Chapter Three: America

"I got the bitch!" Someone yelled as I was dragged by my hair back through the field where I had tried to make my escape. I clawed and scratched at my captor's wrist, but he shook me off violently, kicking me in the ribs. The toe of his boot nudged the gunshot wound he had just inflicted, and I cried out.

Suddenly we were surrounded, his buddies hooting and hollering as I laid bleeding at their feet.

"And to think, some called her beautiful," One sneered, lifting my blood-matted hair to see my face. I kicked his knee in, spitting in his face as he screamed.

"Damn it to hell!" he shrieked, landing a fresh kick to my stomach. I doubled over as the first rebel let go of my hair, laughing.

"Just as feisty as they said, though!" He chuckled, and they howled as I tried to scramble to my feet. He pushed me back into the dirt.

"You're not going anywhere, girly." I batted his hand away as he moved to grip my face. I tried to pull away from his grasp, failing miserably. I reached out blindly, my nails violently scratching across his face. I spit again when I realized I had drawn blood.

My feeling of victory lasted merely a second, however, before I was being pummeled. Fists, boots, knees. Landing anywhere they could reach. Again and again. Over and over. Stomach. Legs. Face.

Dizzy from pain and blood loss, I thought of Maxon. His face, boyish and full of love, the morning after he had spent the night in my bed. Kneeling over me and tickling me, his eyes brimming with laughter.

If I had died in that moment, with that memory as my only company, I would have gone happy.

"What the hell are you doing?" Someone yelled out, stomping closer. The assault immediately stopped, and I lay limp, fighting to catch my breath. My ribs screamed with each intake of air.

"We need her alive, you idiots! You will ruin everything! How are we supposed to get to them without her?"

The newcomer, a young man not much older than me with cold, gray eyes, crouched down beside me.

"And how are you, my dear?" He asked, feigning niceties. I saw red when he used Maxon's term of endearment for us all. It sounded cold and sinister on his lips. He chuckled when I remained silent.

"They told me The Prince's favorite was a stubborn one," He shook his head with another laugh, "And yet he sent her away to be murdered in the dirt, just so he could marry someone safe and boring. Doesn't seem right." He gently poked a pen against my bleeding shoulder, and a scream fell from my lips. "Maybe we can help each other, huh, Lady America?" He pulled the pen away and touched my cheek with a surprising gentleness.

I recoiled.

"Go to hell," I managed through gritted teeth. Anger flashed across his steel gaze, and I barely had time to register his cocked fist before it landed with a sickening crunch against my cheek.

Then everything went black.

XxXxX

"Don't cry, darling," Maxon whispered, squeezing my hand and kissing my forehead, "It's just a movie."

I sniffled, slightly embarrassed by the tears spilling down my cheeks. We were alone in the darkness of the movie room, watching a centuries' old movie. One that had somehow not been banned, despite its dangerous content; Its story of rebellion.

I shook my head as Eponine reached for Marius' cheek, her heartbreaking finale beautiful on her lips. Maxon paused the film, and I chuckled to myself, struggling to stifle the tears.

"Such a beautiful heart, you have," The prince murmured, kissing the back of my hand before gently letting it go in order to brush away my tears with his fingertips, "Crying this way for characters on a screen."

"My sisters used to tease me, I do this with book characters, too." I took a deep breath, then gestured towards the screen. "At least he let her believe he loved her, in that moment. A lie like that is noble, I guess."

A strange emotion flickered across Maxon's face.

"Maybe it wasn't a lie," he suggested, turning back towards the screen. "Maybe in that moment, he truly did."

I leaned my head against his shoulder, wondering if he was thinking of me or one of the other girls.

"Maybe a part of him always did. And he just now let himself say it."

I cried out, my eyes snapping open as someone tapped my wounded shoulder. I blinked, startled to find myself out of the dark media room. I turned to look where I was, only then realizing I was tied to a chair, my shirt soaked in my own blood.

"There she is," The voice from my nightmare cooed, stepping out from behind a spotlight shining in my eyes. His gray eyes flashed. "America. You don't mind if I'm informal, do you?" Without waiting for me to reply, he pulled a chair up in front of me. "I'll make it even by telling you my name. I'm Alexander… but you can call me Zander, if you wish."

I glared at him, refusing to speak. He sighed.

"Are you even going to thank us for patching you up?" He gestured towards my shoulder. I glanced down, only to see a bloodied square of gauze haphazardly taped to my shoulder, barely visible under my ruined sleepshirt.

"You did a piss poor job of it," I sneered, turning back.

"'Piss poor?'" He laughed, "What language! Very unbecoming of a lady. No wonder The Prince kicked you out."

I tried to shrug, but the pain seared through me. It was joined by smaller pains throughout my body, only now becoming obvious as I continued to wake up from my stupor.

"Maybe he dodged a bullet," I offered, "He's clearly better at it than I am."

Alexander tossed his head back, laughing.

"Wonderful! Though, I have to say, he missed out on an opportunity to have a warrior princess like you." He shifted forward, letting his knees rest on his knees.

"Now, America." He patted the camera beside him. Only then did I realize why there was a light on me; We were being taped.

I was being interviewed.

"Doesn't that make you mad? That he tossed you aside? Because you were, no matter The Selection making you a Three, a true Five? Because your caste was so far beneath him?"

My lips curled as I realized I was their pawn. The people's champion, a magazine had called me just before Maxon had broken it off. A true hero for our time. If I called out the Royal Family, people would be less likely to fight in their name. To ward off the rebels.

"No."

"Excuse me, America. I don't believe you heard me correctly."

"I heard you fine, you asshole."

"You don't think you were mistreated by The Prince? He was caught kissing you, treating you in a, shall we say, wifely manner, on more than one occasion? And now you're nothing."

"I'm not helping you." I stated simply, struggling against my restraints. Alexander sighed and turned off the camera.

"Not yet, America," he tutted, clearly disappointed that his little show had not panned out as planned, "But you'll come around. You'll see it our way."

I watched in disgust as his crew packed away their gear, revealing the fact that I was in a gray, stone prison cell. He smiled as the realization became clear on my face.

"Give her some water, will you? Can't have her dying in here," He waved his hand towards me as he walked away, "See you soon, Lady America."