Maxon:
"Maxon," my father's harsh voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I didn't look up. Just tucked my knees in closer to my chest.
My America was right thru those doors, lying on a cold metal table as the doctors tried to save her. She was going to die and I wasn't going to be able to do anything. I had thought I knew what hopelessness was. What helplessness was. But no matter how bad my life had gotten earlier, no matter how much pain I had suffered at the hands of my father, nothing compared to this. This waiting on the outside of a door, while my life depended on the events inside . . . was torture at its finest.
"Maxon." I glared at him with all the hate in my body. What right did he have to come here? What right did he have to continue to breathe when America may never again? What right did he have to stand above me?
But I wasn't going to stand. I didn't know if I could hold myself up and I wasn't going to chance that in front of this man.
"Maxon Calix Schreave," he boomed. "Get off the ground and act like the prince I raised you to be."
When I continued to stare at him, he grabbed my shirt, my suit jacket and tie long forgotten, and attempted to pull me up. I gave in, if only because of the crowd we were drawing. He turned me like a child and I went like one.
"I told Kriss to wait in the Library." He handed me a small velvet box I recognized as the ring I bought for America. "Now go put that ring on her finger."
I took a few steps forward before I realized what he just said. Turning around, I was met by his smug face. So sure I wouldn't put up a fight. So confident in his hold on me. There was no arguing him. Without a word, I headed to the library.