Peanut Butter Fingerprints

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Not All Princesses Live Happily Ever After"

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"Lies are convenient when the truth is unfathomable."

-Courtney M. Privett

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Maxon

MY BLOODY FEET ONLY CARRIED me so far, and my gun only had so many bullets in it. Though I was a fairly accurate shot, my ammo was limited and the number of guards doubled every time I disabled a line of them. With the exit in sight, I cast my empty gun aside and used my fists to fight instead.

I felt a weird rush of power when my heart rate sped up; it was as if someone else was controlling my punches. It felt inhuman and... wrong. But I couldn't stop myself as my knuckles slammed into jaws and noses, elbows into rib cages and stomachs, knees into sides and groins.

Georgia and August were well trained in the art of fist-fighting, whereas I was just blindly throwing punches and kicks. However, where they took one man down between the two of them, I took down five. Though I was probably taking the worst of the beating between the three of us, I was also taking down the most guards.

I didn't know what was pumping adrenaline through my veins: the thought of seeing America, a chance at freedom, my child being born anytime now. It was probably a mix of all three of those things, but above all, it was love that was driving me closer to the exit.

After what seemed like hours of painful fighting and periods of occasional blackouts, the exit was finally in my grasp. Just as I leaped over a guard for the door handle, a pair of fingers closed around my throat and slammed me against the wall. Someone had finally had enough.

No! I'm so close!

I looked over the tall, brawny man's head for August and Georgia. August was trying to squirm out of a headlock while Georgia was clinging to her wounded arm with a grimace. I wasn't getting out of this easily. In fact, I didn't think I was getting out of this at all.

Somewhere deep inside, I felt like I deserved this. For all the times I'd woken up from a nightmare with my hands around America's neck, for all the times I lashed out at her in my rage, for all the times I'd hurt her, physically and emotionally. I knew deep down that this was wholly deserved. So, I didn't struggle. I let his fingers close tighter on my neck until it was impossible to even get small breaths in and out. Just as the room was growing black, a shrill voice cried out above the chaos.

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone froze. The man who had his fingers around my throat released me, and I collapsed to the dirty ground. I rolled over onto my hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air.

"This ends now," Daphne growled.

When I had enough air to satisfy my lungs, I raised my head to look up at her. I was floored by her appearance. Her light pink shimmery tulle dress was tattered and dirty-one of her sheer elbow length sleeves was missing and the other one was covered in tears and holes. Her bundle of usually perfect blonde curls fell around her face in tangled clumps and was covered in what appeared to be dust or dirt. What surprised me most of all though was her face.

Daphne's lips were bleeding and busted, and her tired-looking eyes were bloodshot, and one was nearly swollen shut and purple. Blood trickled out of one of her nostrils; it looked as if her nose had been broken.

I pitied her only because deep down I knew who left those marks. It seemed as if Daphne never got the happily ever after she promised she was getting with Fredrick. One thing was for sure: the fairytales were just that-nothing but fables. In the real world, not all princesses lived happily ever after.