Peanut Butter Fingerprints

Chapter Thirty-One

"Force Est Beaute"

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"That which does not kill us makes us stronger."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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Maxon

"Maxon, I'm dying."

I combed my fingers through America's sweaty hair as she settled her cheek on my knee. Her body deflated as she released a long sigh and closed her tired eyes. I slicked her hair back from her forehead and frowned involuntarily.

Watching America suffer through hours of pain drained nearly everything I had. Though, I supposed no pain could be worse than what America was going through. Just by looking at her I could tell how much pain she was in.

Her skin was coated in a thin layer of sweat and nearly translucent, except for her flushed cheeks and red, puffy eyes from the occasional crying. Her breathing was heavy, as if she'd just ran a marathon, and her eyes distant and cloudy. Though she looked most closely like a ghost, she still had a warm glow about her; it was almost as if she was bathed in light. The strength radiating off of her gave her an ethereal and angelic kind of beauty, one that could only come from sheer endurance and a firm grasp on hope.

"You're not dying, America," Aspen replied flatly, rolling his eyes. Though he sounded slightly annoyed, his voice held a hint of amusement.

After America forced me to reconcile with Aspen, her contractions came so close together that she lost the strength to do anything but doze in and out of a restless sleep. For the last hour, she's been mumbling obscenities, cursing, and making rather violent threats about what she was going to do to me for doing this to her. I knew she was in hysterics from the pain, but I didn't doubt that half of her threats might be carried out if her labor lasted any longer.

"Don't touch me. I'm gross," America whined, shying away from my hand.

Aspen looked up briefly from the box he was sorting through. "Life is gross, Mer. If you're going to have kids, you're going to have to accept that."

"Shut up, Aspen," she growled, narrowing her eyes at him. After a moment's pause, she added, "You too, Maxon."

"I didn't say anything."

"I know, but I had to say it just in case you were going to," she replied. "And stop thinking. I swear I can hear you thinking."

I made eye contact with Aspen, who looked to be on the verge of a laughing fit. For the last hour, he'd busied himself with looking through the shelves one more time to make sure he didn't miss anything the first time, but he came up empty. While I was holding America and helping her through the pain, he worked on getting everything ready in case the doors didn't open in time. Essentially, we were trapped in here until the battle in the Palace was over, and that could, unfortunately, take days.

My stomach churned at the thought of being stuck in here for more than a few more hours. America was about to have the twins anytime now, and I knew that the last thing she wanted was to have them in a safe room. Besides the fact that we were ill-prepared, America wanted this to be a special moment and not something that seemed like a chore. She deserved to be as comfortable as possible, and in here, she was nowhere near comfortable.

America cried out suddenly and gripped a fistful of the blankets bunched up around her until her knuckles faded of color.

"Is it almost over?" she whimpered, her eyes glossing over with tears. "I just want to hold them, Maxon."

I swallowed. When America fell asleep after she made Aspen and I make amends, Aspen shared with me all that he knew about labor from what his mother went through. He told me that sometimes women are in labor for days with their first child, which only made me feel worse about the whole situation. By America's pain level, he estimated she wasn't too far off now, but even the mere thought of her being like this for any longer pained me greatly.