On An Indian Reservation

I run a trembling, angered, sweating hand through my short-cropped hair. Unlike most of the other people in my house, I cannot stand having hair that touches my neck, no less my back. Numerous thoughts are flying through the orifices of my mind, many of which revolve around such things as killing, stabbing, strangling, something utterly gruesome and painful. Eenie, meanie, miney, moe, choose a torture for my foe.. Despite the joy and happiness such thoughts bring me, in the back of my mind, I know I'd never be relieved of the hurt and deception that has been laid on my plate today.
"He WHAT!?" I manage to holler as I listen to my sister's soft words escape her lips, finishing the story of a nightmare that has become her life. Hot tears linger in her dark eyes, threatening to cascade down the high mountain cheekbones any moment. My trembling hands don't compare to those of my sister. She's constantly clasping them together, moving them in an attempt to keep them still, but to no avail. Her eyes beg me not to make her repeat those wretched words and my heart melts, mixing with my innerds, causing a nauseous feeling to overtake me.
"Please don't...Don't make me say it again," she says. I just nod as I jump up and rummage loudly through the drawers in the kitchen where we sat. Maybe just seeing that large butcher knife will subside some of my anger and strong desire to thrust it into the person who offended my sister, just like he....
I stop suddenly and brace myself on the sink. The mere thought of the words made me want to throw up. Hot tears streamed down my face, unable to be held like Courtney's. I began sobbing; sobbing for the loss of innocence, the violation and pain she'd experienced. I sobbed because I knew my parents would find out soon enough and would demand charges be pressed. Never had I cried so hard. My sister was one of the few people I needed to protect and my inability to do that correctly caused my emotions to be distraught the most.
"It's not your fault and you know it." Courtney's hand touches my shoulder and I sling it away. I glare at her and begin toward the door.
"It is my fault. It's my fault for convincing mom and dad we had no real doctors on the reservation. It's my fault for trying to diss the culture of our family. It is my fault, so don't you dare say it's not."
I slam the front door behind me and storm down my "yard." One way, or another, Courtney wasn't the only one who was going to be hurting, deceived and angered. Frank Hayden was going to pay for what he did. As to whether the payment would be with his life or not remain rolling around in my mind as I go to the back of the house to get my dad's pick up truck.