What If

Disclaimer: The writer does not own the Jonas Brothers, Camp Rock, Demi Lovato, or anyone else featured in the aforementioned story.

You slam the door shut. There he is. Your backstabbing ass of a brother. You had been looking all day for him, even venturing down to the local library, barely escaping the hordes of nerdy fan-girls that haunted its halls. He leans his forehead onto hers, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She giggles, and then pecks him on the lips. You flinch, but carry on down the hallway. One step at a time, trying to ignore the slurping that has now emerged from the couch. Trying to ignore the thump, thump, thumping of your own heart, as your footsteps grow heavier with each sound that she makes, sounds that he brought on. Sounds that should have been caused by you, and only you.

"I love you." He mutters faintly, but not so soft that you cannot hear. You stop. Lean against the white walls. Close your eyes; wait for her to say something, anything.

"I love you too." She smiles, every movement she makes noted down carefully by you until then. Then she pulls him in again, just as you pull away, and carry down the corridor, quicker and quicker, till you pound up the stairs, shutting the door to your room. A framed photograph lies next to your bed. Another reason why you don't allow anyone in anymore. You pick it up, tracing the features of her pretty face. Remembering her very smile, when you held up that camera, and kissed her. That is, until your evil, conniving, bastard of a brother swooped her away into his arms.

But no, even in your anger you do not blame him, for it is apparent – to everyone-, that it is you who were in the wrong. And now waves of regret wash over you, heavier and heavier, until you are submerged in an entire tsunami of guilt, and want. What if. Those two dreaded words that you swore you would never think of again. What if. What if you hadn't been a total jerk and blew off your dinner date. What if you had never called her things that you would never repeat again. What if, she was still yours?

For that would be wonderful. And you would cherish her till the world ended, making sure that you held her hand as she left you. What you never imagined however, was the way she would leave you, and so much earlier than you had imagined. You hear her laugh again, wafting up the stairwell. And something. Just. Snaps. Everything else is in a daze after that, you yanking open the drawers, pulling out something, anything, that may ease the pain. Then finally. You find the small black pistol. You remember the gun. From your gang-fighting days when you were still famous and still in love. You remember when you had promised that gun was gone. It wasn't. The below door slams. Someone has left. You stare out the tinted windows. Him. He is leaving, and you can hear her footsteps treading lightly up the wooden steps. Slowly, she is getting nearer, and you know you must end it before it is too late. You lift the gun, clicking the trigger on the side of your head.

The door slams.

You drop the gun, as she stares wide-eyed at you. "Shane?" she mouths. Your hands fumble on the ground again, feeling for the small black object. The gun is in your palm once more.

"Go, Mitchie." You manage to stutter out. "Please leave."

"No!" She has started to cry. "Don't, please, just, don't." Desperately, she grabs at your hand, but you are stronger, and push her away.

"Just leave. Leave!" You boom. "Can't you see that this is all my fault? My own friggin' fault!"

"Shane. Shane!" She grips at you again. "No. Shane. Stop, Shane. Come downstairs, please. Please!"

With one last push, she falls onto your bed, face down. She doesn't see you when the loud click of the pistols resounds in your head. You see her turn, cry, grip at your shoulders,

nothing.

A/N: Okay. Very dark. Probably going to rate this T. Dedicated to the only sweet person I know that takes great joy in seeing people die in fan fictions. Need I also mention that I am a big fan of her work as well? Kits!

Thank you for all the support and awesomeness that you contain.

R&R, everybody!

This is a major one.

Tell me all your deep dark emotions and all that.