elude // jahseh onfroy

1 - released

Jahseh

It's been five months in prison for a crime that I regret committing, but nobody seems to believe me. The truth is, I feel guilty for what I did — even if at the time, I felt like what I did was justifiable.

❝ Rapper XXXTentacion arrested for arson ❞

The headline is almost glued to my brain from the times I've read it.

Arson. A fancy word for setting a house on fire. Taking a deep exhale, I force myself to sit up on the creaking bed. My cellmate is still asleep, which means I have a few hours left before he wakes up.

Letting out a yawn, I gaze at the brick walls that surround me. I've seen them walls for five fucking months now  — and I still panic every morning when I see them.

Five months living in this hellhole where they won't even let me take my pills.

Staring at the wall, the sinking feeling comes back to me. Sometimes the question returns to mind, only because prison leaves you brainwashed and sometimes you just forget shit that happened. How the fuck did I get here?

Six months ago, my mom worked long shifts at a house two blocks away from home. We've been desperate for money since my father bailed when I was a child. Understandably, being a single mom and raising four kids is difficult. Add financial struggles and you have an even bigger mess. 

My mom was always looking for odds jobs here and there, but hardly making what we needed to live. Five months ago, she returned home at 3 A.M. with bruises on her arms and legs, which only equated to one thing. Her voice was shaky, but I know she was trying her hardest to appear fine.

Her job was cleaning the home of a wealthy family: a businesswoman who was hardly home and her two children. The woman she worked for is known as The Black Widow because her husband died a few years ago. Nobody knows how he died or what business he was playing, but I recall hearing on the news that he had been stabbed to death at a corner shop.

At the start of her job she said it was like any other job  — working long shifts that seemed to last forever while we were all in school. The money would barely pay for bills and basic food, but it was enough for us to live.

All of that took a turn for the worst when The Black Widow went crazy  — and I mean clinically crazy. Her suffering from her husband's death transformed into violence and hate. She started throwing aggressive fits, throwing expensive vases and smashing windows.

That night, when my mother entered through the backdoor of our home with bruises, was the night I realised her life was in danger. That night I was sitting on the couch on my phone high as fuck. I had got off the phone with my vro Ski.

The door flung open, but it was pitch black so I didn't know who had come. I heard sobs, making me turn on the lamp next to me.

My mother was crying, but she still tried to crack a smile at me. She told me The Black Widow had lost her temper once again and took it out on her.

I remember the anger bubbling in my chest the second she finished explaining. It was more than just anger. It was rage.

I helped my mom get into bed with my heart heavy after she promised not to tell my younger siblings. I felt like it was my fault she ended up in that psycho's house and the worst part was — there was nothing I could do.

"Why don't you quit, mom?" I asked her.

"Because it's good pay."

Those were her exact words that night. Was this what the world had come to? Getting abused for the sake of having enough food on the table?