Remedy (H.S.)

79

Kennedy Simmons

Let me explain myself.

My life hasn't been easy. I grew up with abusive people and the other kids, instead of being by my side and supporting me, tortured me even more. I had no one to turn to. No one to protect me.

I tolerated everything for years in silence. I was too afraid to speak up. Terrified to stand up for myself. I thought that if I kept quiet things would get better.

They didn't.

The bruises on my body became a permanent tattoo that kept getting bigger and bigger. Scars covered my back and part of my arms and legs. I had broken more bones than even a whole family together was supposed to. My body became slimmer and weaker. I was constantly sick. I was locked for so long in a dark cellar that my vision became weaker and my eyes hurt in the light. The pain I felt was too much.

So I snapped.

At first I just caused trouble. I used to run away, break glasses, plates and vases. I vandalised the furniture, I drew on the walls. I did anything I could to disturb anyone.

But I had too much rage so as I got older I became more violent. I'm not going to give you details about that because it's not important but what is important is that my condition, as they called it, was so bad that my foster parents were desperate to get me away. I wanted to get away too.

So I got into Stanford at fifteen.

I still was angry though. Furious.

There were two things that I wanted more than anything. One of them was revenge. The other was to find my parents.

I wanted to feel that love that parents give to their children. I wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere and I had a home. In my mind that would be the ultimate gift.

So everything I did after that had to do with these desires of mine.

My time in Harvard was dark but at the same time liberating. I did awful things there and not just making drugs for Louis.

I could have stopped some of the murders.

But I didn't.

I watched those people die and then continued with my life as if nothing happened. To me, nothing had actually happened. The world was just a little cleaner now, with less trash people polluting it.

You think I'm a monster? You think that no sane person would leave someone get killed?

Well, I am insane.

I was made like that by all of those hardships. I wasn't good enough in order to learn to contain my feelings and not act irrationally.

So that rage and hatred of mine resulted in me seeing countless people getting murdered by the hands of the same person.

I had seen so much blood and death that killing the person that attempted to murder me didn't effect me as much as everyone thought.

Actually it didn't affect me at all.

I've said it before and I'll say again.

I was insane. A psychopath.

No. I'm not joking.

But I was justified. At least that's what I thought.

I didn't let anyone who was innocent get hurt. Except for one time but that's a sad story for another time. That time I wasn't protecting just myself.

After everything came to the end back then I made it the purpose of my life to fix everything. I genuinely wanted to help people. At least the bad people.