Peanut Butter Fingerprints

Chapter Thirteen

Long time no see my little beasties *sly grin* It seems we have reached chapter unlucky 13. As with tradition, I suppose I should warn you: with this number comes bad luck. You've been warned. *even slyer grin*

Enjoy this chapter, my little beasties. Your patience means the world.

~This chapter is dedicated to those who haven't given up on me. Thank you for being my cane when I couldn't walk, my voice when I couldn't speak, and my strength when I was weak. Thank you.~

Also, I have some exciting news to share with you. I've decided typing each chapter on my phone is much too tedious and am instead reverting to typing the story up on my laptop. (Let me tell you, it's so much more efficient, even without auto-correct.)

Songs:

Broken-Seether ft. Amy Lee

Lullaby-Nickelback

Waiting for Superman-Daughtry 

Wonderwall-Oasis

 

And now the long awaited Chapter (Unlucky) Thirteen....

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            MAXON’S POV

            WAITING FOR DEATH WAS TIRESOME.

            I felt the thread of life I was desperately clinging to fraying as the seconds ticked by. It seemed that America was the hand holding the scissors that would end my life. I saw her trembling fingers trying to keep the scissors wide open, but this didn’t frighten me as much as something spooking her and the sharp metal of the scissors snapping shut, slicing my life in two in less time than it takes to suck in a mere breath.

            It was a tempting thought though. It would be a hell of a lot of easier than sitting here, constantly worrying about the fate of my wife, my baby, my country. I always thought of becoming a father, even before America came into my life. I struggled with the thought. I wanted to be able to promise myself the luxury that I would choose to not have any children as to not become a monster like my father.

            For a few blissful years, I thought I was safe from becoming a father as we’d tried to have a child a few times and never succeeded. Of course, when we weren’t trying, we happened to conceive. God, I was so awful at trying to plan things.

            I admitted that I did like to dream of having a son with big blue eyes or a daughter with long, flowing red hair. The thought sent strange warmth spreading through my chest and tingles in my fingertips. I remembered America’s sweet voice—slurred with a few glasses of expensive champagne—whispering to me in between kisses that our children are going to have ‘the most beautiful brown eyes’ and ‘soft blond hair’. I was a fool then, drunken on her kisses and didn’t realize the impact of her words. Then, a month later, Dr. Ashlar is telling me she’s pregnant.

            Marlee, who was the one tending to America at that time—I believe braiding her hair or something of the sort—overheard the doctor telling me such news. I remembered Marlee rushing to me, throwing her arms around me and hugging me tightly. I also remembered cringing as she squealed in my ear and kissed my cheek.

            “Oh, Maxon! This is so exciting! And to think you were worried about not being able to have a baby!” she exclaimed loud enough for America to have heard.