The Fighter - A Maxerica The Selection Fanfiction

The Attack

A/N: I wasn't as satisfied with this chapter as I usually am. We are getting into the story now. I still hope you like it. I am making a change on how I update. I love working on my story, but sometimes I get discouraged because I spend hours and hours planning and writing them and the work doesn't get the recognized. So, I am creating an incentive for me to update, I guess. I don't mean to sound petty. If this chapter gets 5 comments of any kind (critiques, suggestions, recognition) below, I will post the update. As always, thank you daugular01  for the support and the love. Shout-out to thebutifulgirl and ogreece for the comments from the last part! I hope you enjoy this update!

"I apologize, Amer –," Maxon's mention of America paralyzes me to my core. My breathing halts. My heart beat pounds in my ears as my nervousness rise. I spend all energy to keep my facial expression as neutral and empty as I can. Has he figured out who I am? Was it really that easy? What gave me away? My physical features or the way I have acted when he was around? Will he change his view of me? Will he continue to hate me? All these questions swim around my brain so fast that I get dizzy.

A panic attack threatens to grow from deep within me and I fight to suppress it. I control my staggered breathing trying to regain prevent myself from spiraling.

"Are you alright?" as if my hearing unclogs, I hear Maxon speak to me.

I don't respond. I couldn't.

"I apologize. I was about to call you America. It's just...you remind me so much of her. The sound of your voice even sounds like hers, but I know that can't be. Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for my childish behavior. I don't know what has come over me. I guess ever since you told me that, Ame-, shewas dead I haven't been thinking clearly."

I internally sigh with earned relief that he didn't recognize who I am. This was too close. I can't give him any hint of detection. If he finds out, I can't protect him.

He continues to talk, and I try to pay attention, "Although, forgive me, but I am having a hard time trying to picture how you and...her...would've come across each other. I don't see you, how do they say it, hanging out with the same crowd?"

"You're right. We led completely different lives, so I understand."

"So?"

I cross my arms and quirk my brows in response, confused at his inquiry.

"Sorry, I thought I was pretty clear that I was asking how you met."

Oh. That. I guess I should have known he would keep asking about her. If I answer his question, it would lead to the topic of her death. My love for him wishes to spare him the pain, but I know he would only keep asking and the unknowing will only tear him apart from the inside out and so against my better judgment I tell him my cover story.

"America and I met while we were both being held deep within a Southerner's Rebel Camp."

Maxon's warm brown eyes widen as the words fell out of my mouth.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I was captured during a rebel attack. I was carried and held in their camp for what seemed like months. I would not have survived that...experience... if weren't for the companionship I built with her during our time there. We thought we were going to never make it out alive. Over the course of our stay there, we got to know each other very well. She shared of her time here and I of my career and my agency," I recall the rehearsed story the Force made for America's death.

"Was...was she...tortured?" his question takes me by surprise. I didn't expect such a forward question.

"Do you really want to know?" I sincerely asks as I lean forward to look closer at him, gauging an answer from his beautiful orbs. He doesn't answer my curiosity, but I can tell from his body language that he really wanted to know even if he knew it might be painful to hear the "truth".