“He loves me, he hates me.” I think about him on that long bus ride home. My heart doesn't want to give up. My mind says it's over. My gut says he can't be trusted. He was a good guy, a geeky good guy that I trusted. Sometimes he seemed to be too nice, like he was hiding something. It had been a long day and I wanted to rest, but my eyes wouldn't close so I just stared out at the beautiful countryside.

Bam! Many things happen at once; my window shatters, people scream in terror, the bus screeches to a halt. I look around in my daze. I am half there in the chaos – half gone. My vision is blurred, the screams sound like whispers, I forget where I am – what I was doing.

“Sarah!” my friend yells as she looks at me with horror. Her voice pulls me back to reality – I feel the pain in my chest. Whoever had shot the bus, had shot me – my dark, red blood coming out fast.

The mood in the bus changes, everyone is perfectly silent. The shooter walks onto the bus. I stare at the shooter, realizing who it is – how could he? Why would he? It can't – just can't be him, the one I choose to love. This was not the guy I loved. I started to think that I should have listened to my gut, even if it pained me to do so. All of the times I saw his temper flare, muttering evil words, it was a sign of his true nature. I couldn't believe that I loved him, that I still wanted to love him.

“Hello Alex,” I say sweetly as I struggle to stand up.

“Hi Sarah, it's nice to see you. How are you?” He replies in a very friendly tone.

“I'm great. We went to the amusement park today and it was a blast. I was actually trying to rest when you decided to be stupid. Aren't you excited? You are going to be a murderer at age fifteen!” I say as sarcasm fills my voice.

He chuckles, “Oh, no my dear Sarah, I will never be connected to your death. If anyone here speaks a single word against me, they'll be wishing that they were dead after I'm through with them.” He glares at the other passengers as he walks down the narrow aisle to where I am standing.

I can barely stand, one hand clutching the headrest of a seat and the other covering my wound. “ You have two choices love: you do nothing but let me die, then rot in jail or you try to save me and maybe not even step foot in a prison.” I place a hand on his chest, “So Alex? Which is it going to be?”
He stares at me as I slip to the floor, “I'll take my chances, good-bye love.”