the criminal // S.M.

prologue

I was 4 years old when I smoked my first cigarette. The guy at the bar who gave it to me just laughed as the nicotine burned my small, underdeveloped lungs and made me cough.

I was 5 years old when I drank my first alcoholic beverage, a glass of beer the size of my head. Although it stung on my throat and lingered as a bad aftertaste, I was proud to say that I was finally like mommy and daddy and all the other people around me.

I was 6 years old when I witnessed my first murder. We were walking back from the bar when we saw in an alley two men ganging up on a women. Why are they hurting her I asked my dad. Not now Skylar, we need to see if they need help he told me. At the time, I didn't understand why we weren't rushing in to help the poor woman. I didn't understand that we were waiting around to see if the men needed help, not her.

One of the guys brought a gun to her chest and I wanted to yell stop but I was afraid my tiny voice wouldn't be heard in this big world.

And as her blood splattered a vivid image in my brain that I would never forget, I realized for the first time that we were the bad guys.

I was 7 years old when I got my first friend. He sat next to me in 2nd grade and everyday he would talk about Harry Potter. I never really understood what he was saying, but I listened anyways. I can't remember his name, only that he had brown hair and brown eyes that sometimes changed color to green or hazel. They were full of life and love, something I admired. I don't know what ever happened to him.

He didn't care that I smelled like smoke or sometimes cried in class, which I should have taken for granted when I had the chance. I hope brown eyed boy is doing alright.

I was 8 years old when I got suspended for the first time. I was shooting things (and people) with a BB gun during recess. When a teacher asked why, I told her I was practicing for when I was older. A letter from the principal was sent to my parents explaining why I was asked not to come back for a few days. We ought to take this to the bar for a toast my mom said and laughed it off.

I was 9 years old when I lost my virginity. I can't even remember how it happened (probably cause I was drunk), just that I couldn't stop crying afterwards. What happened? My mom asked. I didn't want to tell her, cause I knew she would want to celebrate and cheer and I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. Here take this she said and gave me a necklace. It was a simple silver chain with a light pink rock at the bottom. It's a rose quartz. It represents unconditional love she told me as I examined it.

I was 10 years old when I committed my first murder. I was with my parents when they got a job call, and they allowed me to come with. Let's let Sky have this one, she needs practice. She has big shoes to fill one day my mom said, handing me a gun. I've shot a gun before, but it was entirely different when it was aimed at another human. I never knew her name, but she was dressed like a nurse and had tear stained cheeks. What kind of sick parenting is this she asked as she stared down the barrel and at me. I didn't give her a second thought to think about it though. At the time I couldn't comprehend the damage I had done, and I thought it was thrilling.

My dad told me that every person that you kill has a value, and once you kill them their value gets added to yours. He said if you kill the president, it makes you just as valuable as him but with out ruling the country.

I was 11 years old when I had my first suicidal thought. Depression started to sink in and I realized how messed up my childhood was. I clutched a handful of pills to my chest, and my only thought was I could give that lady's life back that I wrongfully took.

I never did it though, but not a day goes by that I wish I did.

I was 12 years old when my mom told me I was going to be a big sister. At first, I didn't want to be. I knew a baby would be another responsibility and at the time I knew I wasn't stable enough for that kind of added stress. When she was born however, I felt so much empathy for her. My only thinking was that this poor baby has been thrown into a life that she shouldn't be apart of. Unlike me, she had the chance of not being a criminal from the moment she was born.

So, I took action. My mom let me name her, and I decided on Riley. I don't know why but I just liked the name, and still do. I stopped going to the bar with mom and dad, and instead I stayed behind to care for Riley. My depression didn't get better but my suicidal thoughts subsided. I knew that if I were gone she would end up like me, and I couldn't let that happen.

I was 13 years old when the police raided our apartment for the first time. My mom told me to go into the back bedroom with Riley and hide. I could hear them knocking things over and talking. Tears streamed over my checks as I tried to calm Riley down and keep her as quiet as possible.

I was 14 when we moved. They are on to us my dad told me. We moved into a house that was built ages ago. It's just vintage my mom would say, although we all knew it was falling apart and needed lots of work. The only perk to it was that I got my own room and so did Riley, as she grew into her toddler years it seemed harder and harder to share a room with her.

I was 15 years old when my parents shoved us into the downstairs closet and told us not to make a sound. The police came, like they always do, but this time was different. Through the crack of the door, Riley and I watched as they tackled mom and dad to the ground, put their hands behind their backs, and arrested them.

Our aunt was declared our legal guardian after that, but she's always to busy with her work to put in the effort of actually taking care of us. Once a month she buys us groceries and checks in with us periodically but that's mainly it. It's just Riley and I against the world.

I had to take over mom and dads job after they were put in jail. My boss came to the house only a few days after, handed me a gun and said get to work. I tried to tell him I didn't want to, but he just got mad. You know too much he said with his raspy voice. Either do it or we will replace you. You start tomorrow. He shoved the gun in my hand and walked out my front door. I knew exactly what he meant when he said replace, he meant that he would hire a team to kill me and then Riley would have to take up the job.

I couldn't let that happen.

I was 16 when I sold my body for the first time. Sure I had my parents job, but it wasn't exactly the best paying, at least when I first started. Riley was to start kindergarten soon and I couldn't hold her back because we didn't have the money, it wasn't fair to her.

The first "customer" was some guy, probably about ten years older than me, I found at the bar. He only gave me $100, but it was enough for school supplies.

Now, I am 17 years old. I'm a senior and doing the best I can. It isn't easy, but I have to.

Except maybe I don't have to. Maybe I can escape.

+

A/N
I'm so excited for you guys to read this story! Ive been working on it for a while and I think it is going to be really good haha. Its different than what I usually write.
Don't forget to vote ;)
Twitter: thecityair
My dms on there and on here are always open so hmu!

Alrighty, I hope you guys enjoy the book 🤘🏻