ChapterSix: America

"Now, America," Alexander sighed, standing over me as one of his clowns pinned me to the concrete floor, his knee in my chest, "We're going to try this again."

I shook my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. My arms were bleeding, shredded in a hundred tiny cuts that the henchman tore into my skin with a pocket knife each time I failed to give his boss what he wanted.

"Please, stop," I cried, but Alexander only nodded towards the man pinning me down. I cried out as the blunt knife pierced my flesh, holding still as the man wielding it waited for Alexander's question.

"Where does the royal family hide when we attack?"

"I don't know! I told you, I don't know!" I screamed, bracing myself for the ripping pain. Sure enough, it came, this cut longer and deeper than the others.

Alexander slapped me, rupturing what I sure was already a fractured cheek.

"Liar! We know they hide within the walls. Where?!"

I shook my head silently, and Alexander's yes man raised his hand, slashing the knife across my forehead. I cried out, kicking my legs to no avail.

"I DON'T KNOW!" I shrieked, silenced by Alexander's kick to my stomach. I coughed, rolling to my side as the large man move, allowing me to breathe. Alexander crouched in front of me, lifting my face with one finger.

"Tell me."

I gazed up at him, my jaw going slack. His eyes glowed as if he knew all the secrets of the palace would soon be his.

Enraged by the premature victory in his eyes, I bit his hand, clamping down until he kicked me away.

"Fucking bitch!" He yelled, landing another blow on my cheek. Without another word he turned towards the cell door, his henchman on his heels.

"No water or food tonight, America!" He called out as the bars banged shut, leaving me in almost total darkness.

I waited until they were gone before rolling to my stomach, spitting fresh blood. I pushed myself up so that I was sitting, my back against the wall. I struggled to catch my breath, the pain from today's assault blending in with those from the day's before.

New pain, fresh and sharp. Old pain, healing and dull.

This was my existence now. Pain until the intensity of it dragged me into unconsciousness. I felt myself slump sideways until I was on the floor, pulling my knees towards my chest as best I could. My little sleep shorts were ripped and torn, my shirt soaked in blood.

It reminded me of the way Maxon's shirt had looked the night we spent together in the safe room, hiding from these very monsters.

Maxon.

His eyes, the color of milk chocolate, crinkling at the sides as he laughed while tickling me.

His full lips, parted in a grin as we played, completely at ease, barely dressed.

His blond hair tousled from where my fingers had run through it again and again.

The way he kissed my lips and brushed his fingertips over my skin as if we were already married.

It was the image that got me through every beating and every freezing night, my grumbling stomach simply adding to the symphony of pain that signaled that I was still alive at all. The joy and hope that had burned in me for those few short hours were stronger than any opiate they could have given me to dull the pain, were far more effective than any antiseptic.

He had loved me, really loved me. And I had loved him.

If our roles were reversed, I know he would have fought his way to survive for me. If not to see me again, to keep me safe. To protect MY family's secrets.

I would not break.

XxXxX

"It's called a record player, silly," Maxon had rolled his eyes as we stood together in one of the private parlors, "It predates even our founding father. It is for listening to music. Father gave it to me when I was a boy; They're exceedingly rare."

He slid a disc out of a sheath of paper and flipped it playfully between both hands. I giggled.

Encouraged by my joy, he set the disc on a wheel and lifted a needle. There was a scratch and then strange but uplifting music filled the small room.

I grinned, rolling my eyes skyward as I listened to the melody.

"Well, it's been building up inside me for Oh, I don't know how long…" My eyes fell to meet Maxon's as he sang, his voice moving in an unpracticed but beautiful tenor. My heart fluttered.

"Oh, so you know this one," I smiled as he reached for me, swaying in a little circle to the music.

"One of my favorites," he grinned, dropping a kiss to my nose, "By something they call The Beach Boys? Whatever that means."

I crinkled my nose as he began singing again, slowing our dance so we simply rocked from foot to foot, gazing into each other's eyes. The words were playful in the song but sounded like a vow on his lips. With this silly old song, through The Selection, the other girls, his father, and war, he was promising me something. Promising me everything I wanted.

"Don't worry, baby. Everything will turn out alright…"

XxXxX

"Wakie wakie, America."

I turned my face into the concrete, wanting to hold onto the memory for as long as I could. Maxon's hand on my waist, his lips dropping to mine… Someone poked me in the side, and the pain ripped me away from his arms.

"Sit up." Alexander demanded, watching as I pushed my back up against the wall so I wouldn't slump over again. I felt a little rush of satisfaction when I realized his hand was bandaged where I had bitten him. He was seated on a chair in front of me, holding a bowl that smelled like delicious chicken noodle soup. A generous portion of bread was sticking over the side.

He handed it to me, and I took it. I couldn't think of the possibility of poison, or what the gift of real food might mean. My pained body screamed for sustenance. I took a bite of the bread before lifting a spoonful of the soup to my lips. It burned the cuts there but was soothing as it slipped down my throat. Alexander grinned as I swallowed spoonful after spoonful.

"That's a good girl. You were hungry, weren't you? I'm sorry about that. You needed to be punished last night, so you understand why we had to make you go without. But then again, I guess you have been hungry before."

My eyes shot up to meet his.

"You told Maxon that, didn't you? And that's why he decided to feed the masses. What a good prince, helping his people." He wrinkled his nose, his words laced with sarcasm. "As if a few tasteless hot meals fix a lifetime of letting them starve."

I set the bowl of soup down, ill at ease.

"He does want to help his people," I argued quietly, raising my eyes to Alexander's, "Prince Maxon is a great man."

"How can that be when what we give our prisoners is better than what he feeds the children of the lower castes?" I blinked, his ploy suddenly becoming obvious. He was making it look like the rebels treated their prisoners of war better than Maxon treated his own people. Furious, I kicked the hot soup in his direction, drenching his pants.

His lips curled as he grasped my wrist, causing me to cry out as he angered the healing cuts on my arms.

"You WILL see it my way," he whispered, the low tone of his voice more menacing than his screams. He untied my beaded bracelet from Maxon, stained with my blood from the earlier torture, and pocketed it.

I cried out, trying to tear it away from him. That was it. The last piece connecting me to the man I loved.

"This is no place for trinkets from the Monarchy, My lady," Alexander smiled darkly before sweeping from the room.