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Corrina's POV:
Corrina sat up on her bed, tired of waiting for her parents to bust into the room and kill her. Why haven't they returned yet? Were they planning on how to get rid of her? Surely they've heard from John's family what happened today.
Fear was taking slicing lessons on her chest with every minute that passed. She wasn't sure if she should call John and beg him to spare her life, or wait to see if he was kind enough to not say anything.
I hurt him. I know I did. The expression he had when he saw me, its unforgivable. I'll never forget it for the rest of my life.
If anything, calling him will probably make him that much more angrier and he'd feel more compelled to tell.
She stared at her bedroom door, listening hard for any movement in the house. But none was there. It was completely quiet. Her eyes darted to her table clock, the time blinked 10:12 PM.
They're going to kill me. Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I swear I'll never do it again. I'll never misbehave. I'll never act irrationally. Please, oh God. Just this once. Help me this once.
The sound of a car driving up her street is when it hit her.
Tonight things are going to change between her and her parents. Forever.
She got off her bed, reached under it and pulled out the duffle bag they use when they go on vacations. Then as fast as her hands can go, she began taking clothes from her closet and putting them in there.
I have to leave. I have to go. I'd rather them think that I've been kidnapped than let them hate me.
***
Aden's POV:
What's death?
What's life?
What the fuck is the difference when both feel like their twins that are so easily mistaken for one another?
What becomes the point anymore?
When giving up is defined as going from something great to nothing, what does it mean when you don't have something great in the first place to give up? What does it mean if you are giving up on something beyond horrible?
Is that giving up?
Or is that giving it a rest, once and for all.
Aden sat in his room, on the floor, crouched beside his bed. He was staring at the window in his room, watching the moon with opened eyes and a blind vision. All he could see is nothing. Feel nothing. Want nothing.
And what is there left for a man who sees, feels and wants nothing?
Nothing.
He opened the bottom drawer of his bedside chest, and grabbed the gun that he, on timeless occasions, didn't have the guts to use.
