Trapped (Maxon and America Love Story)

Chapter 24

America's POV

"Do you still have any love for me?" Maxon asks. I blink a couple of times, making sure this isn't a dream. I tense up at the question. I know the answer but I can't seem to get the words out. I need to regain that trust we had. I'm still getting over our baby. I can't just say I love you, after he beat me and killed our baby. I know it wasn't him, but I see his face do it everytime I close my eyes.

"I think I'm getting tired," I say. He sighs and gets off our bench. I remember just two months ago, he engraved an M + A in a heart on the bench.

He takes me back to my hospital room. His arms lift me up and put me in the bed. He tucks me in, and I let him. His eyes stare into mine. The corners of his mouth form a smile. I flash a smile back. He kiss the top of my forehead, "Good night," he says in a hushed tone. I don't say anything back.

I need to get my feeling in check for us to happen again. They need to be solid. No cracks or bumps, solid.

He sits in the chair, and puts his jacket on himself as a blanket. Half of my feelings pull towards him and the other half is pushing away. I need to stick with one side, and that side forever. I go to sleep dreaming about our baby.

I wake up with a heavy breath and sweat. My eyes get a glimpse outside and it's dark. I hold a hand to my heart. It rapidly beats. My hair is frizzy. I grab the hair tie next to me, and put it in a long ponytail. I look down at my arm. The pain medication hasn't worn off yet. In about an hour it will start to hurt.

Maxon perks up, seeing that I'm awake. "Sorry if I woke you," I say. He sits up and lays his jacket aside. "You're fine," he says, "I was already up." I laugh at his unnecessary denial. "Have another nightmare?" He asks. I nod my head. "They just won't stop. I want them to stop. It's so real it hurts to sleep. I just want to sleep in peace," I say thinking out loud. I put my head in my hands.

"I'm sorry," Maxon says, "I've caused you this pain, these horrible nightmares. Where you can't sleep without getting hurt or wake up crying, broke out in a sweat." Guilt overwhelms him. I can feel the sadness off of him. "I don't know if I can or ever will forgive myself. Everyone keeps telling me not to blame myself, but I can't stop. All of your pain is caused by me," he begins to rant, "the baby is my fault. We could be happily married and preparing for the baby. But we can't because it's my fault. I killed our child and I will never get over it. If I would've stayed on your path. Stayed only with you. But I had to be a complete imbecile." He shakes his head in anger at himself. Then his deep eyes look into mine.

"America," he says, "I'm asking for your forgiveness. I'm begging for your forgiveness. I understand if you won't, but I need to know. I need to know if there's a chance for us. If there's a sliver of hope left between us. I'm dying to know, and I need to know." His eyes pierce through mine. All of my thoughts are racing. I'm speechless, because I don't know what to say. He waits for an answer but I don't have one. My last resort plan is to change the subject. My mind goes to the safest route. "Maxon, can we talk about this later. I really don't want to right now. I don't think it's the right time," I say hoping he won't push any farther.

"When will the right time be? I ask you but you push it away," he says getting more emotional, "America, I need to know. I'll give you a yes or no question. Is there hope for our relationship? Do you think there is still an us between you and me?"

"I don't know," I choke out. He keeps talking, he didn't hear me.

"Do you not know an answer? Do you just not want to tell me what your decision is? Are you ashamed of your decision? Are you afraid what will happen if you choose the choice I don't like? Or are you just avoiding me?" He keeps bambaring me with questions. Questions I don't know answers to. One question sticks out. "Are you ever going to tell me?"

"I don't know!" I shout, "I don't know what to say, Maxon. There, happy now?" My rage is building up. Maxon pushed it too far for me. His eyes are shocked that I would raise my voice. I veer my eyes away from him. "America-" he says but I cut him off. "Good night, Maxon. I'll see you later." He gets the cue that I don't want him to stay here tonight. He takes one last look of me, the heads out the door.

My feelings are a jumbled mess. They're scattered papers, flown every which way. I hit my head to my pillow, then grimace in pain. There's a long stitch on my stomach. Doctor Mission said there would be a faint scar. I don't know about my back. I can't even think about what happened, without it sending chills down my spine.

I toss and turn all night. Afraid to fall asleep into just more and more pain. I let exhaustion take over me, and force me to sleep.