Chapter 4: Part 2

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Two weeks later and I was still being held hostage. Nothing too interesting had happened. I found out some things from Gabriel, but nothing important. My chest was healed and all that remained was a faint, white scar. Erika mostly kept her distance, except for a few visits now and then. She would never go too far, thankfully. Sometimes she'd just stare at me, which I found to be extremely creepy.

I was going out of my mind with boredom. What exactly does one do with endless amounts of time, but nothing to occupy it with?

I'd tried everything. Exercising was one thing that helped a little bit. It helped ease some of my frustration with my situation, too. I was fed up with being here in this tiny little cell. There were no windows and it irritated me that I hadn't seen the sun in about a month. The floor was in a nauseating state of filth, covered in dirt and some other things I'd really not like to mention. Another thing that annoyed me was the smell. It smelled like a mix of bleach and body odor, which may have been partially my fault. They never let me shower, so if I exercised, I was forced to live with the smell. Gabriel, fortunately, had given me a wet cloth to wipe myself off with a few times. The one thing they did let me do was shave. Most of the guards were men, so they understood how bothersome and itchy a beard could be.

I was left alone except for visits from Erika and Gabriel, not that I minded. The other guards were rude and their dislike for me was clear. Sure, I was lonely, but I wasn't going to surround myself with people who hated me.

I was pulled out of my thoughts when there was a knock on the door and Gabriel yelled, "You decent?" I chuckled and he entered.

He was smiling, but I sensed it was fake. When you're around someone for a while you know when something is wrong.

"What's wrong, Gabriel?" I asked seriously.

"What?" he said, stuttering a bit. "Nothing's wrong. What could possibly be wrong?"

"Obviously something is wrong. What is it? Is it America? Is she okay? Did something-" My heart hammered in my chest.

"No, your fiancée is fine. It's you that you should be worried about. Leger wants to speak with you." I let out a breath. America was fine and that's all that mattered.

"Did he say why?" I questioned.

"No. He just ordered me to take you to him."
I sighed and got to my feet. There was no point trying to resist, it would just result in more guards restraining me and I'd still end up in the same place. Gabriel put me in a pair of handcuffs and I groaned. "Is this really necessary?"

"You know the rules, Maxon. No prisoners out of their cells without being cuffed, boss's orders."

We walked from my cell and shuffled down the hallways. There were so many twists and turns that I knew I'd never be able to know my way around. I wondered what Leger wanted to talk to me about; or if he even wanted to talk to me at all. He seemed to enjoy torturing me just as much as he loved the sound of his own voice.

Gabriel stopped in front of a door on the left. "Good luck kid," he said before opening the door and gently nudging me inside.

The room was empty except for a chair sitting in the middle. No one was here so an eerie silence hung in the air. It looked like an exact replica of my cell. I was prepared to sit and wait when I was struck with an idea.

I moved to the door and tested the handle. It was unlocked. Hope surged inside of me. I slowly turned the handle again and opened the door, looking out into the hall. There wasn't a single person in sight. Quickly, I stepped out into the corridor. I moved swiftly to another hallway, peeking around the corner before making a turn. Maybe I could do this! Maybe I could escape!

Those thoughts were crushed when I made another turn and I saw two guards walking my way. One of them spotted me and yelled something I couldn't understand. I turned and ran as fast as I could, my footsteps echoing through the building.

I swung open the door to the room I'd run from and sat myself down in the chair. Just as I sat down, the two guards rushed in. "Gentlemen," I greeted them with a grin. They scowled as they huffed from running, causing me to grin even more. One of them left the room, but returned a few minutes later holding a length of rope. I sighed but didn't struggle as they tied me to the chair.

I didn't even try to free myself until another person entered. Anger heated my cheeks as I thrashed against my restraints. I don't think I've ever wanted to punch someone as much as I wanted to punch Leger.

He looked ridiculously cocky as he smirked at me. He was dressed in a crisp, clean shirt and dress pants. In my opinion, he looked more arrogant than usual. In his hands, was a camera. With my passion for photography and cameras, I could tell it was old and cheap, probably on the verge of breaking.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I remarked. "I'm not in the mood for a photo shoot today. Maybe another time."

Leger glared at me. "Freaking hilarious, aren't you?" he muttered. He gave the camera to one of the guards, who then turned it on to record.

What was he planning on doing? Recording himself torture me and then watch it over and over again? Did he really hate me that much? I struggled against the ropes again. I didn't want him to have a video of me in agony to watch for his own twisted enjoyment.

"Hello, America," Leger said while stepping into the camera's view. He was sending this to America? I hoped to God that he wouldn't do anything too bad to me. I couldn't bear to think about what seeing me tortured would do to her.

He went to go stand behind me. Leger brought out a golden knife, identical to Erika's. What was with these people and knives? I mean- seriously? It's like they had an obsession with the object!

Leger ran the knife along my cheek, the cold metal biting at my skin, but not causing any blood to spill. I turned my face away, trying to avoid the dagger's tip. This man needs to get over the fact that America was mine, I thought sourly.

Leger took my chin in his hands and made me look at his face. "What did you say?" he shouted. I was confused for a moment before realizing I'd been thinking aloud. Oops.

"She chose me. Get over it," I hissed, smiling mirthlessly. I knew I'd succeeded in thoroughly aggravating him when he made a slash in my cheek. Ouch. I sucked in a breath, but I didn't making a sound. This wasn't the worst I'd ever endured.

"Do you see this America? I can kill him! Right here, right now!" Leger screamed. Wow, somebody has anger issues, I thought to myself. That was a very sarcastic thought for me. Now that I thought about it, I'd been thinking- and saying- a lot of sarcastic things lately. America must've rubbed off on me because there was no way I'd been so snarky my whole life and not been corrected harshly for it by Father.

I blinked and realized I'd zoned out for a minute or so because next thing I knew, Leger was saying in a much calmer voice, "Gregory Illéa's diary. We want it. Give it to us and we'll spare this maggot you call a prince."

What could he want the diary for? I remembered America telling me that they might want the diary. Oh, that girl was a genius! She figured it out a long time ago and I'd dismissed it without a second thought! I wanted to smack myself for being so stupid and not listening to America. "Don't give it to him, America!" I warned.

Half a second later, Leger's fist collided with my jaw. I had to admit that hurt. A lot. My ears were ringing and I was seeing stars. Leger sure knew how to pack a punch. I hoped my jaw wasn't broken. That would stink.

My thoughts shifted from my injured jaw to America. She would be witnessing this and worrying about me. She always worried. I had to assure her that I would be okay, that I'd get back to her.

"I love you, America," I said steadily, ignoring the pain in my face from Leger punching me and the cut in my cheek. It got even worse when he cut me again. This one hurt more and was deeper than the first.

"I love you, America," I repeated, earning me another slash. I gritted my teeth in pain. Leger was getting more and more agitated by the second. His anger fueled me enough to say it again.

And again.

And again

We did this for what felt like hours, each cut more painful than the last. I made hardly a sound as my vision began to darken.

"I love you, America," I mumbled one last time before falling into unconsciousness.


I woke up to the view of blinding fluorescent lights. Someone was dabbing at my cheek with something covered in antiseptic.

"I have to stop waking up like this, Gabriel," I said to the guard who was sitting on the floor next to me. He chuckled and helped me sit up. I raised a hand to my cheek and prodded it gently. The cuts stung and my jaw throbbed terribly.

"How bad is it?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Not too bad. Your jaw isn't broken, which is good. It's just bruised. A few of those cuts are going to scar, unfortunately. Other than that, you're fine."

"Great," I sighed unenthusiastically. "So how long have I been out this time? A month? Two?"

"More like forty-five minutes, kid," he laughed.

I gave a small smile and reached into the inside pocket of my jacket. My hand searched for America's picture, but the pocket was empty. My eyes widened in shock and panic. I pulled off my jacket and searched another pocket frantically. It had to be here! I couldn't have lost it! "No, no, no!" I murmured.

"What is it?" Gabriel asked, watching me curiously. I ignored him and kept looking through my jacket, but it wasn't there. How could it not be there?

I growled in frustration and slumped back against the wall. It must have fallen out when I was running from those rebels. "What's going on, kid?" Gabe asked again.

"I lost the picture."

"So?"

"So," I replied icily. "That was the only thing that gave me even a little bit of comfort in this place. That was the only piece of America I had left and now it's gone. I'm not exactly happy about that, Gabriel."

He scowled at me and I glared back. Didn't he understand that picture was what kept me from losing hope? Gabriel got to his feet and said coldly, "Call me back in when you get a grip and realize it wasn't some stupid picture that comforted you, but that it was the fact that you have people who love you and who would do anything for you. Understand that some people don't even have that and you should consider yourself lucky."

Gabriel shot me one last glare and stormed out.

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