CHASIDY JENKINS VS ASHUAD JENKINS

I cocked it back, one hand on the barrel sticking the gun outside the window and I pulled the trigger. As I pulled off like I was in grand theft auto, my dad ran for his life. All I can remember is the flash, the bang and his back , legs running faster then I ever seen. I finally made my dad scared of me. I wonder how It felt? Thinking someone you love, created, are apart of would hurt you in the worst way? Take a weapon out and try to take you out the game? I felt power coursing through my veins because I took back control that day. Instead of feeling scared and cowering I walked towards the abuse and made it my bitch. Walked down on my abuser and showed him the demon he created. Years of watching what you could do to my mom, wishing she would let you rot. I begged her to leave you alone. To leave you to figure it out on your own, she loved you so much cause you were my dad. Connecting the pain to us like a birthmark. No washing clean of you, no getting rid of the thing I can’t forget. I hated you growing up. I hated your strong hands and how you used them to hurt us. Hands tighten on the steering wheel as I skirt away, weaving through traffic and away from the crime I just committed. Did I hit him? Is he dead? Do I make this left? What did I just do? Already high off Xanax I take another as I walk into my house. Four Xanax bars in contemplating what I did. Did I get away with it? Is he okay? My siblings are going to hate me in the worst ways. My phone starts to vibrate, shaking the countertop MOM brightens the screen. I can’t answer, how do I tell her what happened? A text pops up

“CHASIDY CALL ME! YOUR GOING TO GO TO JAIL FOR ATTEMPTED MURDER”

I black out. Do we have more xans? I think I will sit here in my xanny bubble and not leave until they pull me free in handcuffs. ‘catch me like the gingerbread man’ is what I said before I popped another full green hulk Xanax bar. I was not ready to face the decision I just made. My hands start to shake and I pull my hoodie up waiting for the next xan to take affect. Ears still ringing, white spots in my vision from the flash of my gun. I just keep thinking ‘what have I done?’

‘well he deserved it’

‘only an ounce of pain that I felt all my life, seaping through my gun’

‘fuck that was fun’

‘I hope he was crying’

‘I hope he is sick’

‘I hope he is still alive’

‘Am I a murderer?’

‘Did he even get hit?”

My sister is going to hate me, how could I kill her dad. Irrational thinking cause an attempted murder doesn’t mean hes dead, I’m just dwindling now. I pace back and fourth as the night starts to fade. I get texts telling me I have to face it, turn myself in. I can’t run for charges like these. Why should I go to jail for doing to that man what he deserved? Abuse fills his soul and for me it takes a toll. I don’t want to go to jail for showing this man I am not my mom, we are the not the same and I am not fucking sane. People like me should be awarded protected when we finally step up and learn to protect ourselves. Take away the people who push us to versions outside of ourself.

He should be in jail, for all the trauma and abuse. For the times he sold all my systems for drugs and spilled all my moms blood on our rug. A foot to the face and fist to the gut all cause he was angry and yelling wasn’t enough. I grew up in anger, in chaos its embedded in my bones. How am I supposed to fight against the only thing I have ever known?

I wake up the next morning, tears filling my eyes and its painful so I rub my forhead hoping to release the tension. These tears they don’t want to fall, my brain is tried of crying, tired of it all. I take another pill, hoping it will make this all less real. I love how they make me feel, I feel less, and I relax more. I put my hoodie up and its like closing the door. Locking all the demons out, living in my own world. Its day two now, that I have been on the run. I don’t plan to leave this apartment but I gotta get rid of this gun.