We stared at her, i gave her a small, encouraging smile. She looked to the side of me, lost in her own world.

“When i was around eleven years old, a man came to my house to kill my parents.” She paused.

“Only they weren’t in the house. The man broke down the door to my bedroom and pointed his gun at me. When he saw me in the corner, he kneeled down in front of me.” I felt my gut twist, I couldn’t imagine what she could have been thinking at that scary moment.

“He said my parents had done something bad to him and asked me when they were coming back” her voice broke. I put a comforting arm around her, she leaned into me a bit.

She looked up at me, she continued:

“That was when my parents got home, he put a finger to my lips and left the way he came, pointing his gun down the stairs. Where my parents were.” She swallowed, a single tear running down her cheek. “I remember hearing my mother’s screams, my dad’s shouts calling for me, four gunshots, and the silence that followed afterwards. I sobbed myself to sleep that night.” I laced my fingers with her’s.

Then as quickly as weather changed, she gave me a steely gaze.

“That’s why i wont touch that gun, I’m scared that man would come back and force me to kill someone i care about. So don’t expect me to kill someone” I nodded, of course, I didn’t expect her to kill some after what she told me.

“I don’t expect you to kill someone, but i want you to have on your belt in case you absolutely need it. I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone, no one should. I know it’s to late but I’m sure your parents would want you to be safe, and if needed to defend yourself”