A/N: Thanks for sticking with me, so far. Fair warning, this chapter is short. But, after I get a certain amount done on the end-of-the-semester work, I will let myself write a longer piece. (Plus, I see it as a bridge chapter and an attempt to get unstuck. I know the next step-why won't it just appear on the page like I want?!)
Totalbooknerd13: This time of year, laughs are needed! I'm glad you enjoyed the family bonding-I worried it was awkward... :)
prnamber3909: Thanks for stopping in. I could totally see an exchange like that between an adult May and her big sis. But, like I told Totalbooknerd13, I'm glad you like it. Because I thought it might be awkward? Maybe not. :)
As always, happy reading! SJ
Maxon lies on the floor of his study blood pooling around him, saturating the antique rug under his desk. I am not sure which wound to cover first. There are so many. His chest heaves. Aspen lies beside him unmoving, body immobilizing Maxon's legs. The blooms of red on his chest say that he is not just sleeping. True to the end.
I freeze, then in a flurry of movement collapse next to Maxon. Pleading. "Don't leave me, not now. Not like this." I tear off my sweater, pressing it to the wound on his chest. The white fabric soaks through. It is only seconds before my hands are covered. It's all over me now. Not just my hands. Up my arms, my neck. I am swimming in it. Drowning. If I scream will anyone hear me? Will anyone care? Where is Avery? Carter? August? Maxon struggles to open his eyes, "America..."
I fall forward, sobs wracking my body. Words are useless. I think I'm screaming but it doesn't matter. Let them come for me. They took my babies. They took my husband. Gone. Everyone is gone. Please. Take me, too.
"America."
I scream and scream and scream.
"America!"
I start up when the door to the hallway opens. "Your Majesties?" It's Avery.
"We're fine, Officer Avery."
"We're?" Not fine. I'll never be fine again. I open my eyes, my fists are clenched in the covers, twisting them in knots. How did I get here? Tears still run in rivers down my face, covering my mouth and chin.
I watch the door close and see Maxon's silhouette next to me.
"Maxon?" I gasp, confused, wild-eyed.
I collapse against his chest. "It was only a dream, love," he whispers into my hair and he holds me to him as I grip his shoulders. "Only a dream." Eventually the silent sobs slow and then stop.
I gingerly pull away from him and wipe my hands across my eyes. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, using the tail of it to dry the rest of my face before tossing it to the floor. I notice he's still wearing his suit pants. Late nights are normal around here, but collapsing into bed still clothed is not. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak yet. I have no desire to relive it. I lean into him again, feeling the warm skin of his chest against my cheek. Breathing in his scent while I can. He puts his arms around me and leans back into the pillows. "Whenever you're ready," he comforts, so close to my ear that his lips touch my hair.
"What time is it?"
"About 4:00 AM, love."
"You're still dressed."
"We were talking about you, America, not me." He closes his eyes, but I know he is completely alert. Especially now.
"I don't know if I will ever talk about it." I fear if I give a voice to the dream it might come true. My breath gets caught in my throat, "Gone. Just gone." I shiver involuntarily and he pulls me closer. I turn on my side to look him in the eye, catching sight of the scar from a bullet meant for me. What's to keep him from throwing himself in harm's way again? His chest has the bullet wound, but his back bears the evidence of how much he is willing to suffer to protect me. And thinking that way becomes too much. I don't know if I can sit and wait for the Loyalists to bring the fight to me.
"Maxon?"
"Yes?" He opens his eyes to look at me, serious.
"I can't let our home become a gilded cage for our children. They deserve more."
His eyes reflect the sadness in his voice, "I know. And so do you, America. So do you."