Fix me (COMPLETED) #Wattys2016

Chapter Four

(Not edited)

| Adam's POV |

I haven't led what most people call an easy life, as far as i can tell its been anything but easy. I would like to think that i had a good life as a child, but i was too young to keep the memories alive with me.

I was only 6 years old when my parents died. A drunk driver was the cause of their death. I was in the backseat and only suffered a few minor injuries. I kept hearing how lucky i am to live and how it was a "miracle", little did they know that from that moment on all my life went downhill. My parents were both Lebanese apparently. I dont remember much from my early childhood, the only things i have left of my parents is a picture of them at their wedding, another group picture of us three, and their wedding bands. I carry those reminders everywhere i go.

Life has thrown a lot of shit my way. Imagine being 6 years old, all alone, with no family or relatives that you know of. I bounced around from one foster home to another one, only to be physically, verbally and mentally abused by the people who were supposed to look after me.

One fateful day i was sent to a new foster home, a home where i for once felt loved. The couple who took care of me happened to be muslims too, like me, and had a daughter 4 years younger than me. I wasn't a firm believer by then. I didn't know much about Islam, i had no one to teach me or guide me. Well until that muslim family took me in and made me feel loved and accepted. They taught me everything i didn't know about my own religion, the rights and wrongs, the do's and dont's. I prayed every night, recited the Quran, fasted, I did everything right. I believed for once in my life, i felt like i belonged somewhere, to a religion, to a family, to a household.

That feeling only lasted for about 2 years. Life decided to throw some more shit my way. The nice muslim married couple who took me in were murdered. Right in front of my eyes. My hands were tied behind my back, with a gun placed against my scalp. I was powerless in the hands of those monsters. I was beaten to near death, i dont think they realized that my heart was still beating when they left.

But i was too late. I watched the family i had started to love fade away in front of me. So much more happened that awful night. I cant bare to think of what i witnessed, all the blood, the cries, the screams...the helplessness i felt...

Oh Hayat im so sorry. My heart hurts at the mere reminder of Hayat.

17 year old me was all alone by then, i still am. I have no family left. No one.

I slowly lost faith after that disturbing day. That day not only marked the day i lost people i cared about, but i also lost everything i held close to my heart. My prayers, recitations... and so on slowly started lessening until they became nonexistent.

I still cant believe that the muslim family left me so much money. They had me added to their will, and to this day i feel extremely thankful to them. The money they left was too much, apparently they were loaded even though they lived a simple life.

I used some of that money to rent myself a small apartment, and payed for med-school tuitions. The rest of the money all went to charity, i wanted to honor their death and the importance they had in my horrid life.

They are mainly the reason i became a doctor. I wanted to try to save as many lives as i could, to try to make up for all of the lives i couldn't.

I take life very seriously. I may have been through hell and back, but i still think life is worth living and fighting for. I've visited the edge of death more times that I want to admit, I've almost died so many times that I lost count. But here I am. Up and alive, I'm still breathing, my heart is still beating.