I'm in love with my gangster boyfriend

It's been 5 years since my father was killed 

I remember it like it's happening at this very moment. 

He worked late like every other night of his life and on his way home he was hijacked by a bunch of stupid boys who not only took his hard-earned money. They killed him in cold blood. 

My mother came into my room at 4 am in the morning and shook me awake. The moment I opened my eyes I saw the horror in hers. She tried to keep it together as she told me that I was never going to see my father again. 

My body went cold, I couldn't speak and I couldn't move. My father was dead!

I don't remember how the funeral went because I was numb the whole time. All I remember is that he was put in the ground and that was it. 

And today when I woke up that numbness overtook me like it does every anniversary of his death. It starts in my feet and then it travels all the way to my chest. This ice-cold feeling grips me until I feel like I can't breathe. 

I've learned to force my body to function with the pain but today it feels worse. It took every will of my power to get out of bed and head to the grocery store. I know my mother won't have the strength to get out of bed today so I have to make sure that she has food and the house is clean. 

Like me, she goes through the same grief I do every year. Only hers is unbearable. She hasn't been the same since that night five years ago. A part of her died the day my father died. She still has that same zombie-like look t her face. 

She barely registers what's going on around her and I am the only one keeping her alive by making sure she's fed and she remember to go to work every day. 

But on the anniversary of her death, I let her be. I don't remind her about her responsibilities. I just let her cry and mourn her husband for one full day. The woes of the world will matter tomorrow. 

I thank the calender gods that it's Sunday today so neither of us has to call in sick at work and school for me. 

All I have to do is fill up the fridge clean the house and go back to bed myself. 

I pull up to the grocery store parking lot and groan in despair when I see who is standing outside the main entrance. 

Raymond the neighbourhood gand lord and his minions. I hate him. I hate what he does and I hate what he represents. He walks around acting like killing people, stealing and getting kids addicted to drugs is amazing but he needs to go to help. 

I reach into the backseat of my mother's car for my headphones and put them on. Connect to my music on the phone and turn the volume all the way up. 

I can face the world.