Hell Himself

I can dream.

Ameri's pov

I think Bill might've gone mad. I mean, for real this time.

He shot Tom in the head. His own twin brother.

All he did was sleep with me. I hate Bill with a burning passion. Me and him are not - and never will be - together.

Not willingly, at least.

I was in the hospital, waiting outside of Tom's room. The bullet hadn't gone straight through to his head. It was buried in the side of his head by his eardrum. The doctors were performing surgery on him to get the bullet out.

Bill, of course, didn't get any punishment. Everyone's scared of him, even police, so they wouldn't try to do anything.

Besides, what's New York if it didn't have their mass murdering, hot gang leader? He couldn't be arrested. The big apple needed to be known for more than their jazz.

I'd been waiting here for around five hours by now. I understood that it'd take long, but I was impatient.

I needed Tom to be okay. He's the only one in that messed up gang that I feel like I might be able to trust, even a little bit.

I sighed, slumping back in my chair and looking up at the ceiling in boredom.

I started hearing noises in the room. Clattering, shouting, stomping. It didn't sound good. I was tempted to go in there and see what the racket was about, but that wasn't a good idea either.

A nurse slammed the door open, shouting for a doctor. I could peer into the room, seeing Tom on the hospital bed. He looked fine.

But then, I saw the heart monitor.

There was nothing there. Why wasn't there anything there?

Maybe it got disconnected.

The denial was rushing through, and before I knew it, I was a wrecked mess of tears.

He couldn't be dead. Right?

I didn't care about getting into trouble now. I got up, shoving past the nurse and going into the hospital room. Indarted to Tom, ignoring the shouts of the nurses telling me to leave.

"Tom." I shook him. "Wake up, you bastard!!" I yelled through my tears, hitting my right hand on his chest and shaking his leg with my other.

My eyes widened when he didn't move. He wasn't moving, he didn't wake up.

"Oh, my god." I whisper on acceptance, my shaking hands lowering from Tom's dead body.

I couldn't speak. I didn't want to. I just stood there, merely shocked, and crying.

How could Bill do this? How could he sit there and go that crazy?

I needed to get away. I had to leave.

I start walking. I walked out of the room, my eyes glued to the white marble floor as I arrogantly stomped over to the exit of the hospital.

I needed to leave. I repeated that phrase over and over in my head. I need to leave. I have to get away from here.

All of these events, everything I've done on the past two years, it's lead up to this. Two years of torture, abuse, and degrading. It's all led up to me losing the one last shred of hope in this sad life. What am I going to do with myself? I have nothing left. I have barely anything to look forward to.

Everything that's happened to me has blinded me so much that I forgot my reason for moving to New York in the first place.

Was it all for nothing? Every bit of intelligence I put into the work I needed in order to leave my home, it all went to waste. I worked myself dry to have a better life, only to be used for nothing other than a sex doll and a punching bag.