...1!

I swiftly pulled out my knife and jumped out. I rose my knife into the air, about to plunge the blade into my new victim's chest, when a hand grabbed my wrist, stopping me. I struggled against the strong grip, when I realized who was in front of me. I quietly gasped, while Cato smirked back at me.

"Did I scare you?" he chuckled.

"No," I scoffed, pulling away from him and putting my knife away.

"Admit it, Clove," he said, "you were a bit scared."

"I was not scared!" I defended. "You just startled me."

"Right," he said sarcastically.

"What are you doing here, Cato?" I asked, irritated. "It's a lot more dangerous around here at night, than it is during the day."

"I don't know," he shrugged casually. "I thought I would go for a walk."

"A walk?" I repeated. This guy was really odd.

"What's wrong with that?" he asked.

I didn't answer. I only shook my head and then started to walk away. But then Cato grabbed my wrist again, pulling me back to him.

"Why are you leaving?" he asked.

"Well since it's only you out here," I explained, "I'm going back to sleep."

"What do you mean 'it's only me?'" he frowned.

"I thought someone threatening was out here," I said.

He fake gasped when I said that. "I'm not threatening to you?" he asked.

I shook my head, creating an innocent lie. Letting him know that he's a threat will only tempt him to torment me with the thought of him murdering him in the middle of the night. I started to pull away again, but he pulled me back again. But this time he lightly threw me against a tree, pressing my back against the rough bark. Cato blocked me from slipping away. He then pulled out his own knife and brought it to my neck. The smooth blade felt cold against my skin. I remained still and kept eye contact with Cato.

"You sure I'm not a threat?" he asked. "How do you I won't cut your throat right now? How do you know I won't rip you to pieces right now? How do you know, huh?"

"I don't," I replied. I knew this frustrated him, because he then bit his lip furiously and shifted his eyes toward the ground.

"How am I not a threat?" he asked.

I awkwardly shifted weight between my feet, avoiding the question. He then moved closer to me, pressing his body and knife even closer to me. I felt even more uncomfortable.

"Answer me," Cato growled.

"Alright, fine!" I almost yelled. "You are a threat! In fact you're my only threat!"

Cato frowned again and then stepped back.

"So I am a threat?" he repeated to me.

"Yes," I sighed. He was still frowning. "Why are you looking at me like that? Isn't that what you wanted to hear?"

"Well, yeah," he said. "But why am I your only threat? What about Katniss? Or Thresh?"

"They're only opponents to me," I said. "You're more than that. You're more of a challenge to me."

"Why?"

"Because you're just like me. When you fight to the death with someone, you either battle one who is weaker or stronger; you're neither. It's like fighting myself; and I could never kill myself."

"So you won't kill me?"

I shook my head. "Probably not." That terrible awkward silence that I've always dreaded started to fill up in the air. "Are you gonna kill me?" I finally asked.

He didn't respond right away. First he looked down at his shoes. Then he ran his fingers through his hair. He then looked down at the knife that was still in his hand, and then put it away. He looked at me one last time and then walked away without saying anything. He just...left. I sighed in confusion and then went back to my hiding place in the bushes. Slowly I drifted off into a deep sleep, still thinking why Cato didn't answer.

My eyes fluttered opened to a different surrounding. A giant, empty room with white walls, a cement floor, and fluorescent lights. I was sitting in a chair; I was actually chained to it. But why was I? Why was I here? This was obviously a dream, otherwise I would have woken up to a bright sun and tall pines trees towering over me. But why was I dreaming about this? Where was the point?

Suddenly the door opened, and there was Cato. He had a duffel bag hung over his shoulder. He looked at me with this fire...this madness I had never seen before. It burned deep in his eyes. He breathed deeply with anger and then dropped the bag on the ground. He then opened it and pulled out a giant butcher knife and roll of duct tape. I frowned but then realized what was going to happen.

He pulled off a piece of tape and gently placed it against my mouth. He tossed the roll of tape away and then pulled my arm out from under the chains. He hesitated for a moment and violently slashed his knife across my arm. My screams were muffled behind the thick tape. Tears brimmed in the corners of my eyes from the pain. Warm blood streamed down my arm and dripped onto the floor. The cold, sharp feel of the blade cut deep into my skin once more, making me scream and cry again. He then pulled out my other arm and did the same thing. There was more blood, more tears, more screams...and a hell of a lot more pain.

Cato pulled the chains off from around me and then shoved me off the chair. I slammed against the cold concrete floor. Dark spots started to block my sight. I could feel blood spilling from head, slowly trickling down the back of my neck. I felt so dizzy and overwhelmed with pain. I heard the faint echoes of Cato's feet slamming on the ground as he walked up to me. He picked me back up, only to throw me back down. This time I heard a crack and I screamed into the tape; one of my ribs had broken. I tried to pick myself back up, wanting to escape. I slowly crawled to the door, but Cato pulled me back by my ankle. He then grabbed my jaw and forced me to look at him. A small switchblade was in his hand; he brought it up to my cheek and lightly pressed the blade against it. With a quick flick of his wrist, he made a small cut. I flinched and let a tear fall. The hot, salty tear stung my cheek as it streamed over the fresh cut.

He then ripped the duct tape off from my mouth, finally letting me scream. A bit of the skin from my lip was ripped off with it, making it bleed. I had never bled so much in my entire life. This felt too real for it to be a dream. When was I going to wake up? When would this end? I started to question whether or not this was reality. What if it wasn't a dream? What if this was really happening? Did someone snatch me in my sleep and bring me here to be tortured to death? Too many questions were running through my head, making my anxiety increase dramatically.

Cato glared at me evilly and then dragged me across the room. He opened the door and continued to drag me out. I was too weak to get up myself, but desperately wanted to. Blood smeared over the dirty floor of the hallway as I was pulled away. Cato brought me to a new room. It was just like the other room; giant with white walls and a concrete floor. What was different was the old porcelain tub in the middle of it. He pulled me closer to it and immediately dunked me in it. I was instantly met by the harsh bite of cold, iced water. I tried hard not to scream, because I knew if I did, ice and water would fill into my lungs. My blood started to blend with the water, causing red to fog my vision. Before I could pass out, Cato pulled me back up to the surface. I gasped for breath and started to shake at the sudden change of temperature.

I was met by his eyes again, and they made me shiver even more. What did I do to deserve this? And then I forced under the water again.

My eyes shot open from the nightmare. That's all it was, a nightmare; and a fucking bad one. But it made me realize something. If Cato could choose who would kill him, it would be me because I would be having the fun for him. Like I had said before, he was just like me. He probably even picked vivid ways to murder the people he has met.

And that made me realize something else. If I had to choose who was going to murder me, I'd pick Cato. And I'd pick him for the exact same reason that he would pick me. Even if I was in great pain in that dream, deep down...I was laughing at the joyous pain. Like I said before, you can tell I don't make that many friends.