~ once upon a time, in a land far far away . . . ~
...
"It's impossible to move on without leaving something else behind."
It's the first of many irrational thoughts that strike her on the day she gives birth to her first child. Lately, she's been remembering everyone from her past, but somehow she's been able to avoid the one person who mattered the most. It's quite ironic that this is the day she finally allows herself to consider him.
Aspen Leger, the first boy she'd ever loved.
It had been a whirlwind romance, she sees that now. Had she really expected her parents to allow her to marry someone whose existence they barely acknowledged, who would have been even less able to provide for their daughter than they were? It had been a frivolous, childish plan.
It wasn't surprising that her mother and father had jumped on the Selection bandwagon. She'd been blind not to realize that her love was obvious. The fact that they didn't know who the object of her affections was hadn't meant anything. Of course they'd wanted her to marry a prince, rather than whatever piece of lowlife scum she had been seeing.
(God, her mother was a hypocrite.)
She wouldn't have left if it hadn't been for him, though. She'd attacked him (crying and screaming and clawing at him with unpainted nails), when he'd told her she should sign up. She'd thought he was being selfish, ignorant, naive.
But that had been her all along.
She'd done what any rejected girl would do: fallen straight into the arms of anyone who showed her the least bit of attention. She supposes it was lucky that she'd become infatuated with the prince of Illèa and not some street con.
A bitter laugh escapes her mouth and she feels the baby kick.
"Pain can leave you paralyzed."
There have been days when she hasn't been able to roll out of bed. Her mind has gone black and her eyes have closed and her limbs have frozen (just like she imagines the corpses of her father and her parents-in-law and Celeste and countless others).
Those were the times when she hated the children in her belly, when she wanted nothing more to overdose on the pills in her locked desk drawer, or to rip her throat open with the razors in the cupboard, or to grab one of the guards' guns and shoot herself in the stomach.
She would have given anything, everything, to be buried in the ground with the people she loved.
In the back of her mind, she's still there, still inching her way out of that dark, dark pit. She's never escaped. She doesn't think she ever will.
A tear drips from her eye and the baby kicks again.
"If he steals my heart, and I steal his, isn't is just the perfect crime?"
Sort of like an eye for an eye, or a tooth for a tooth. That was an old, old rule, from long ago, eons before the United States of America existed, when the name Gregory Illèa was not even a whisper on the lips of his ancestors. It's not the way things work, not anymore. But it seems reasonably just.
After all, that's what had happened. Aspen Leger had grabbed hold of her most precious organ, and refused to let it go. It was only at his wedding that she'd realized she'd done the same.
It was after the ceremony when he'd cornered her in the bathroom and pinned her forearms to the wall, his breath but a warm whisper against her ear. I would leave this in an instant. I would run away with you. I would go anywhere. I would do anything. You love me still, Mer, don't you?
She would have kicked and screamed, except that his voice still sent shivers down her spine and his beautiful green eyes were boring into hers and she thought she might collapse.
I love you, but I'm not in love with you.
It was the only answer she'd been able to think of as she stood twenty feet away from his blushing bride. Whether it was true or not was a question she could ask herself for years. Philosophy was never her strong suit.
Okay, fine. She's been in love with him since the day they met.
After all, is it truly feasible to fall out of love?
The first contraction crashes through her stomach, leaving her breathless.
"This isn't a fairy tale, not now."
That's what the Selection is supposed to be, right? The chance of a lifetime for that one girl, the one who succeeds in conning the prince of Illèa into falling in love with her?
But what about the other thirty four? What about the girls (who were, and still are, much more worthy of his affections than she is) who desired nothing more than a simple life with the most coveted man in the nation? Where was their fairy tale?
And she's heard the horror stories. Who hasn't?
Clarissa and Laila ran from their husbands just weeks after being forced into marriage. Emily passed away at the hands of domestic abuse. Tiny, Elizabeth, and Zoe had gone in for drugs and destroyed themselves. Kriss and Leah died of gunshots to the head. The verdict was suicide.
And those are just the ones she knows about. There are probably more.
Ultimately, these were all girls who'd lost their own fairy tales. She'd been lucky to find Maxon after suffering the loss of Aspen. Who knew what she would have done otherwise?
Why does everything keep coming back to Aspen?
Another contraction hits and she screams and the man of the hour comes running.
"The world could be burning."
It's not like she would know. She's lived a sheltered life for the past three years, only leaving the palace to film videos and greet citizens. It's always rushed, just in case the rebels decide to make their presence known. They're unpredictable, and they always manage to stay just one step ahead of Maxon's best-laid plans.
America? he asks, alarmed.
The baby, she stutters.
For a moment, she sees him again. The old him. The one who forgot how to kiss every second time, the one who couldn't watch a girl cry without almost crying himself. But then he's back, and she's left thinking she imagined it.
Right, he says matter-of-factly. I'll call my mo -
He cuts himself off, and she catches another glimpse. This time, it's the Maxon who forgets his mother is gone. It's the Maxon who looked around for his parents after he slid the ring onto her finger, and again after she told him she was expecting his child. But in the blink of an eye, he disappears. In his place is the crown sovereign of Illéa.
I'll call your mom. Let me get Mary.
She has to refrain from laughing at the irony of it all. Anne is dead, and Lucy married Aspen, and Mary is still stuck in the palace, still her maid.
Call the doctor first, she answers.
Won't your mother want to be here? His forehead crinkles.
The doctor needs to get here first. That is, unless my mother wants to deliver my baby. She can hear how harsh she's being, but she doesn't want to apologize.
If you're sure . . . He's endearingly bewildered, but watching the king of Illèa question himself gives her a strange sort of pleasure.
Nostalgia strikes, along with yet another contraction.
"But I am not scared anymore. I will not run."
The babies are delivered at 2:44 P.M. on a rainy day, and the first thing the doctor says is that it looks as though the female may not survive.
Good, is the word that escapes Maxon's mouth, and she stares at him.
Excuse me?
Well, not good, he blusters, flailing his hands, but better. Better that the girl goes than the boy. The boy is for the Selection. The boy is here to raise our country's morale. You must understand.
I don't think I do, she responds coldly. These are our children.
Never mind, my dear.
She eyes him suspiciously, but then her mother arrives bearing gifts and flowers and hugs, and the conversation is all but forgotten.
...
There is no announcement about the birth of their daughter.
Maxon insists that it is because she is frail and sickly, and there would be no point in getting others' hopes up when she may not live past her first week.
So the next day, he stands in the corner of the balcony, cradling the girl in his arms.
And Queen America Singer Schreave holds her newborn son up to the sky, listening as the bells ring from sunrise to sunset.
Ever since, that little boy has never held a special place in her heart.
i'm so sorry it took me this long to update. but this is the premise. i really will try to update in the next week.
reviews warm my heart.
2 / 12 / 15
~ joyana ~
