My step-son tried to murder me
About 10 weeks ago, I came home from just another day at work. My 19-year-old step-son from a previous marriage was living with me temporarily. From here forward I will refer to him as “him.” He had been there almost 3-months at that point. My girlfriend was cooking dinner and I sat down in the living room to turn the TV on. Suddenly there was extremely loud music coming from upstairs. I looked to my left, towards the stairs, and I saw him… just standing there. Looking back, this was an obvious start to something horrible… but it didn’t seem obvious at the time. I said, “what is wrong with you??? Turn that music down!!” I wasn’t yelling, so much as responding with confusion and frustration as to why he was doing that. I get the impression he was looking for more from me… a response that would justify his next actions… but that’s all he got. He turned to walk upstairs, and my girlfriend turned to head into the backyard, to avoid conflict. I turned my attention back towards the TV, and resumed turning everything on. The music was still blaring, which I assumed was going to stop at any moment. I was wrong. From right behind me, I heard gun shots, and he started yelling at me, telling me how I ruined his life. I immediately got up from the couch to dive forward, never turning around, and yelling something like, “okay, okay, please stop…” As I was diving forward from a standing-up position, a bullet hit my right-femur. Worst pain I have ever felt up to that point. He pulled the trigger 11-times, from no more than 15-feet behind me, and miraculously only that one bullet hit me. Once I was hit, I fell to the floor. I was done. There was no fight in me for two simple reasons. One, my leg fucking hurt. Two, I knew he had a gun, and I was terrified to even look up at him; so I didn’t. I just lay there, on my right side, like a wounded animal. He immediately came over top of me and started stabbing me in my left-side, while continuing to yell at me. I thought I was being punched… had no clue a knife was involved. I said something along the lines of, “Please stop. I love you. Please don’t kill me.” I am a big guy — 6’6" @ 300 lbs… but I am no match for a gun, especially after already being shot. Those words were all I had. I was absolutely terrified to look up. I knew if I did, I would see a gun pointed at my head, and that would be the last thing I saw. My girlfriend came running in after hearing the shots. She saw standing over me stabbing me. She yelled. He yelled back at her and came at her and tried to stab her. Through what we can only imagine to be a moment of sanity, he backed off, and she ran for the front door. As she was leaving the house, she turned around to see him getting right back on top of me to stab me more. He stabbed me 15 times. One of the punctures went through my diaphragm and punctured my lung. I was laying on the floor of my home of 12 years, bleeding out, waiting to be finished. But he left. He stormed upstairs, still yelling, and fired one more shot, that traveled through several walls, into the kitchen, and out the kitchen window into the backyard. I didn’t know if that shot was meant for himself or my girlfriend. I wasn’t aware that she had escaped. I was in shock, and my brain wasn’t working quite right. Luckily he had left. The police showed up within minutes. My girlfriend ran to the neighbors and called 911. I didn’t know this at the time, so when I felt the coast may be clear, I grabbed my bloodied phone, and attempted to unlock it. Fail. A bloody touchscreen is near impossible to unlock. Siri to the rescue!!! “Siri, call 911.” It worked! The police were already out front by the time I made this call. It took what seemed like an eternity before the police actually came inside, and then yet another eternity before they allowed the paramedics to come in. The paramedics introduced me to a pain more painful than having my femur shattered by a bullet… being turned over by the paramedics, to get me onto the stretcher, after my femur explode…. now THAT fucking hurt. I was kept under for a week, and ultimately in the hospital for 3.5 weeks. My body heals just a bit every day, as does my mind. It has been a hard road, made even harder by remaining in the house where it happened. But I am alive. I don’t know why or how I was allowed to survive that awful day, but I did, and I thank God for it.
