Chapter 15

        I sat on Cole's bed, my head in my hands as the dream I had recently had clogged my thoughts. All I could think about was that dream. That look on Dylan's face before me fell lifelessly over-top of me, and that look on Cameron's face, a bloody heart in his hand, his expression looked so shameless, as if it caused no emotion that he had ripped out a beating heart.

           My eyes trailed across the room, locking on the TV mounted on the wall. Sighing, figuring I had nothing better to do in this hell hole. Hell hole. That was becoming a main phrase in my vocabulary lately. It was, after all, the only 2 words that desribed this place. Looks are only skin deep. Sure, it's a beautiful house, -or mansion- but that was just it's disguise, in my opinion. This was a full blown torture chamber.

           Except the torturing wasn't chains and whips, starving for days.

           The true torture was being stuck inside a room, only being able to escape every so often- which in my case, usually ends bad, considering I either get caught, or pass out- and not being able to know if your loved ones are safe. Or not being able to comfort your parents in a time of need, where they're probably stuck in a permanent state of shock and overwhelming sadness, not knowing if my heart was beating, or if it was not.

            That, my friend, was worse then physical pain. Emotional pain is more painful then physical. Thus, why people cut their wrists. 

             Then, there's the case where they're just attention w****s and cut because their boyfriend of 2 weeks cheated on them, or their cat died. 

              Rubbing my tired eyes, I removed myself from the bed, dragging myself towards the TV. I scanned the area around it, until I caught sight of the remote. I picked it up from the glass table set underneath the mounted TV and pressed the "On/Off" button. 

                 Skimming through the channels, I stopped on the news when something caught my eye.

                 "Mr. and Mrs. Brooks." the tall blonde reporter adressed, the camera flashed to 2 very worn out, tired faces. The tired faces of my parents. "Do you have anything you'd like to add to the missing case of you daughter?" she pried.

                  "I just want my baby girl back!" my mom cried, clutching onto my dads shirt, avoiding eye contact with the camera. I felt my heart swell up at the condition they were in. My dads short brown hair looked like i hadn't been brushed in days, he had purple bags welling under his eyes and his skin was an unhealthy pale color. My mom's hair was tied into a messy bun, she wore no makeup and her eyes were red and puffed, along with her nose. They both looked like they could use a shower and a nice, long sleep.

                    The camera flickered to a alleyway where they had a body bag laying on top of the stretcher, rolling it into the ambulance.

                      "A young boy was found in the alley at exactly 5:48 a.m, dead with 2 odd puncture marks on his neck. The police have also indentified his neck was snapped. Parents claimed to of last saw him whenever he left for football practice early evening last night. There is no name that can be released at this moment, but we have a picture of the boy." the anchor spoke in the usual robotic manner. The screen then flashed to the picture of the boy. I felt my heart drop to the pit of my stomach as I stared at the screen. 

                     I had no idea how to react. In front of me was a picture of Dylan. It was a picture that I had taken of him at the first football meet Junior year. He was in his navy-blue and white football jersey, smiling like a happy kid on Christmas. The marker lines on his cheeks were smudged from him sweating and he had each of his arms slung over the shoulders of Brian and Ryder, his best friends.

                      It flashed back to the scene, people had now crowded around the entrance of the alleyway as the C.S.I's blocked it off with yellow police tape. The faces of his family, my brother, and his friends were shown. All of them covered in tear streaks.

                        Just seeing the glint in their eyes- the glint of sadness and depression- pulled me back into reality.

                            Dylan. He was dead. My dream did mean something. A loud sob wrecked through my body. Not being able to handle seeing his picture or the scene anymore, I threw the remote at the TV screen, putting a crack in it.

                        Cameron. Cameron did this. It was him, I-I just know it. 

                     I ran to the door, tears leaking from my eyes, blurring my vision. I pounded my fists on the door over and over again while screaming "You b*****d!". Whenever I saw my hands were bleeding, I finally gave up, turning away from the door and sliding down the wall.

                        This was all my dads fault. 

                       Everything. If he wouldn't have been so hell bound on that goddamn project, he wouldn't of created such monsters. I can still remember the months he was at the lab. I never understood what for, he would just leave every night for hours at a time and all he would say was that it was a science project he was working on for the fun of it. My mother had even accused him of cheating.

                         But now that I know, I wish I could've stopped him somehow. Told him it wasn't safe.

                         Not like he would've listened to my 7 year old self.

                         Now Dylan's gone. I'm trapped, with no way out. None of this could have happened if it weren't for that goddamn project. 

                          The door knob next to my head started to jiggle, I was close enough that I couuld make a run for it. But to be honest with myself, I didn't have the energy. Being here right now, it didn't matter to me. I'd stay here for the rest of my life if it meant Dylan would still be here. I dropped my head into my hands, once again sob after sob wrecked through my body.

                         The door opened and footsteps entered.

                          "I guess you heard." a sickeningly familiar voice commented.

                          "You goddamn b*****d." I spit, looking into the hazel eyes of Cameron.

                          "Such vulgar language." he teased.

                          "You heartless son of a b***h." I yelled. "How is it, you're standing here, making sarcastic remarks when my boyfriend is f*cking dead. Because of you."

                            "Jeez," he rolled his eyes. "You make it sound so bad."

                             I narrowed my eyes at him. I stood up, ready to pounce but I was beat to it. The door flew open once again, a gush of wind brushed past me. It all happened in a blur, Cameron was on his knees and Jax was dragging him out of the room mumbling something incoherent.

                              "What happened to you?" Cole asked, walking towards me.

                              I just ignored him, I walked over to the bed, laying down on my side as another hot tear rolled from my eye, down my cheek, and onto the bedspread. I was at loss for words. First the dream , and now reality.

                                Cole approached the bed, kneeling down next to me. He lifted his hand to cup my cheek, staring at me with an unknown emotion in his icy orbs. "What's wrong?" he tried once again.

                            I narrowed my eyes at him, turning so my back was facing him.

                            "Come on, tell me." he continued to pry.

                            "Leave me alone, Cole." I managed to mumble. "You're no better then your brother." 

                        Giving up, he sighed. I heard retreating footsteps followed but the shutting and locking sound of the door. I closed my eyes, entrapping the tears the best I could. 

                            Why, dad? Why?