Page 2 of His Obsession Her Cure

Pepper

T here wasn’t much to be proud of in my young life but graduating school at the top of my class at fifteen without going to prison for murder for the rest of my life was one.

I was what my guidance counselor described as a troubled student.

Too intelligent for my own good was what she said.

What she meant was too smart to get caught at anything deemed uncivilized.

The death of my parents two years before I graduated didn’t help with the anger I carried, but somehow, I made it through without dishonoring their memory.

Steven and Carla McKinney were the best parents that any child could have, especially a child like me.

They did everything they could to give me a happy healthy childhood.

My parents knew that there was always something different about me even as a child, but they never loved me any less.

In fact, they did the opposite and poured more love and care into me.

And for that I would always be grateful because without them my life would have spiraled much sooner.

The Daily Times

July 28, 2016

Car Accident Claims Lives of Local Couple

Tragedy struck on Route 16 late Friday evening when a two-vehicle collision claimed the lives of Steven and Carla McKinney of Federalsburg.

Authorities report that the couple’s car veered off the road, striking a guardrail before overturning. Both were pronounced dead at the scene. Their teenage daughter, Pepper McKinney, received minor injuries, and is being kept for observation as Easton Memorial.

Investigators believe alcohol may have been a factor for the other driver involved whose identity has not yet been released pending charges.

On a warm night in July as we were leaving the fair a drunk driver took the two people in my life that grounded me to my humanity.

The love my parents had bestowed upon me was unmatched by anyone else in my life.

According to my parents I was such a happy baby that they were sure that if they tried again their next baby would be a psycho.

I’m sure they spoke too soon because by the time I was four years old my mother said she could clearly see the signs that I was different from other kids my age.

And not just because I was reading at a third-grade level.

The doctors refused to diagnose me at such a young age but if they had, I believe that they would have said that I was a textbook sociopath with a slit personality.

Or in medical terms Antisocial personality with dissociative identity disorder, but that would become more noticeable in later years.

My parents taught me early on that I was different and that was okay.

But that wasn’t really the case out in the real world.

The fact that I was a perfectly normal child only existed in the bubble that they created for me to thrive in under their care.

Outside of our home I was the child that other family members gossiped about and wouldn’t let their children play with even though my parents instilled in me that family was everything, something to protect, love and to never hurt.

Things for me came crashing down when they both died in that horrific car accident.

Leaving me no moral compass and an ugly scar.

Being my parents’ only child, the state had no choice but to place me in the care of my closest relative or put me in foster care.

Begrudgingly my father’s sister Demonica took me in after a three-month stint in a group home for teens with psychological issues since the doctors believed my behavior after the death of my parents made me a danger to myself and others.

Sometimes I wonder if the group home would have been a better situation.

Growing up I had little contact with my aunt, she never hid the fact that she thought I was strange, but like my parents taught me family was important, something to protect and love.

I lived with my aunt and my older cousin Tyron who turned out to be the only other person that never treated me like I was different or weird.

While my aunt never outright abused me, she didn’t treat me like she was supposed to either.

Often using threats of my return to the group home as a weapon to get me to behave.

I think that was mostly because she was lowkey scared of me, like most people that met me were.

I would say that I was treated with a sort of mild neglect and disdain.

As long as I stayed out of her way she ignored my existence entirely.

I learned that if I wanted to make it in this world without my parents I would have to be as normal as possible.

So, I did everything in my power to be seen as normal and after a while it worked, mostly.

All my urges and desires that plagued me as a child were forgotten and your average, boring teenager was all that was left, unless something triggered the monster that my aunt knew lurked inside of me.

At first it took work to be what I thought the world wanted but after a while I became who I thought I needed to be to survive.

But Demonica was always there to remind me of my place in the world and in her house.

She felt that at my age I could fend for myself, so if I wanted anything outside of a roof over my head and food in my stomach, I would have to get it on my own.

Lucky for me my cousin Tyron cared enough to help me the best he could with school clothes and other essentials that his trifling ass mama refused to buy.

Demonica received a check for me every month from social security and my parents’ insurance but still refused to do anything for me.

She said the check was her payment for keeping a roof over my head and if I didn’t like it, I could always go back to where I was before she took me in.

I often caught my aunt looking at me like I was a venomous snake she wanted to kill but was scared I might bite her ass.

But what could I expect from a woman that thought she was in competition with me.

Even though my aunt constantly tried to convince me of how strange and ugly I was because of my scar and weight, she couldn’t deny the looks I got from people ever since I hit puberty.

I may have been fat in her eyes, but my fat was proportioned right.

I had large breasts, a small waist and a fat ass, that fit my 5’5” 220 pound frame perfectly.

If I had to guess she was jealous that she had to pay for the body, I was given naturally.

Now don’t get me wrong Demonica was beautiful, body very much tea after she healed from her surgery.

She was blessed with the same smooth chocolate brown skin as my dad with pretty hazel eyes, and long curly hair.

She just didn’t get the body to go with it.

And after her surgery she had a problem with picking fuck boys that were more attracted to her underage niece than her.

My aunts’ home was a revolving door for strange niggas that vied for her time in her, all the while eye fucking her neice any chance they got.

If she knew like I did, it was in her best interest to keep them weirdo’s away from me before somebody came up missing and I’m for damn sure it wasn’t gonna be me.

I did everything I could to keep the peace in her home, wearing baggy clothing because it hid my curvy figure from the weird ass niggas my aunt entertained.

What’s more fucked up is that wearing clothes that made me less appealing made my aunt treat me better, which kept me from having to remind myself that family was important and not to be murdered in their sleep.

That and the fact that I knew my cousin loved his mother even though he didn’t really like her and if I murdered her, it would hurt him.

And I just couldn’t do that to my favorite relative.

So therefore, I found an outlet to help me remain sane and calm.

Reading was the one thing in my life that allowed me to escape the reality of my parents being gone.

It made it less obvious that my emotions and urges were warring with the values my parents had instilled in me.

My books grounded me and helped me to keep her in check.

When I moved in with my aunt Tyron became another one of my anchors that kept me from spiraling.

I used to hear Tyron and Demonica arguing about my needs and the type of company she kept around possibly triggering me.

But like she said she was grown and if he didn’t like it, he could get the fuck out which he finally did two years before my world turned to even more shit than it already was.

Tyron called me every day to check in after he moved out and he still visited from time to time to drop-off clothes or a little money for school events.

But his departure left me with another gaping hole in my heart, chipping away at my fragile psyche.

With no one to guide me I was forced to fend for myself in Demonica’s household.

So, by the time I was seventeen the only thing I had going for me was my intelligence, and dreams of a better life and the fact that I had only had minor run ins with school authorities.

No matter how I tried I couldn’t keep Nyx contained when bullshit occurred.

But nothing could be proven so it was an accomplishment, nonetheless.