Enya pov
For some stupid, forsaken and god-awful reason, I'm still alive. Why couldn't he let me die when I wanted it that way myself? I'm done with life, every crime I've committed, and all the shit I've been through. I don't feel pain; in fact, I don't feel anything. I'm in a new room, but it doesn't smell like a hospital, and I've never seen this wallpaper before. Weird.
I sit up in the silly excuse of a bed and groan. My chest is wrapped in a bandage, so I can assume the doctors helped me. It's probably because of Vincent- he made them do it. If he's not around, I can try to find some doctors and give them the pleasure of killing me. Then when I'm gone, they can use a medical excuse to get Vincent off their backs. Doctors don't do magic, some patients go, and there's nothing they can do about it.