Riker Mills || District 5 || COMPLETE

A lot of shit has happened to me. I witnessed my father’s death at a very young age. What was I, 7? Maybe 8? I don’t know. I was old enough to remember, at least. It’s not like my father was a good man, anyways. Maybe he deserved to die. He abused my mother a lot. Hit her, yelled at her, did some other stuff I shouldn’t mention. I even have a few bruises from him. I’m talking about emotional ones, although there were some real bruises before he left – I mean, died. But yeah, he did some pretty heavy emotional scarring in the short years that I knew what was going on. I didn’t like seeing my mother in pain at the time. Now I’m indifferent. I know it sounds sick, but I get it from him I guess. He did something to me. Or, perhaps I was always like this and I just didn’t know. I bet my mom saw it from the beginning. From the time I was little, I’ve caught her staring at me with a concerned look, drowned in thoughts. I used to ask her what was wrong, and tell her that I was fine. After I realized she was never going to listen, I stopped telling her and instead started imagining what could be going on in her head.

Sometimes I hear my mom crying. She sobbed for days when dad died. I don’t think it was because she was sad though. Now when she cries, I think it’s because she hates me and my father. Him for what he did to me. I don’t know about back then, though. Maybe she was scared, unsure how she’d manage to make enough money without him. My brother was ten at the time, and capable of work, so he did it. He helped mom pay the bills. Then her brother moved in. I hate him. He’s too nice, and he tries too hard. How many times has he tried to sit me down for a talk and tell me about what was wrong with the bad thing I had certainly just done. I roll my eyes indifferently each time, because I’ve heard it constantly over the last six years. He’s not my father, although I can’t say that I’d prefer dad over him. Maybe nice is better than abusive and drunk, but not by a whole lot. Sometimes I do just want to punch him in the face, but I don’t. I’m trying to learn restraint. I don’t think it shows though.

I remember one time, my mom snapped. It hasn’t happened since, and I definitely don’t want it to. She started shrieking at me, even calling me a few bad names. My uncle had to push through the obscenities she started throwing at him and calmed her down eventually. He said the stress got to her head. After that, she just sat in bed for a few days, paralyzed and scared. She’d jump at the sight of a person. Those days, that was probably the last time I was actually nice to her. I brought her food and water and actually took care of her. I was about 14 at the time. Since then, I’m rarely helpful at all. I’ll do work in the garden, but that’s mostly because I like the garden and it gives me a chance to be alone. That’s another thing I can add to the list of reasons why I hate myself. I’m selfish. I rarely do anything for anyone, except myself. Dad was the same way.

A few months ago, something really bad went down. Like, it makes the rest of my bullshit look like child’s play when compared. It was my last relationship with a girl. She was really insecure and wouldn’t accept anybody’s compliments or reassurance. She hated herself, but not in the same way I do. She thought she was good for nothing, and didn’t deserve anything good. I guess that’s why she decided to date me. Anyways, I was showing her this place I go to from time to time. A small wooded area with a little spot for picnics. Just about the nicest place in District 5, except no one seems to know about it. Maybe something bad happened there and we’re not supposed to talk about it. But, we were sitting at a picnic table, listening to nature. I actually kind of wanted her to enjoy herself. But I guess the negative energy from both of us just took over, because things somehow went really bad, really fast. Add the fact that I had had alcohol earlier that day, and you can almost kind of expect it. I sure didn’t. I remember having her down on the ground. There’s a small cabin there too, but I don’t know why I didn’t take her there. But I raped her. The screams seemed to send electrical surges through my body, and I kind of enjoyed it. Then I left her there with the fear of me hurting her if she were to let anyone know about our little secret. I didn’t want to hurt her though. Which is stupid, because I had just hurt her really badly. I remember coming home and finding blood on my hands. I’m still not entirely sure about everything that happened.