Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met. (Taylor Swift)

“Tommy,” I yelled out. I didn’t want to be vague. “Penny! Help!” I screamed down the stairs but the noise of the carolling 15-piece band tuned me out. If I had realized the danger one stoned hippie could cause I would have ran down those stairs like a bat out of hell, but I hesitated.

Never hesitate.

He picked me up. He looked scrawny and weak but I was helpless in his firm grasp. It was a suffocating feeling. He pulled me into my parent’s room and as dumb and dead as he looked he locked the door and blocked the exit. I looked at the window. It was only the second floor. I would cut my bare legs on the glass, maybe break my legs, but I would live – I would definitely live, I was pretty sure of that.

I jumped back when he tried to grab my arm and he instead landed an iron grasp on my leg. I couldn’t believe this. I had trained all my life to be superior to people like him. I had believed all my life that I was better than people like him. Yet here I was being defeated by him.

He put a firm hand on my other leg and I fell to the floor trying to pull away. I reached and leaned and stretched and when I finally placed my hand on the handle of the bedside drawer I promised myself I wouldn’t hesitate.

I pulled hard on the drawer handle and the entire drawer fell out. It hit me in the face. Instantly I began to bleed. All I could see was stars, stars everywhere. So I felt around blindly until I put my hand on it.

No hesitation. I pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. A bullet smashed into his head with such force that he was killed on impact. If you seen the mess you would understand why I can say that with such certainty.

I killed a man on the eve of my fifteenth birthday.