The Elite (Selection)

“I’m used to it.”
    I took the wet washcloth and dabbed at the long gouge in his shoulder, deciding that I’d work from the top down. He pulled away a bit but took it all silently. When I moved on to the second gash, Maxon started talking.
    “I’ve been preparing for tonight for years, you know? I’ve been waiting for the day when I was strong enough to take him on.”
    Maxon was silent for a moment, and some things made sense: why a person who sat at a desk had such serious muscles, why he always seemed half dressed and ready to go, why a girl calling him a child and pushing him would make him angry.
    I cleared my throat. “Why didn’t you?”
    He paused. “I was afraid that if he didn’t have me, he’d want you.”
    I had to stop for a moment, too overcome even to speak. Tears threatened to spill over, but I tried to hold it together. I was sure it would only make things worse.
    “Does anyone know?” I asked.
    “No.”
    “Not the doctor? Or your mother?”
    “The doctor must, but he’s quiet. And I would never tell my mother or even give her a reason to suspect. She knows Father is stern with me, but I don’t want her to worry. And I can take it.”
    I kept dabbing.
    “He’s not like this with her,” he promised quickly. “She gets mistreated in her own ways, I suppose, but not like this.”
    “Hmm,” I said, not sure of what else to say.
    I wiped again, and Maxon hissed. “Damn, that stings.”
    I pulled away for a minute while he slowed down his breathing. After a moment, he made a small nod, so I started again.
    “I have more sympathy for Carter and Marlee than you know,” he said, trying to sound light. “These things take awhile to stop hurting, especially if you’re determined to take care of them on your own.”
    I paused for a moment, shocked. Marlee got caned fifteen times at once. I think if I had to, I’d pick that over them coming at times you weren’t prepared.
    “What are the others for?” I asked, then shook my head. “Never mind. That’s rude.”
    He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “Things I said or did. Things I know.”
    “Things I know,” I added. “Maxon, I’m so …” My breathing hitched, threatening to send me over the edge. I might as well have caned him myself.
    He didn’t turn around, but his hand searched and found my knee. “How are you going to finish fixing me up if you’re crying?”
    I laughed weakly through the tears and wiped my face. I got everything cleaned, trying to stay gentle.
    “Do you think there are any bandages in here?” I asked, looking around the room.
    “The box,” he said.
    As he sat there, steadying his breathing, I opened the clasps on the box, looking at the abundance of supplies.
    “Why don’t you have bandages in your room?”
    “Sheer pride. I was determined never to need them again.”
    I sighed quietly. I read the labels, finding a disinfectant solution, something that looked like it would help soothe the pain, and bandages.
    I moved behind him, preparing to apply the medication. “This might hurt.”
    He nodded. When it made contact with his skin, he grunted once and then reverted to silence. I tried to be quick and thorough, ready to make him as comfortable as possible.
    I started putting ointment on his wounds, and it was clear that whatever I was using helped. The tension in his shoulders eased as I worked, and I was glad; it felt in a way like I was making up for some of the trouble I’d caused.
    He snorted out a light laugh. “I knew my secret would come out eventually. I’ve been trying to come up with a good story for years. I was hoping to find something believable before the wedding since I knew my wife would see them, but I’m still stumped. Any ideas?”
    I thought a moment. “The truth works.”
    He nodded. “Not my favorite option. Not for this anyway.”
    “I think I’m done.”
    Maxon twisted and bent a little bit, moving gingerly. He turned to look at me, his expression thankful. “That’s great, America. Better than any job I ever did.”
    “Anytime.”
    He looked at me a moment, and the silence grew. What was there to say now?
    My eyes kept darting to his chest, and I needed to stop that.
    “I’m going to wash your shirt.” I buried myself in the corner, rubbing his shirt against itself, watching the water turn rust colored before it escaped down the drain. I knew all the blood wouldn’t come out, but at least it gave me something to do.
    When I finished, I wrung it out