I leaned against the wall, grimacing at the thought of spending the next few hours locked in this room, unable to treat my back. The excruciating thought was only mitigated by the fact that at least my father wasn't here to watch me sweat it out, I'm sure he would have enjoyed watching me struggle. Pulling myself together, I slowly ran my hand against the wall, finally finding a light switch.

Concern was written on America's face. "At least this is one of the good ones," I said lightly, hoping to diffuse some of the tension as I hobbled over to the bench to sit.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said quietly, propping my head in my arms. Agony was coming in waves, I was trying once again not to vomit. Across the room stood the girl I thought I might never see again and all I could do was try to stay conscious.

"I'm guessing those were Southern rebels?"

I nodded, trying to think of anything besides the pain coursing through my back. I focused on her breathing, relieved that she was okay. Satisfaction coursed through me, at least I had protected the one I loved. I shook my head, trying to get that thought out of my head. I couldn't love her. This was over, there was no way for me to stop her from going home, I had failed.

"Are we safe here?"

"Yes. This is one of the places for servants." I explained slowly about how the safe rooms worked, trying to distract myself with the task of answering her questions. I took my time explaining, shifting constantly to try and alleviate the pain. Finally, I leaned forward, hissing as it felt like my cuts were dealt all over again.

"Maxon?"

"I can't …" I whispered, resigning myself to the fact, "I can't take it anymore. America, help with my coat?"

I tried to stay focused, but felt so woozy. In the back of my mind, I knew this was not a good idea. I dreaded the pity, horror and disgust which would likely overtake her. I sighed, realizing it would make the task of sending her home easier if she was running out the door. She gingerly helped me remove my suit coat. I had imagined her doing this a hundred times, but I hadn't imagined being in so much pain. Realizing there were only seconds left before she would learn my secret and dismiss me from her heart forever, I grabbed her hands.

"Your record for keeping secrets isn't that impressive right now. But this is one that goes to your grave. And mine. Do you understand?" She nodded and started to unbutton my shirt. Her eyes widened as she saw my chest and I closed my eyes, bracing myself for her reaction.

"Slowly," I said, as she began to remove the shirt, which was sticking to my back, soaked in blood. She walked around my back and I heard a gasp. I didn't look at her, I didn't want to imagine the shocked look on her face. I didn't hear movement for a while, as I stared at the floor. I wanted to be anywhere else right now, away from the woman who still had my heart and was shattering it on the floor. This was far worse punishment than the blows themselves had been.

I finally heard her rustle around and turn on the sink. "This might sting a little," she warned.

"It's okay," I whispered sadly, giving weight to my words. "I'm used to it." I am used to the pain, it is true. But not this deep feeling of shame coursing through me. I knew she was trying to be careful, but every touch of the washcloth was like a needle piercing my skin. I tried to stay still as she worked on the cut remaining from the final blow, the one that had caused me to give up on keeping her here.

It was the guilt from that thought which made me begin talking. "I've been preparing for tonight for years, you know? I've been waiting for the day when I was strong enough to take him on." I thought of the hours of training, the pain I caused myself so I could finally be strong enough to stop him.

"Why didn't you?" She said softly.

I paused, knowing this would hurt her. "I was afraid that if he didn't have me, he'd want you."

Her body froze and I wanted to take those words back. To take everything that had happened between us back.

"Does anyone know?"

"No."

"Not the doctor? Or your mother?"

The thought of my mother finding out made my stomach roll. "The doctor must, but he's quiet. And I would never tell my mother or even give her a reason to suspect. She knows father is stern with me, but I don't want her to worry. And I can take it."

"He's not like this with her," I said reassuringly. "She gets mistreated in her own ways, I suppose, but not like this."

"Hmm," she said. I was sure she was thinking of how to most efficiently extricate herself from this awkward situation. How she could run away from me, my disgusting back, and my monster of a father once and for all.

I hissed as she wiped my back again. "Damn, that stings." I just wanted to curl up alone like I usually do after a beating, to wish away the pain and scheme about how to avoid it again. Tonight I even had that small luxury taken away from me. I tried to slow my breathing, determined not to make another sound.

"I have more sympathy for Carter and Marlee than you know," I said, involuntarily flexing my back and thinking of my own punishment which preceded theirs. "These things take a while to stop hurting, especially if you're determined to take care of them on your own."

"What are the others for?" she asked. "Never mind. That's rude."

I shrugged, if she was leaving anyway, it was nice to have someone to confide in. "Things I said or did. Things I know."

"Things I know. Maxon, I'm so …" I heard her start to cry, the woman who had caused my world to crash down around me, who incurred my father's wrath like no other. She didn't seem disgusted by my back. These were loving tears. I reached my hand around to touch her, trying not to move too much.

"How are you going to finish fixing me up if you're crying?"

She laughed and finished her work of cleaning. It was nice to have someone take care of me. Although I had been taking care of this myself for years, it was difficult to cause myself more pain as I cleaned the wounds. Often I ended up passing out on my bed as I cleaned and bandaged, only to wake up in agony hours later and try again. I'm sure my haphazard attempts hadn't helped the scarring, and I worried of how my future wife would see these scars someday. If America's reaction was any indication, hopefully it wouldn't be as bad as my father had led me to believe, although I couldn't imagine any of the other girls reacting as well as she.

"Do you think there are any bandages in here?" she asked.

"The box," I replied

My heart raced as she opened the box, embarrassed once again that this had happened and I had done nothing to stop it. Does she think of me as less than she did before? Although she hadn't seemed to think too much of me a few hours ago…

"Why don't you have bandages in your room?"

"Sheer pride. I was determined never to need them again."

"This might hurt."

I nodded. I tried to prepare myself, but when the solution touched my skin, it felt like I was on fire. I grunted once, trying to breathe through the shooting pains. As she continued, the ointment began to help, and I felt myself relax under her hands.

I laughed, "I knew my secret would come out eventually. I've been trying to come up with a good story for years. I was hoping to find something believable before the wedding since I knew my wife would see them, but I'm still stumped. Any ideas?" My heart stopped at my words, considering again that the wedding would not be with the bride I'd had in mind. I took a deep breath, thinking of how hard it would be to start over again with someone new. Kriss was a nice girl, but I wasn't sure I could ever look at her the way I looked at America.

"The truth works."

I nodded solemnly, pained. I wanted her here more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. "Not my favorite option. Not for this anyway."

"I think I'm done."

"That's great, America. Better than any job I ever did."

"Anytime." My heart dropped, knowing it could never be true and wishing so deeply that it was.