Friday, April 17, 2015

Part Three of The One Fanfiction

Hey guys!! As promised, here is the third and final part to The One Fanfiction [original series by Kiera Cass.] I do not own any of the copyrights to the Selection Series, all of the rights go to Kiera Cass. If you have not read the at least the first two books, please, do NOT read my Fanfictions.  *** IF YOU REPOST, PLEASE GIVE ME CREDIT. ANY UNAUTHORIZED USE IS CONSIDERED PLAGIARISM. Thank you. Don't miss out on my fan fiction for The Heir, coming out on April 23rd!
Also, if you missed out on Part One and Part Two:


Part Three

The first thing I think after the gunshot is how odd Maxon sounds. His screams sound like a tortured animal, like someone ripped his heart out and crushed it.
The second thing I find odd is the fact that I don’t feel any pain. None at all, not even pain where blood should be blossoming from my chest. I don’t feel like I am slipping into an abyss of endless darkness, either.
That’s when I feel arms engulf me, holding me as delicately as glass. I pry open my eyes to see Maxon above me, his eyes wide and rimmed with red. Yet he doesn’t look worried. He does not call for help. “America, darling. You aren’t dying. He didn’t shoot you. He didn’t shoot you,” he insists.
That’s when I realize that it is not his body shaking, but mine. I feel extremely cold, with drops of sweat dripping down my forehead. I try to open my mouth to reply, but it feels like it has been glued shut.
“He didn’t shoot you, America. You’re fine. You’re alive.”
Then, another face appears above me, next to Maxon’s. Their expression is a mix of relief and amusement.
“Is he dead?” Maxon asks him.
“Yeah,” Aspen replies, crouching down next to me. “Are you alright, Mer? You look a little pale.”
Is he dead? The words echo in my thoughts and finally realization comes to me. The gunshot was not from the rebel. It was from Aspen.
Aspen shot the rebel.
Aspen saved my life.
Maxon seems to realize this fact the same moment that I do. “Thank you,” he tells him, turning his head so they are looking eye to eye. “I thought I hated you after I realized you were with her, but now I am forever in your debt. You saved the only thing in the world that matters to me. I can see now how you were able to steal her heart.”
“Her heart has been stolen,” Aspen agrees. “But I am not the thief.” Then he leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “I love you, Mer. But I can see the truth now. And it’s okay,” he whispers in my ear.
I kiss his cheek, softly. He stands and sends me a grin that once made my heart fly. Now, it simply makes it smile. “I need to go, Your Highness,” he says, turning to Maxon. “You will be safe now.” Maxon nods, giving him permission to leave.
He does, and the door closes quietly behind him, leaving me alone with Maxon.
He is the first to speak. “Are you alright? I was certain you were just going into shock, but you look so pale…”
“Yes.” My voice comes out hoarse, and I clear my throat. “I’m fine, thank you.”
There is silence for a few moments, apart from the quiet, ragged breathing coming from his chest. Then he finds his voice again. “I thought I’d lost you,” he chokes out, and I look up to see that his eyes are filling with tears. “When I heard the gunshot, I assumed that… I thought..” he swallows, unable to finish his sentence. Some of his tears fall onto my own cheeks, and his embrace around me tightens. “You never know how much you love someone until you lose them,” he whispers. “I love you, America. If I ever lost you again… there are no words to describe the agonies of a breaking heart.”
“Maxon,” I whisper, stroking his face, but he shakes his head, interrupting me.
“I love you. I do not deserve to love you. A simple caste, a simple title, a simple ranking, can not define the value of a human soul. And yours is much lovelier than mine. You have an exquisitely beautiful soul, and there is nothing more that I would want than for our souls to be joined forever, so I never have to lose you again without losing myself. America Singer, will you marry me?”
The words are barely out of his mouth before I’m kissing him. Our mouths blend together, two souls that will never again be separated. I kiss him more tenderly, more passionately, than any person has ever been kissed. Our tears mix, becoming one wave of water as I fix him, and he fixes me.
The truth is that someone is never made fully whole until they finally find the person who fills in the holes.
Maxon is fixing me, mending me, and sewing me back together, one kiss at a time. And though a word is never uttered, it passes through us: through his lips, through mine, through the scars on his back and the scars on my heart, through both of our tears, through his hands around me and through my hands in his hair.
One word, over and over, never to be erased.

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