The bad boy & the church girl. (EDITING)

Chapter 22.

Zane's pov.

Thank God Cami gave me an excuse to get away from Monica. That girl is too happy and jumpy for my liking. I loved seeing Camille smile though. Her smile stops my breathing a little every time. I think that someday she will smile and I won't notice how breathtaking it actually is, but that day hasn't come yet. And I pray to God it never does. I'm lost in my own thoughts that I don't realize I'm at our english class already. I stand outside the door and wait for Cami. I lean my back against the cold metal lockers. I know I'm whipped because its only been 5 minutes and I already miss her presence. I miss her red curly hair, her striking green eyes, her perfect pink lips, her soft pale skin-.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

I stand shocked knowing that sound all to well ring in my ears. My feet are glued to the floor. I hear a gun cock back not to far from me. I crane my neck to see Cami and Monica staring at a boy with a gun. My eyes widen when recognition sets in.

Tristan.

Tristan stands there shaking with a black pistol pointed right at Camille. I feel my feet moving towards her-

Bang!

Camille clutches her stomach and I see the thick liquid drip to the tile floor. Her knees wobble and they buckle beneath her.

'Camille!' I scream a few feet behind her. She falls forward lifeless. I reach her body and flip her over, searching her neck for a pulse. I can't find a pulse so I move to her wrist and I check there but fail.

'Someone call 911!' I scream again my voice cracking.

'Oh my God Camille..' Sobs Monica beside me. She backs against the lockers and pulls her legs to her chest sobbing. 'Don't die.'

I put both my hands on the bullet wound and put pressure on it trying to control the bleeding. 'Come on Cami, keep breathing. Stay alive baby.' I realize I'm crying now still leaning my body's weight on her wound. I tear my shirt off and press it to her stomach. The white t-shirt turn red in seconds. I use Camille's scarf as more makeshift gauze.

'She's gonna die.' A deep voice says from behind me.

My blood drains from my face when i turn and see Tristan. His eyes are blood shot and sucken in. His whole body is shaking vigorously but the only thing I can think of is how much I want him dead. I want to take the gun out of his hands and put a bullet through his chest and watch him bleed out. I wouldn't shoot him in the head because you die immediately; no pain. He deserves pain, and lots of it. 'You.' I growl. 'You did this! You are going to let her die! Just because she doesn't love you!!' I scream at him.

'You are the one who came back from the dead and forced her not to love me. You took her away from me. And if I can't have her.' He pauses and pulls the gun back out. 'Then no one can.

He presses the cold metal against my neck.

'Get your hands off of her. Or I will blow your brain all over her dying body.' He threatens.

'Do it.' I whisper. 'Kill me. Without Camille I. Am. Nothing.' I turn to him and he slides the metal to my forehead. 'Do you hear me?!' I scream. 'If she dies.' Tears stream down my cheeks. 'If the love of my life dies; there is no reason whatsoever for me to continue breathing.' I look up at him through glossy eyes. 'So do it.'

'Get your hands off of her and let her bleed out!' He screams and hits my cheek with the gun.

'Just kill me and save her! You're going to be a doctor right? Save her! Kill me. I took her from you- I did. She had nothing to do with it.' I ramble convincingly.

He cocks the gun and slides his pointer finger on the shiny trigger. He presses the barrel harder on my forehead. He adds pressure to the trigger and I feel the gun shift like a machine ready to spit out its product. I close my eyes and whisper. 'God please save Camille.' I pray silently remembering every part of Camille. Remembering every single time she laughed or smiled or cried. I love her, and not just her body. I love her face, her mind, her heart, and her soul. She's perfect in my eyes. She's everything I could ever needed or wanted plus some. I pray that she will survive, and she will grieve for a little while over my loss. But she will suck it up and move on. She will love again, she will be happy again. She will grow old with someone else and keep going to church with a nice man. A man who treats her well. And have cute little kids. And I pray that she will look up and remember that I am looking down on her. And that I will love her through death and beyond, wherever that may take me.

'Goodbye Camille.' I inaudibly whisper.

Amen.

I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for my time.

Bang!

.......

.......

.......

.......

A/N:

Do you hate me yet?