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❝ all my love for you ❞
❝ cuts me like barbed wire ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
MY EYES SLOWLY OPEN, the frigidness of the ground I was currently sleeping on shocking my core and sending tingles throughout my spine. The realisation of now knowing where I was dawns directly onto me.
I quickly lift myself up, scanning my surroundings. I was in a gloomy, dark cave and my pulse speeds at the fact that someone else's supplies are positioned next to me. Turning around, I notice that my head had been laying on a person's bag, that clearly wasn't mine.
The absence of pain lingers in my thoughts as I recall the excruciating suffering my head caused me when it slammed against the sharp rock. The healing of my fall is what surprises me most.
Most people never actually fully recovered from such damage, and there I was, alive and functioning as completely normal person. I even remember that I had been slipping in and out of consciousness, unable to move, and had absolutely no idea for how long I had been out in this unknown territory.
My heart beats terribly faster, fear spreading in my body at the mystery of the identity of the tribute who had saved me, or who was preparing to do much worse to me. Thankfully, my knives appear to be there, scattered onto the floor.
Without hesitation, I squeeze my hand around the hilt of one of the blades, ready to fight. I know I could collect my things and exit this place, but my instinct orders me to stay.
My eyes land on the small entrance, where light seems to shine into the cave, the only source of brightness. I press my back onto the wall, waiting for someone to appear, someone that was stupid enough to let my live, and put my precious knives in my easy access. Only a tribute with immense skill or an ego dangerously big would ever leave me this way.
After I make this conclusion on the identity of my supposed saviour, I realise the name of the person who perfectly describes these specific points. Cato Hadley.
I frown and my eyebrows furrow. It couldn't be. And even if it was him, this would be his second time sparring my life, for no concise reason. Did he have no brain cells at all? Or, was this all part of his horrible plan and he was getting ready to torture? And then kill me?
It could also potentially be Peeta, but that made no sense after his first actions in the arena... betraying me to the Careers.
The heavy rumbling of my stomach distracts my speculations temporarily, and I give up my position to sprint towards the supplies. I hurriedly open the bags, stuffing my hands into it, hunger guiding my movements.
I beam at the feeling of my fingers get ahold of a chunk of cooked rabbit, and devour it at an unbeatable pace. I groan in pleasure as the grease and the meat collide with my lips, flavour my tongue and glide down my throat.
