My father was a high school football star and my mother was his high school sweetheart. But after my mom discovered that she was pregnant with me the fairytale pretty much ended.

They were married right after graduation. And then they went to the university where my dad had gotten a prestigious football scholarship. Things went fairly well at first considering the circumstances. I was born in on December 27, during their winter break. It went downhill from there.

My mom had to drop out to take care of me, and my dad couldn't handle the pressure of school, football, his part time job, and having to support and take care of a family. He never finished the second semester. He took a job at local factory and moved us into a trailer park.

He started drinking when I was about six. His dream was gone and his life a supposed living hell. He wasn't a mean drunk at first. But one night he came home drunker than usual. Mom threatened to kick him out if he didn't start to clean up his act, that he was destroying our family. He yelled back that she had destroyed his life; that she had gotten pregnant on purpose. He called her a selfish bitch and he hit her.

He would go to work in the morning with a hangover, after work go out and start drinking all over again, come home fight with my mom and usually end up hitting her. It got to the point where he couldn't hold down a job. Now he was at home a lot just sitting around drinking. The beatings got worse for my mom.

On my ninth birthday he yelled at my mom for spending money to make a cake and buy me some small presents; that we couldn't afford it. He was just mad because she had used his beer money to pay for everything. He hit her so hard that she fell and hit her head on the edge of the counter. She died on the way to the hospital.

I wasn't a happy kid before but now I was down right miserable. I had no friends and was tormented by the other kids in the trailer park as well as at school. I was afraid of my own father. Still he never touched me. He didn't really pay that much attention to me.

Even though I was picked on at school I excelled academically. I actually graduated with a 4.0, not that I was head of my class or anything. I loved English especially. Books were my escape. Shakespeare and Jane Austin were my favorite authors. But that's beside the point.

I said my dad never touched me; that was only true until I was sixteen. After I went through puberty I was the spitting image of my mother. It took him a while to realize it but when he did it was as though she had come back to haunt them. No matter how many times I told him, when he was drunk he thought I was her. He would yell, throw things, and then he would beat me.

At first I used to fight back. But that only made him madder, so he would beat me harder and longer. So I stopped fighting and just let him hit me until he was done. And as soon as he had passed out in his chair I would pick myself up and tend to my injuries.

After I graduated from high school I enrolled in a community college as an English major. I spent as much time as I could at school. If I wasn't in class I was in the library writing my papers or studying. And when I wasn't at school I was working at the diner. I took on as many hours as they would give me, just so I wouldn't have to go home to my father and his drunken wrath. But going home was inevitable. Most night I would get in so late that he would already be passed out and I would then leave again in the morning before he woke up. But there were nights when he was up and waiting for me.

He would demand to know where I was and then not believe me when I told him. He would call me a no good whore and beat me. As well as take whatever cash I had on me. Finally I just stopped carrying cash altogether. Opened a bank account, whatever money I made I deposited. I didn't spend much of it. I only ever bought what I needed. And I only ever went to the hospital if it was absolutely necessary.

I have had cracked ribs, broken arms, and wrists, sprained ankles, black eyes and whole lot of other injuries that I can't remember. And the worst part was that no one ever said or did anything about it. If they knew they pretended not to, and if they didn't, they simply assumed that I must have done something to deserve it.

I was a social outcast. Battered and bruised, used and abused. No one wanted anything to do with me, none of them ever wanted to help. And I hated all of them for it. But not as much as I hated myself for allowing my life keep going the way it was going

A month before I was to graduate, I was working the late night shift as the diner when this guy came in. I had seen him around school. He was funny, smart, athletic, popular and from the right side of the tracks. And he was flirting with me.

At first I ignored him, brushed him off, but he started showing up at the diner every night. I didn't know what to do. I had never had anyone like me, let alone a guy. Next thing I knew I was falling in love with the guy. Or at least I thought I was, and I thought he loved me back, but what did I know. The only love I had ever felt came from my mom and she was dead and buried. Everything thing else was abuse, contempt, and rejection.

This guy actually seemed to care. Now when I wasn't at school or working I was spending time with him. Still it wasn't as much time as I would have liked. He was busy a lot with other stuff though he never said what, but again I just thought that was how it was supposed to be. I had nothing to compare our relationship to other than the one between my parents, so to me it was heaven.

After graduation he showed up and told me that he couldn't see me any more that he was leaving. When I asked why he said he was engaged. I couldn't believe it. I asked him what this whole thing had been to him. He told me that he thought that I was hot and that he had hoped to have sex with me but that I wasn't worth the effort any more and he wasn't going to waste his time on something he wasn't going to get.

I was livid. I started screaming at him and hitting him. He hit me back and knocked me to the ground. He then pinned me, raped me, and left.

That night when I got home exhausted and disheveled my father was waiting and he seemed to know what had happened. Only his take was that I had let it happen and liked it. That night I got the worst beating I had ever received. I lost consciousness. When I came to I was in the intensive care unit of the hospital.

Turns out that my father had beat me so hard that he had nearly killed me. Then he had panicked and called 911. Fed them some story about coming home and finding me raped and beaten. They bought it and I was too weak to tell them otherwise.

I was in that hospital for two weeks before they decided I was well enough to go home. But my dad never showed to pick me up. So the nurses called me a taxi.

When I got to the trailer there was my father passed out drunk like always. I decided I had had enough. I started packing up my things and in the process came across his gun. It was heavy and cold in my hand. As I looked at I though about how easy it would be to kill the man who had made my life a living hell.

I almost did to. But as I stood there with the gun pointing as his head as he slept I found that I couldn't do it. Because as much as I hated the man I couldn't kill my own blood.

So instead I left, taking the gun with me. I also considered going after the guy who raped my but he had already left and I had no idea where he had gone.

There I was ashamed of my own weakness and wanting to punish someone for it. So at that moment I decided that I would swear off all men. They couldn't be trusted.

I road buses and hitchhiked. I just wandered around a lot. Took on a couple of odd jobs in places, but I never stayed long. Eventually I ended up here in Boston. That night you met me in the bar was the night I had arrived. And the guy from the bar was the first guy I killed, and I killed him with my father's gun.

The angel of death scenario just sort of created itself inside of me that night. It was as if I had nothing to do with it. So I figured that it was God giving me this power.

I figured since I wasn't able to kill my own demons but that I was supposed to destroy the demons of other women like me. So I went to the women's shelter. That's how I chose who to kill. The men would show up wanting to know where their wives were or the women would show up wanting to get away. And from there I would figure out where the men lived or work and then follow them.

Once I had them alone I would kill them. I was doing something good for myself and for the women that I met at the shelter.

Only know I'm not so sure anymore.