Daddy's Little Assassin

Chapter 1

"So Kathleen, I was hoping we could make some progress today," Mrs. Lindo my therapist said to me.

The only response I gave her was rolling my eyes then I sighed irritatedly as I gave her the silent treatment as usual. One would have thought that for someone who was supposed to be so smart, that after over eight months of her trying to 'break down' my walls she would've gotten the idea that I did not want to talk to her or anyone for that matter.

I had been assigned a therapist with who I had to have sessions three times a week for the past eight months since I had been placed in foster care- a group home called, 'Sunshine Home for Girls'.

Eight months earlier, my home had been broken into by armed burglars who shot and killed my parents. It wasn't easy having experienced something like that, especially being a young teen. I was only thirteen years old for Christ's sake. The police had only caught one of the guys that had been in my house that night. The sad reality was that the guy whom I witnessed shot my parents, was still on the loose. His friend had been extremely loyal throughout the trials and never ratted him out.

I wish that I could have friends like that. Loyal to the bone.

Even when the judge had sentenced him to life imprisonment, he still never gave up the name of his accomplice. I was the only one who knew what the guy looked like and even though I had described him and the police had said that they would have a sketch artist worked with me and everything, the justice system failed and nothing more was done to find the murderer.

Both of my parents were unfortunately orphans as well as the only child. My mother was from Australia, which meant that I didn't have any close family members that were available to take me in. Also, since my mother moved to London years ago before she even met my Dad. When I thought about it, the government didn't do much to find any of my family or relatives for me. When no next of kin, relatives, or even family friends showed up willing to foster me, I was sent to live at the Sunshine Home by social workers.

During the months I had lived at the Sunshine Home, I never once talked to any of the other kids there. Ever since my parents' death I haven't talked much except for the times I had to testify in court and when it was extremely necessary when I needed something from any of the sisters who ran the home.

Known as the 'silent kid' or what others referred to as 'the black sheep' had many downsides. Because I hardly spoke and stayed to myself, I became the target of bullying. I was seen as the freak and when the bullying got too much for me to handle, I started to get into fights with some of the girls. I mean some of these idiots didn't understand the meaning of wanting to be left alone. They eventually got on my nerves and I snapped. I finally decided to stand up for myself and fight back.

Not a day went by without me getting in some kind of fight. When I couldn't win using just body strength and my fist, I resorted to using weapons. The chairs, tables, pencils, and any other objects I found became my best friends, I used them as my weapons to help me win.

Two girls I had fought even had to receive medical attention, I hit one of them in the eye with a flower vase and the other got stabbed in the neck with a pencil. I was never a violent kid growing up but becoming aggressive was the only way I was able to cope with the loss of my family.

"Kathleen, I know it isn't easy to talk about your feelings and what happened but you have to realize that we are only trying to help you," Mrs. Lindo spoke to me gently.
" I know talking much isn't going to change what happened or bring back your parents, but I know it'll help you to unload some of those traumas and that anger you bear within. Please just talk to me, I'm here to help you."

There was some truth in what she was saying but my reason for not wanting to talk was to avoid thinking about my family. Talking would've brought back all those memories, hurt, and pain that I felt. I was in denial. Avoiding the issue altogether for the past eight months was my way of not being able to accept what had happened. I felt that talking about it would make it more real.