Celebrity Imagines

Superstar (Part III)

Y/N P.O.V

After Pac ran off, I went upstairs. I just didn't feel like being interrogated by the casino security. I know they'll ask questions due to the fact that I walked in with Pac and yelled for him to run.

When I made it into my room, I saw that Pac left his bandana on the sofa. I pick it up, held it in my hands and admired it. The thought of him gives me butterflies. I smiled to myself and walked to my bedroom. I stripped out of my clothes and took a much needed bath.

When I was done, I dried off, applied lotion to my damp skin, and put on a t-shirt and panties. I tied my hair down and settled in for the night. I turned on the t.v and flicked through a bunch of channels. Reality shows, no. Movie channel....no. Music videos...why not.

It just so happened that Pac's new video was on. I chuckled at the coincidence. Suddenly, the breaking news interrupted the video and a man's voice spoke,

"Breaking news, rap artist Tupac Shakur, signed with death row records and multi platinum recording artist, was shot today on a busy street in Las Vegas, while inside his vehicle. Reporters says, the artist got into a scuffle with a group of men in the lobby of MGM casino. According to police, Shakur was shot over five times in the chest and abdominal area. He was transported to a nearby hospital and is receiving treatment for his wounds...."

My heart shattered, I found it hard to breathe and I started shaking. I should have stopped him from going down there. He would have protested with all his might, but at least I would have tried. Instead I egged him on and followed him. I feel so stupid. This is all my fault.

I hurriedly got out of bed and threw on a pair of sweats, grabbed a jacket and my car keys. I ran out of my suite so fast that I didn't even remember to lock my door. Once I got to my car, I hurriedly put the key in the ignition and pulled off as quickly as possible. I can't believe this is happening. Terrible thoughts kept running through my head as I drove to the nearest hospital. It wasn't hard to find; the paparazzi were all over the place. I parked my car in the lot and pushed passed all the men and women with cameras and microphones. I was out of breath by the time I reached the front desk,

"Excuse me, c-can you direct me to, to..."

"Mr. Shakur's room?" A thick, older black woman interrupted.

"Y-ye-"

"No." she spun around in her rolling chair and ignored me. I slammed my hand on the desk, growing angry.

"Excuse you!" she turned back around with a surprised look on her face, "like I said I need to get to his room!" I started raising my voice.

"Look, are you family?" she asked through her teeth.

I rolled my eyes and sighed heavily, "No..."

"Then I can't help you." she sneered and was just about to turn her back before I spoke again,

"Well I'm his girlfriend, doesn't that account for...something?" I asked.

She looked up at me through her wire frame glasses, "No." she rolled her eyes and turned away. I was a millisecond away from hopping over the desk and putting that old bitch in one of these rooms. But that's the last thing I need right now.

I walked over to the waiting area, defeated. Every time a doctor walked by, I was up asking them if Pac was alright or if they could notify me about his condition. They all said the same thing, "He just got out of surgery, we'll let you know soon." Or "I'm not his doctor." Or "I can't disclose that information, but I'm sure he's fine."

I gave up after about two hours. It was really late and I ended up falling asleep in the chair. At around 2:39 pm, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I shot up quickly and almost caught whiplash. A young nurse smiled down at me.