I attacked Daddy.
After he was tried and convicted of killing Mommy and Damien, I attacked him.
I tried to stay calm.
Keep my composure.
Be the better person.
But I couldn't. I snapped, lunging for his neck with needy fingers.
And I hate myself for it.
I tried to choke the life out of him. I can't explain what came over me. Maybe it was the simple flashback of when I was on the stand and he drug his thumb across his throat as an obscene gesture toward me that made the last sound part of my mind float away.
Or maybe…
Maybe I am more like him than I thought.
And the possibility of that terrifies me.
It took four police men to pry me off of him. All the while Daddy wasn't even upset. He was cackling like a lunatic. Why? Because he won. He beat me up and broke me down in every physical, mental, and emotional way.
And I let him.
As I tightened my fingers around his neck and he choked out his laughter, I screamed.
Thrashed.
Anger blazed through my fingertips when I tightened my grip.
And when the police officers pulled me away, I was clawing at air, hoping that by some miracle my fingernails would scrape the skin on his face. To leave deeply rooted scratch marks.
So I could leave scars on him.
Just like he left scars on me.
After the guilty verdict had been read and I lost my wits, my mind, and all of my composure. The police officers secured me in a holding cell.
You've been through a lot, the cops told me.
We're sending you away to get the help you need, they told me.
But they told me they were going to get me help before and they didn't. Now I understand why. Because they were watching me.
Waiting.
Probably hoping that the last thread of sanity inside me would finally break. Then they'd be able to say haul her away, she's a lunatic.
I'm pretty sure they've got exactly what they've wanted.
Now, I am the canary I’ve always wanted to be.
Or at least the bright yellow bus I’m riding in makes me feel like one.
I'm flying.
Flying far, far away.