I still have flashbacks to that day. The day my brother tried to kill me.

It was six years ago. I had just come out to my family. “I’m not a boy, I’m a girl.” “Ben is a stupid name, I like Livvy better.” “I never felt like a boy, I wanted to play with dolls and be a teacher, like a girl. I hate playing outside, and I hate sports.” I later learned that what I felt was called being transgender.

My parents and my grandparents tried to understand and support me, but they didn’t let me use the name Livvy, saying, “We took great care to choose the perfect name for our son. That name was Ben. You should respect that and not spit in our faces.” I hated it. Ben was a stupid name.

Eventually, my parents got fed up with my ‘publicity stunt.’ They sent me to live with my grandparents. My grandparents let me change my name, let me use the pronouns I wanted, let me wore what I wanted, let me be me.

I was growing more and more comfortable with my own skin. I felt great. After about six months of that, I went home again, just for a week long visit. I wore girl clothes, and played with girl toys, and my friends called me Livvy and used the correct pronouns.

My parents hated this prospect, but they let it happen. They told me they would give guardianship to my grandparents, and I could be who I wanted. I was so happy at the time, but looking back on it now I can see the pain in their eyes. They were trying to do what was best for me, not them.

I went to my brother, who was six years older than me. He was 17 at the time. I hadn’t seen him in the two days that I’d been home because he’d been with his friends. I went to tell him the good news.

He didn’t think it was good news, he started yelling. Screaming, “Get out, you unnatural freak.” “You’re an abomination.” He was horrifying. His rage was clear on his face. My parents had probably left the house, because they didn’t come help me.

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He beat me senseless as I screamed for help, he eventually pushed me onto the floor, and went to the kitchen and got a knife. He came back in with a manic grin on his face. He stabbed my hand, and pulled it out. I screamed as blood splattered.

“You wanna be a girl so damn bad. I’d be happy to oblige.” He said, turning me onto my back and pinning me down. He pulled my pants and underwear off, and went to cut off my dick, but before he could, there was a gunshot.

I heard him cry out in pain. He looked in the doorway, and saw a large man. He was our neighbor. He was an older man, a veteran of vietnam. He was a hell of a shot too. He had a pistol in his hand, and it was pointed at my brother.

He moved toward me, his hand unwavering. “Peyton, what the fuck are you doing.” The man yelled at my brother, Peyton.

Peyton laughed and said, “Killing this freak of nature. If he wants to be a girl so bad, I’ll just cut off his dick. You’re a man's man, you would understand.”

“I wouldn’t understand killing someone just because they want to be someone else. I might not understand it, but Livvy doesn’t deserve to die.”

“That's not his name and you know it.”

I stood up, pulling up my pants as I went. It was embarrassing to be seen like this in front of my neighbors, but at the time, I didn’t care. “Yes it is.” I hissed, walking toward Peyton. It was at this time I committed my first crime.

I slammed my shoulder into Pey’s stomach. He coiled back, coughing. He dropped the knife. I took it, and slashed at his throat. Blood splattered all over the walls. I felt sick, but didn’t regret it at the time. I was arrested soon after, but eventually my lawyer convinced the judge it was self-defense.

It wasn’t long after that I met Rose for the first time. They taught me to love again, to feel. To feel remorse. For the first time for weeks, I felt bad for what I did.

I’ve lived with that regret for years. I’ve never really got over it, but I have moved forward.

All of us in The Rose had a tragic backstory. It made us stronger, and let us grow closer. It’s not like any one pesters about it, but they did ask sometimes.

Tragedy follows us, wherever we go. We can’t escape it, so we embrace it. We don’t fear hell, because we’ve already lived it.