Maxon Schreave személy
Celeste walked up, as strong as I’d ever seen her, and whispered something into Maxon’s ear. When she was done, he smiled. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Good.” She left, closing the door behind her, and I stood to take whatever was coming.
“What was that about?” I asked, nodding toward the door.
“Oh, Celeste was making it clear that if I hurt you, she’d make me cry,” he said with a smile.
I laughed. “I’ve been on the receiving end of those nails, so be careful there.”
Well,” he amended, “I do intend on giving you things, but that’s not what I mean. I’m going to love you more than any man has ever loved a woman, more than you ever dreamed you could be loved. I promise you that.”
“We could wake up like this every day,” he mumbled.
I giggled. “You’re reading my mind.”
He sighed contentedly. “How are you feeling, my dear?”
“I feel like punching you for calling me ‘my dear’ mostly.” I poked his bare stomach.
Smiling, he crawled to sit over me. “Fine then. My darling? My pet? My love?”
“Any of those would work, so long as you’ve reserved it solely for me,”
"Maxon, some of those marks are on your back so they wouldn’t be on mine, and I love you for them.”
He stopped breathing for a second. “What did you say?”
I smiled. “I love you.”
“One more time, please? I just—”
I took his face in both of my hands. “Maxon Schreave, I love you. I love you.”
“And I love you, America Singer. With all that I am, I love you.”
I think about that sometimes. Falling asleep next to you, I mean, like we did in the safe room. It was nice to hear your breaths as they came and went, something quiet and close, keeping me from feeling so alone.
This letter has gotten foolish, and I think you know how I detest looking like a fool. But still I do. For you.
December 26, 7:40 p.m.
I’ve been thinking of our first kiss. I suppose I should say first kisses, but what I mean is the second, the one I was actually invited to give you. Did I ever tell you how I felt that night? It wasn’t just getting my first kiss ever; it was getting to have that first kiss with you. I’ve seen so much, America, had access to the corners of our planet. But never have I come across anything so painfully beautiful as that kiss. I wish it was something I could catch with a net or place in a book. I wish it was something I could save and share with the world so I could tell the universe: this is what it’s like; this is how it feels when you fall.
These letters are so embarrassing. I’ll have to burn them before you get home.
"Look at me, America.”
I blinked a few times and pulled my gaze up to his eyes. Through the pain, he smiled at me.
“Break my heart. Break it a thousand times if you like. It was only ever yours to break anyway.”