As soon as Peeta realizes what you've just done, he lets go of Cato, allowing the tribute from District 2 to finally roll off of the edge of the Cornucopia to the awaiting mutts below. You sigh in relief that Peeta didn't fall off, and take his outstretched hand, wincing at the pain in your leg as he pulls you onto the Cornucopia and away from the vicious mutts.
"Where did you aim to hit him?" Peeta asks, seemingly breathless from his encounter with the other blonde.
You slide your hand down the side of your leg, feeling the length, width, and depth of the slash from one of the mutt's claws. "I aimed for the neck," you take off your belt, tying it securely around your leg wound. "Is that where the knife hit him?"
Peeta nods, dragging his gaze from the mutts gathered around Cato below to right in front of him, where you're attempting to put pressure on your injured leg. It's a struggle, since the belt isn't only helping to stop the blood flow out of your leg, it's also helping to stop your circulation below the wound.
"That was the last knife I had," you confess, fighting the urge to look at Cato as the cannon goes off, echoing throughout the arena. "But I'm glad it wasn't wasted."
By now, the mutts have begun to walk away, seeing as you and Peeta are the winners. Thanks to your placement and aim in throwing the knife, Cato died only a minute after your knife hit a major artery in his neck. There wasn't really much time for the mutts to mutilate him that much—which, oddly, is a comfort for you.
You feel a nudge on your shoulder, and look over to see Peeta's elated face. "(Y/n)—we won."
You'd be lying if you said you weren't relieved, that after everything you and Peeta have been through you finally get to go home. For the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to feel happiness, and hope. That maybe everything will be alright when you both get home. That the entire crazy ride was worth it, if it meant that you and Peeta get to live, and that Katniss and Prim are safe.
"Yeah, we did," you murmur, still shocked. Light starts to creep above the horizon once more, as if some sort of violently beautiful metaphor to the end of the Games. Peeta slides off down the side of the Cornucopia, the same way the two of you came up only a few minutes prior, which seems like hours by now.
Gingerly, you let Peeta help you step down the edge of the Cornucopia, testing your leg when you finally land on solid ground once again. But it's then that you notice that, oddly, nobody has come to airlift you out of the Hunger Games yet. You begin to worry if you and Peeta are doing something wrong, or if maybe you need to wait for Cato's body to be taken away.
"I don't remember having to wait this long for past winners to be taken out of the arena," you say to Peeta.
"Did we do something wrong?"
"I don't think so," you shake your head. "I don't know what else it could be, other than something with Cato's body."
"You don't think...?" Peeta trails off, pointing and motioning from you to the knife still sticking out of the other tribute's neck.
"Oh hell no."
"What, are you that squeamish? Or are you just not used to blood?" he quotes himself from a few days prior, when you had gagged at bandaging his wounded leg.
"I'm not the type."
"(Y/n). It's your knife."
"Fine, I know. And I probably have to. I'm going," you limp a few feet towards Cato's dead body, shuddering slightly at the massacre on his face. Looking away, you reach down until you feel your hand wrap around the wooden handle of the knife, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. With a violent tug, trying to get it over with quickly, you yank the knife out of its victim, nearly stumbling back when it comes free.
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Living Lies ✜ Hunger Games x Reader
फैनफिक्शन❝ The moment the Games began I was living a lie. ❞ ❈ Born and raised in the Seam, life was never without its challenges, and choices were never made with ease. You, and your family, survived because of your own resilience; and the help of your close...
