Never trust a survivor until you know what they did to survive. Those were words I told myself for years. I never trusted anyone. Everyone did things to survive. Some people just did worse things than others. I told myself I couldn’t trust anyone for that very reason. Now the tables were turned. I was the one who couldn’t be trusted. I had to do it. I had to kill him. He was following me and I knew he was always armed to the teeth. He threatened me. He broke into my apartment and stole things. Then he took something that could never be given back. Something that no one could ever give to me or make. When he came back a week later I let him find me. I had to let him get close enough to me. When he found me I turned his gun on him. He didn’t expect it from me but he got it. I killed him. It was fast. It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t too painful. But I did it. I had known him long enough to know what he cared most about. He cared about himself. He took what mattered most to me. That was my sister. So I took what mattered most to him. That was himself. Maybe I shouldn’t be trusted. But maybe I did what I had to do. There’s a reason for everything, isn’t there?