WHAT TO DO, WHAT TO DO? MAXON DEAD, AMERICA BROKEN, T BEING T, ASPEN UNACCOUNTED FOR...
NOT MANY OPTIONS HUH?
ACTUALLY, ONLY ONE OF THOSE THINGS IS TRUE. HMM...
T
Poor, poor girl. So deeply in love. Maxon just had to die, didn't he? I don't like seeing her like this; she's my friend, almost like Teddy.
I was rocking her in my arms, whispering things like, "He loved you very much, no doubt about it."
And that, I was absolutely sure of.
I, just like everyone else, had seen the Report. I saw the Selection process just like every other citizen of Illeá. There was no question about the relationship between America and the Prince. The closeness of their bodies, the honest-to-God love and happiness in their eyes, the easiness of their smiles.
I knew that Maxon was irretrievably in love with her, that was easy to see, and I now know that she is hopelessly in love with him as well.
"You won't leave me, will you T?" she murmured at some point.
I was slightly taken aback. But I answered, "America, as long as you need me, I won't ever leave you."
"Thanks, T."
AMERICA
After maybe two hours, T finally got me to calm down.
"So where is this 'bunker' you were speaking about?" I said, standing up. Cold now that his arms were gone, I hooked my arm through his.
He cleared his throat and began walking us over to a tree near the edge of our field. "Already there."
T rubbed on the base of the tree and out popped a panel of bark. "Ladies first." He held out his other arm towards the hole in the tree.
"Such a gentleman. Are there more stairs?" I said, trying and failing to steady my voice.
"Of course. If you don't feel like walking, I could carry you again." he replied.
"Not the way you carried me, right? Anything but that."
"As you wish." He came over and scooped my exhausted body into his arms, carrying me bridal style.
I was amazingly tired as a result of a day's worth of walking and my explosion over Maxon, so I snuggled close to T and fell asleep.
T
She quickly fell asleep in my arms. She looked so adorable.
Wait, what? Seriously, brain? She just freakin' had a mental breakdown because her boyfriend died, and I'm calling her adorable? What is wrong with me?!
Careful not to hit her head and wake her up, I went down the stairs into the bunker I had made.
Yep, I made this bunker. Before I was a double agent, I was a kid. My father took my mother and I all over the country (not a small feat) building all sorts of random things. One day, in Droatia, not very long ago, my father was trying to get me into the business. He assigned me the task of building a bunker. And here we are.
I had never thought that I myself would use it. Let alone me and a girl.
There's a bed, just one, like the last place, a toilet, a sink, the typical stuff.
I set America down on the bed and tucked her into the covers. Brushing the hair out of her eyes, I leaned down and kissed her forehead.
"Everything will be okay. I promise."
Then a voice - her voice - said, "Thanks, T."
Well, uh, this is awkward. Hoping to lighten the situation, I said, "Well, if you're awake, you might as well scoot over."
It was a long day, can you blame me?
She moved over, so I laid down right beside her. I could feel her come a little closer, snuggling into me. I wrapped my arms around her waist.
She fell asleep again, leaving me with my arms around her and my thoughts buzzing in my head.
I honestly didn't think that Maxon was dead. Not without finding America first.
AMERICA
I felt much better with T's surprisingly strong arms around me, so I fell asleep nestled up next to him.
My Wonderland was worse than Illeà.
I was dressed to perfection. A long, silky, red, and sleeveless gown hung off me perfectly. My makeup was near non-existent, but flawless, nonetheless. My songbird necklace hanging delicately, tiny earrings pinned to my ears. The most striking, though, was a tiny string of jewels in the shape of a tiara dotting my hair.
I was staring at the mirror. But then, in an instant, the reflection wasn't me. It was a white suit coat with colorful medals dangling from the shoulders. White pants, black shoes, smiling face.
Maxon. As my reflection.
I put my hand up to the glass, as did Maxon.
"Maxon, where are you?" I said.
"Can you see me?" he asked.
"Yes. But, please, come here."
He gave me a sad look and said, "I wish I could, darling."
"But you can't be dead! Not really!" I said.
"America, stop. As long as you love me, I'm never truly dead. A piece of me will always live in your heart. I will live through you."
"But what about me?! What am I supposed to do without you?"
"Let me just say this. I love you. Too much to ever let that change. A love like ours, it can withstand anything, even death."
I tried fling myself into his arms, but all I did was knock over the mirror. It shattered, the little pieces of mirror flying across the floor. I was cut in several places, but I didn't care. I tried to find Maxon in the pieces of mirror again, but he was gone.
I curled up into a ball on the floor, crying, rocking back and forth.
And then I woke up.
(A/N I WAS LISTENING TO "MIRRORS" BY JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE WHEN I GOT THE IDEA FOR HER DREAM. FAIL.)
T
She woke me up with her screaming.
She bolted straight up, ripping my arms away with her force. She was crying, sobbing into her hands. I sat up with her and slowly moved my arms to where they were giving her a strong, reassuring hug. She flung her arms around me and squeezed the breath out of me.
"Shh, calm down, Lady, calm down. What's wrong?" I said. I wanted to say, "Shh," one more time, but her despairing voice interrupted me.
"In- in my dr- dream-" Sounds more like a nightmare, really. "-Maxon was back, and- and he sa- said th- hat he lov- loved m- me, but then he- he went away. I ki- killed him!"
Woah. That didn't sound good at all. I tried to comfort her. "America- wait a sec, is there an easier name I can call you? One with one syllable?"
"Mer," she choked out.
"Mer, you didn't kill him. Just think of all the good things. He loves you, that's a start. Close your eyes, imagine I'm Maxon."
We leaned back, settling into the pillows once more. She closed her eyes and stopped sniveling. She was breathing deeply. I could only assume that she was taking my advice.
"Maxon, you idiot, go to sleep. Don't leave me, no. Pull me closer, make me feel safe and loved, and we can both sleep peacefully."
I hesitated. Was she talking to me, David Lang, or was she talking to Maxon?
"Well," she pressed, "go on."
And so I followed her instructions. I did not leave. I pulled her closer. I put as much platonic love and safety into my hug as possible. I slept.
OKAY, LET ME CLEAR SOME THINGS UP:
1.) WHEW! THAT TOOK FOREVER!
2.) OH MY FRICKIN' GOODNESS, PLEASE, PLEASE DON'T HATE ME. I'VE GOT SOME TRICKS UP MY SLEEVE...
3.) T AND AMERICA'S RELATIONSHIP IS PURELY PLATONIC. I MEAN, T DOES HAVE SOME FEELS FOR HER, BUT THAT'S AS FAR AS IT GOES. PROBABLY.
4.) HAVE YOU FIGURED OUT WHICH ONES ARE NOT TRUE?