I almost killed my brother once. On purpose. Nearly choked him out in a fit of rage.
He deserved it, though – only because I couldn’t choke-out the persons who really deserved it – his loving enablers turning him into the slimy, lying, manipulating bastard he is to this day. Too bad, but good thing, the bus driver was there. It would have been a horrible reality to live with.
Maybe I was in Junior High – no, maybe a freshman in high school. Maybe older. Time weaved with trauma has a way of distorting. It was after he had committed an unspeakable act and put me in a very compromising position, and he mentally hurt a lot of people. Or maybe it was me who hurt a lot of people. His actions brought back repressed memories of my own past trauma that I needed to understand and deal with.
He was taunting me from the green seats of the school bus. I swooped in and clamped my hands around his throat, laying him out on the bench seat in a flash of red I don’t even remember.
This is what happens when an already damaged girl is coerced to hold in a scream.