(Please note: This story contains violience, swearing and sensitive themes).
I stood there shocked.
My friend, holding a pipe, shaking, looking at me as if I had done something so horrific, so horrible that if I moved even a millimetre, they wouldn't hesitate to kill me.
“How could you,” they said with tears streaming down their cheeks.
“How could I what!?” I said firmly.
“HOW COULD YOU!” They screamed in response.
“HOW COULD I WHAT!?” I yelled back.
“I know what you did!” They replied.
“Did what?! I need more than that to be able to give you a straight answer” I replied angrily.
“If all the people in the world who knows me the best, you should know I don’t like people accusing me of something I know nothing about. So please, For the love of God, will you tell me WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE ON ABOUT!”
“I know what you did. I know what you did last night. And I’ve told everyone.” They said with more conviction.
I stood there, even more surprised. They had already told everyone. But I was still at a loss as to what I had done. As I was about to lose my shit and ask again, they told me. Told me how they saw me sneak into their backyard, broke into their house, and killed their brother.
“Why. Why did you do it!” They said sobbing quietly.
For a moment, I was speechless. They were never meant to know the truth. That I had no choice, their brother was a bad guy. A very bad guy. They didn’t know, but he ran an underground prostitution ring. Sold people as slaves. When I confronted him about it, he just laughed and looked at me with this smug look. All he said was.
“What are you going to do about it? We both know you are weak. Too weak to do anything about it. You have spent your whole life watching people do the wrong thing and saying nothing. Remember all those times you saw people being beaten up, teased, and exploited. You always turned the other cheek. How is now any different? No, I think as always you will do what you always do. Be too weak to do anything.”
He started to laugh at me because he knew he was right. I had never stepped in when I saw the wrong thing. I always turned the other way. I would pretend that I never saw it. Whenever I saw those who had suffered later, in the school halls or just walking down the street, I would lower my head and pretend I hadn't seen them, pretend that I had no idea what was going on when all I felt was ashamed, ashamed for not stepping in. shame for not saying something.
I went home that night, and I guess you could say I snapped. I couldn't do it anymore. I knew that what he was doing was wrong and I wanted to make sure he was punished.
Should I have gone to the police or told someone? Yes. But what he said to me had hit me like a ton of bricks. All that shame and rage just exploded and I wanted to make sure he knew that I wasn't that person anymore.
But now at this moment. I had to tell my friend. Tell them that what I did although bad, was for the right reasons.
I just had to hope they could forgive me.
