Peanut Butter Fingerprints

Chapter 3

"Waking Nightmare"

~•~

"Why does the eye see a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination when awake?"

-Leonardo da Vinci

~•~

America

I was drowning.

The thought pounded through my head as I desperately clawed at the riverbank in front of me. My fingers slipped through the mud and wet grass as my heavy dress tugged me down into the frigid river. Through mouthfuls of water, I screamed for help. When I looked up, Queen Amberly was kneeling on the edge of the bank, her hand desperately reaching for mine. As soon as my fingers brushed hers, King Clarkson grabbed the back of her dress collar and yanked her back.

Just as her lips opened to scream my name, my eyes popped open and I sucked in a sharp breath.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the streams of moonlight that washed over my face. A jolt ran through my body when the first thing I spotted was mangled flesh. But then I remembered that my cheek was resting on Maxon's back where the scars of my mistakes rippled through his skin. Tears bubbled up in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks when I wondered how many of those scars were my fault.

Since the beginning of this week it felt as if everything was. . .  out of place. It was as if someone put my emotions in a jar and shook it up. I seemed to remember only the things that I did that hurt Maxon in some way or another. And I'd always end up sobbing over them like in this moment.

Maxon's rhythmic breaths became sharp, and my head started to rise as he slowly woke up. I cursed myself quietly for waking him up, especially over something silly like a dream. It was just a nightmare, that was all. Queen Amberly and King Clarkson had been dead for five years, though their faces haunted my nightmares frequently.

One particular nightmare was of the Choosing Ceremony incident, where my late mother-in-law took a bullet for her husband before he was eventually shot. But instead of Amberly taking the bullet for Clarkson, it was me who threw myself in front of the king. I couldn't fathom why I would do such a thing, but as I lay on the ground, pain spreading through my chest as my dress blossomed with red, all I felt was peace.

I didn't know if I'd ever take a bullet for Maxon, or anyone for that matter. Now that I was pregnant, I couldn't think of only myself anymore. I had to do what was best for myself, only to protect my baby. And after so many years of agonizing failure, I wasn't about to sacrifice my child for the sake of the country. If it came down to it, I felt as though I would have to choose my child. That was what Maxon would want me to do, I reasoned. 

"Maxon, I'm fine," I mumbled against his skin, and started to push him back down with the heel of my hand. But my cheek slid off of his back and hit the mattress instead as he rolled over and sat up slowly. Maxon yawned and dragged a hand down one side of his face as he adjusted the pillow behind his back.

"C'mere," Maxon mumbled sleepily, opening his arms up for me but keeping his eyes closed. 

I crawled through the mess of silk and satin sheets and into his arms. His warm hands brushed my hair, nose, lips, neck, and shoulder until he finally found my hand and slid his fingers through mine. The sobs started up again as soon as he buried his lips in my hair and kissed my neck.

"Shh, it's alright. I'm right here, America. I'm right here. I'll always be right here," Maxon murmured, rocking me gently.

Maxon squeezed me tight and rubbed little circles on my back as the sobs dwindled down to sniffles and stray tears. I felt the corners of his lips sag against my neck as I remembered the dreams about him being caned while Amberly held me back, firmly telling me, You must accept this now.