THE PREVIOUS, LAST MOMENTS of my existence are all a dark cloud within my mind. A smoke. Something I can partially see, vaguely remember. Nearly dreamlike, as though it had never happened, but hyper-realistic, as though it has. The smoke merely fogs the experience so that the pain is numbed as if I were not directly involved in the event but only a merely an observer--a witness instead of the guilty victim.

He led us, Sommer and I, down the long winding corridors in search of my brother. We followed, and I was heavy-hearted. Although I told the girl everything would be alright, I could not relieve the sinking feeling in my soul, for I knew. I knew. I knew. I knew what would soon become gory.

Titus told me he was praying that we would not come after him. Sitting in that cold, damp cell, he told me this, spoke to me with his voice. Now, I am seated with him, my flesh and blood brother, in a unique cold dampness, my clothing soaked in blood, body battered; left in my thoughts, inside of my bruised skin. The blood soaks my clothes like the pain soaks my emotions. He trembles, telling me stories I have already heard. But I listen nevertheless.

"You don't know how hard it is," he tells me, "to find someone so amazing, so pure and..." He laughs. "So hot! It's hard, really hard, to find a guy like that."

In his eyes, I see the reflection of the memory.

"We...we met at school. He was bringing his younger sister to school. You know his sister, Sommer? You know her? Right. Of course you do."

I do not move. I cannot look at him.

"I know--I know...you..." his voice trembles in the dim light.

"I know you think I'm acting crazy," he says, his body quivering. "Maybe I am acting crazy. But it's helping me. I know I've told you this before and I know you know the story because I've just repeated it eleven times but it's helping me. Just let me talk. It's helping me. I swear it's helping me."

I nod, allowing him to continue telling the stories I have already heard, even though each time I fall a little further, closer to death.

"It turned into the summer romance. Just like the ones people dream about, write novels about. I swear it was just like that. Everyone wants love like that."

I feel the presence of death in the room. Blood is smeared across the white tiled floor.

"I felt so safe. I felt so protected. He understood."

I want to tell Titus to stop, but cannot bring myself to speak. Repeating the story has not helped him. Nothing can help him. Nothing can help any of us.

"I'd never had anyone there for me, ever. Everyone who was supposed to care for me, my parents, had abandoned me. All I had was him. And I liked to think he felt the same way about me. All he had was me, and Sommer. Sommer became my sister too. Everyone wants love like that."

Brother.

"Everyone wants love like that."

Brother...

"Everyone wants..."

Titus ceases his speaking. I long for him to tell his stories again, although I've heard them twelve times already and each word shreds my broken heart to pieces. I am so undecided. Such terrible pain must develop those feelings in a person.

Brother, I am sorry.

My remorse touches, reaches, grasps at the veins of my heart and my non-existent, inherited soul of blackness longs and thirsts for anguish and pain. I did not realize such a deep poetic nature was within this blackened soul.

I am but a crumb a mere

speck a grain

of sand a

breath of

air a prayer

that goes unanswered

whispered

dancing

spinning

winding

though the wind

finding its way

to an invisible heaven.

Queue the guillotine.

I am ready to face death for I have already looked the devil in her face. Her blood pulses through my veins.

Blood.

Blood boils in my veins, bile burning in my throat.

My blood, it curdles as I listen to Sommer's screams.

Over and over she recites his name. Repeating his name, over and over. And yet, I cannot force myself to say it once.

An assuring voice tells me that all will be fine. I kill the voice with a wave of my hand. The third thing I have killed today. The only thing I have killed without a gun.

My brother turns his head to face me.

His silence is deafening, his eyes glazed and clouded, his expression the darkest, most emotionless face I have seen since a moment ago, when I looked into Jagger's lifeless eyes.

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Please read this before you comment!

This chapter has upset many people and I feel that I need to explain myself. 

I know this was very random, and you guys, as readers, don't deserve a sudden, insane, devastating shock like that. You can be angry, it's alright.

My reasoning behind this random, intense, extremely dark chapter is that it was a way to get my, as sandydragon1 put it, "creative juices" flowing again. I've been in a rut for nearly a month with this novel because I've been crazy busy lately. I almost lost the motivation to continue writing "Metro" (that thought gives me shutters). Trust me, I am determined to finish this novel. This is the farthest I've gotten BY FAR and I refuse to stop now. 

I know you're probably mad at me, and you have a right to be. This chapter, along with your comments, has given me the fuel to work my way out of that rut and keep writing. Once this story is completed, and I get the chance to return to it and revise, this chapter will be changed or potentially even removed. It was just my way of getting all the ideas out of my head in one sitting. It's helped me a lot.

All will be explained in the next update, I promise you! Whatever you do, please don't give up hope!

Thank you all for reading and being so dedicated. I can't imagine myself ever getting this far in a novel if it wasn't for you guys, my amazing readers. <3

Also, a shout-out to marzikins because she's a great reader and I don't think I've mentioned her here yet <3