Every moment counts

Chapter four

And I killed my mom. And I killed my sister. It wasn't on purpose though. It was a long time ago and I was young. I didn't know what I was doing.

It was late October, early November when it happened. I had been five at the time. My dad came home at one o'clock that morning. He woke the whole house up. My mom went downstairs to tell him to be quiet, but when she got there he was passed out on the kitchen floor.

She came back upstairs and told me and my sister, Tara, to sit on Tara's bed. I remember what she said exactly. "Your dad is not doing well, and neither is our marriage. If he keeps this up I'm going to leave him. You two will have to come with me."

My sister was nine so she understood and was nodding her head grimly. I on the other hand was very confused. I let it go though. I tried to nod like Tara was doing.

My mom took our hands and squeezed them. "But don't worry. Everything will be-." She stops and looks behind her and into the doorway of the room. My dad stumbled past. When my mom turned back she looked pale. As if she had seen a ghost. I think she thought he heard her say she was gonna leave him.

"Go to bed girls." Was all she said to us. So we did.

I woke up again around four. I had woken up because I smelled smoke. I went down stairs to see what it was. Our kitchen was on fire!

I just stood there and stared not making a move to go anywhere anytime soon. I snapped out of my thoughts when I realized the fire was right in front of me. I turned around and ran out the door.

Up the driveway. Up the street. By the time I turned around the whole house was in flames. One of our neighbors called 911. When they put out the fire the tried to look for my parents and Tara.

They found them. Burnt to crisp.

From that moment I was an orphan. Both my parents were only children. My dad's parents had died before I was born. My mom's parents lived in Korea. They only spoke Korean and were to old to take care of me. So, Child Protective Services put me in foster care.

I was fine for a few years, but after I turned nine I was done playing nice. By the time I was 13 I had been kicked out of almost twenty foster homes and none of the other ones wanted me. Which was fine. I didn't want me either.

They sent me to an girls boarding school were I stayed until I was 15. Then they deemed me fit enough to go back to foster homes. They were so wrong.

The longest I lasted in a foster home was 4 months. They couldn't wait till I turned 18 and neither could I. My grades were pretty good for someone who moved so much. Because of this I planned on going to Seoul and becoming a doctor. Like my mom.

So, that's what I did. I literally left on my 18th birthday and moved to Seoul. I wanted to be closer to my roots. Closer to my mom.

And I guess I thought if I left, my past would stay in America. But it didn't. It followed me across the frickin world.

I just wish I could forget what happened that night. I just wish I could stop thinking. I wish I could turn off my mind, because all it's saying is "you're a murder."

"What would've happened if you hadn't saved yourself?"

"Would they still be alive?"

"Would you not be sitting in a pool of your own blood?"

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I sit here for way too long. It's almost one in the morning now. I try to sit up and slump back down. My head is throbbing. If I learned anything in med school it's to never leave a head wound exposed.