This story is on hold for now and is undergoing revision, and will have a new title as well. Read on if you like, and if you would also like to be kept updated on the progress of the rewrite, feel free to message me and I will let you know when the new story will be posted.

Thanks for reading.

John sat in the seat in front of me, his body twisted around almost painfully in the chair that was much too small for him. His long and unkempt curly brown hair hung down in greasy strands, framing his long, pale face. He looked like he hadn't showered in days. Sniffling, he tucked his locks behind his ears.

A week ago, I left him. There was absolutely no way I could have stayed with him, not after discovering what he was, who he was. Despite all that I had promised to do for them, I couldn't stick this through to the end. All that was left was John and his parents; I'd done everything that was asked of me, but I could not be with him anymore. So I left him, delivering the bad news through a phone call that had left me relieved and sick to my stomach all at once.

And since that day, that phone call, he has been following me everywhere I go, even going so far as to wait outside my house until I came home, questioning my younger sister as to my whereabouts as she walked down the driveway after getting off the bus. Now, he's seated in front of me, sob story spewing from his chapped lips. I said nothing, couldn't say anything. I watched him drone on and on with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

His tears, his long declarations of love…it's making me sick. Those words shouldn't be coming from his mouth, and if only he knew the reason why. But I couldn't tell him. This wasn't the way I was supposed to ruin him.

"Look, I really don't have time for this. I told you I don't want to talk to you—that's what time alone means, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

I shook my head and frowned at him. "I don't mean to be mean to you. I don't want to be. But I asked for time alone. And you not giving me that is really trying my patience."

He curled his hands tightly around the back of his chair, pressed his fingers so hard into the plastic that his bones cracked. John's expression transitioned from pain to anger, something I had expected, and welcomed. If he had grown angry with me, maybe his persistence would wane, and I could be left alone.

"Fine," John snapped suddenly and stood up, the chains dangling from his jeans clanking against the metal legs of the desk. The sound rang loudly in my ears. "I'll go. I'll fucking go."

I glanced over at my classmate, Olivia, and was tempted to mouth 'thank God!' at her, but decided against it. The look in John's eyes as he stared down was one of pure animosity, and I could see the amber leaking into his grey eyes, and I knew full well the direction we would be headed if I pushed him.

John stomped away in the direction of the door, making sure he slammed hard into my chair on the way out. I watched him as he left the room, muttering expletives under his breath as he left, and was relieved that I would be free of him, if only until the bell rang and we crossed paths once more in the halls. At least there I could lose him in a sea of people.

"Jeez, Quinn, I thought he was never going to l-"

Olivia never had a chance to finish her sentence. What happened next surprised all of us—even me. I had never expected this to happen.

John stepped into the doorway of the room and from underneath his dark blue sweatshirt, pulled a presumably loaded handgun. He held his shaking hand out in front of him, the gun aimed at me. I froze in my seat and stammered, searched for something to say to calm him down, coax him into putting the gun down and abandoning whatever plans he had. But I remained mute, and his grip only tightened on the cold steel.

His eyes—cold and dark like the metal on the gun in his hand—stared at me, a mixture of emotions dancing in them.

"Whatever happened to forever and always?"

I opened my mouth, determined to speak. Strangled sounds escaped from my lips and mentally I cursed myself for not being able to say anything. Panic set in, and I debated sitting here and accepting my fate, or attempting to bolt out of the room. Neither seemed safe, neither seemed appealing, even though I was sure I could end this before anything happened. But that would risk exposing myself, everything I've sworn to keep hidden. And yet, so would sitting here and taking a bullet to the head.

"I'm sorry," John said. His bottom lip trembled. "But if I can't have you, no one will."

I had no choice. I had to sit here. And play dead.

I closed my eyes tight, awaiting the moment he pulled the trigger. A loud bang reverberated in the room. A searing, white hot pain ripped through me as John's bullet cradled itself in the tissue of my brain. My vision faded, becoming hazy before fading to black.