((two things. It'll be Minho's POV for the rest of the book. two: the rest of these chapters contain extreme grief ))

  For a split second I hoped.

  I dared to hope.

  I hoped the gun didn’t work.

  Didn’t have bullets.

  Was broken.

  Then I heard the shot.

  Then it felt as if my life had dulled.

  Remember when I said the changing was the worst pain in my life?

  I was wrong.

  So wrong.

  This feeling made the changing feel like a poke.

  I was honestly surprised I hadn’t died from the pain in my chest as I heard the bullet hit something.

  Maybe it didn’t hit him?

  Then I heard the noise of something falling, and knew it had.

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  I don’t think I was crying anymore.

  I heard no noise.

  Felt no ground beneath my feet.

  I turned away, and opened my eyes as I slowly turned to the door.

  If I looked at Newt now, I just wouldn’t.

  I wouldn’t be able to do anything ever again.

  The gun fell from my numb fingers.

  I didn’t hear it hit the floor.

  I saw my friends run into the hut.

  They must have heard the shot.

  I ignored them.

  Their lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear any sound.

  I made it out of the house.

  I made it a few feet from the door.

  Then everything that just happened hit me like a wave.

  I took a step backwards, before my legs buckled and I sunk into the sand.

  I curled into a ball, my hands over my head.

  It all collapsed on me then.

  Newt was dead.

  I killed him.

  He wanted me to.

  Newt was dead.

  I felt hands on me, and I heard muffled voices.

  I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  It all blended into a background noise.

  My vision keeled over and blackness danced across my tilting vision.

  I was saying Newt’s name.

  I was calling out to him.

  I knew he wouldn’t answer.

  I couldn't see.

  I just saw black, and white, and gray.

  The colors flashed across my vision, and the background noise was deafening.

  All I wanted was Newt.

  My throat was burning, and I realized I had been screaming.

  Still was screaming.

  I felt people's arms on me.

  I wasn’t on the sand anymore.

  I was being carried.

  I was set down.

  I had never stopped crying.

  I couldn’t hear anything.

  I think I was still screaming.

  I heard the background noise grow in and out of focus, and I caught snippets of words.

  The voices sounded like my friends.

  My vision was spiraling down a black hole.

  I managed to rasp out a few words before my body decided to save me from this nightmare of consciousness.

  “I-I did it for him. . .”

  I had no dream.