But there was something about Charlotte. She wasn't like the most prettiest girl in the world, but anyone with heart could tell that she had a beautiful heart. A heart that could easily be broken. A heart that needed to be protected.
--
Her pare...
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35 year sentence.
With possibility of parole.
By the time I get out, I'll be in my fifties.
35 years to think about what I've done.
She's dead too. Charlotte's actually dead. Dead as in never coming back, dead. Dead, dead, dead. This life doesn't feel real.
I plead guilty. I was 99% my fault. My fault that she died. She died because of me. She died because I thought it was the only choice.
Now I realize there were many choices. Find Julie. Call the stupid police a little earlier. Maybe she wouldn't be dead. And to be selfish? I would probably have a lighter sentence. I'm sure she knew that she was going to die. Those last few seconds, when she saw me point the gun at her. Gosh, I was the last thing she saw before she died. I wished she would have seen Julie, Peter, heck, maybe even Eli. Even if he's literally on the other side of the world, entertaining young kids or something.
Just not me. I'm just a huge burden to her. Was. Was a huge burden to her. I totally forgot she was dead. Please note the sarcasm. So while I'm here sitting in a jail cell, here's the reasons why I'm such a big- no, massive burden. Not like anyone cares.
Except for me.
Number One: I just abandoned her during the time where she needed me the most. I was literally the only person she could trust. And I was too ashamed to be near her. Ha-ha, middle school Sam.
She probably thought about me for a long time after that. I was probably one of the reasons why she thought her life was so messed up.
Number Two: She found me half-dead in an alleyway, when she was cycling down the road going who knows where. She begged Peter to fix me up. Then BAM! I'm back in her life. Which was getting better at that point.
Number Three: She found out that MY own parents were the ones who killed her parents. Charlotte's world. Like I know that she has a red hot temper. I know that she's really stubborn, she's cold, she is very, very, tough. But she still has the heart to forgive. To freaking forgive ME. The son of her parent's murderers.
Number Four: I killed her.
Her last thoughts were probably along the lines of- "Sam is a mistake. I should have left him in the alleyway. Maybe I'd be with Peter eating pasta right now." Either that, or- "I'm scared. I don't want to die. To hell with Sam."
She was alone with me in that cell when I shot her. I could see out of the corner of my eye, a small blinking light, letting me know that they could see and hear everything. I was in such a bad mental state I just shot her. Without even thinking a whole lot.
Flashback:
"Kill her." my father told me, handing me a gun.
I froze.
No. This can not be happening. No. Not me. I can't. She can't die. But now I have to kill her. I'll go to jail. No. Charlotte will die. Freaking die. DIE. She won't come back.
My father whips out a surveillance video of Julie. My heart starts to thump loudly. "We have guards standing outside her door ready to kill her at the sound of my voice."
I feel my heart throb. My stomach somersaults, twisting and turning in every way.
I take the gun from him. The gun now has my betraying fingerprints.
My father sucks in a breath. He knows my weakness. And now I can't even think straight. My head is spinning, my eyes are darting back and forth, trying to slap myself back into consciousness.
A redheaded guard lurks to me, motioning me to follow him.
I look him in the eyes before following the guard to Charlotte's room.
My heart shuts down.
My mind shuts down.
My body is now in control.
The guard opens the door, pushing me in and then closing it again.
Charlotte's eyes meet mine. And for a split split split second, I can see fear in her eyes.
Her eyes are always something I've admired. She's inherited her father's eyes, eyes so blue and so cold they resemble ice. Everyone said that she would inherit her mom's brown eyes, because apparently, it's more stronger. But everyone thought wrong. Her eyes show the possibility. Even if they scream cold, they also scream an expression you can't explain.
A mix of happiness, sadness, confusion, and anger.
I close my eyes, afraid to look at her. Before long, my eyes peek open, and I focus at the gun.
I used to go to shooting practice with my dad. I never knew what it would come too.
I pull the trigger.
I hear a loud sound. My ears are ringing. But all I can focus on is Charlotte's life, slowing draining out of her.
I slam the door open, punching the guard square in the face. I search frantically for a cellphone, and before long, the police and paramedics have been notified. I run back in, knowing my parents have seen everything. They are probably on the run, just leaving me here. I steal a glance at Charlotte.
Her eyes are open, but she's not fighting for breath, even though I know that her instincts are telling her too. Her breaths are labored. And then they stop. I shake her gently, tears falling from my eyes to her pale cheeks.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Just know I'm sorry," I trail. My brown hair falls over my eyes, and I collapse next to her before the police takes me away.
They have the video. It's all they need.
They told me she was dead before the trial. I walked into that courtroom silent and stone faced.
