The Blessing And The Curse

The Very Start

My life has never been the most glamorous, or safe, or loving. My own conception was a dangerous decision of an addict and the product of a one-night stand. I damn near tore my mother apart from the inside out trying to come into the world. I was told I was born screaming as loud as a fighter plane; that's how my name, Jet, was decided. Jet Xavier Adler, a powerful name, my father had told me he said that day. "A very happy day" he added. That happiness was short lived, and a while later shit hit the fan. My life almost ended just a short while later when my mother had gotten high and brought herself to stand on the edge of a five story building, cradling me in her vein depleted arms humming "Hush Little Baby". This was most likely a byproduct of her delusions, realization, and postpartum depression. That realization? That the child she held was a product of a mistake; one that was destined to grow up to become the successor of the leader to the Silver Falcon gang. That meant that innocent little baby would grow up to become a cold blooded killer who'd command others in his gang, letting an icy black heart and careless nature shine, destroying innocence. She couldn't bear the thought, and she knew running away wasn't an option. So this was her only choice. In a fit of panic to keep my father and the negotiators from getting closer to her, she threw me at them and jumped, crashing into the ground in an unceremonious fashion, just in time for my father to catch me before my delicate body could hit the floor of the roof. It was then my father swore he'd raise me to be stronger and more proud of my existence than my mother ever was. He'd teach me to fight to keep on living.

It was hard for my father to keep up that promise when it's wasn't really him raising me. He couldn't be seen with me in public or else that would give away a weakness to rival gangs and put my life in jeopardy. I was always left with one of his higher ranking, more trusted henchmen. My main caregiver was a man named Rick, my father's right hand man. The guy was a brute, had to be about six foot two and was built like a bull. He acted mostly as guardian once I was out of diapers. He'd do all the normal things a certified nanny would do, but he also had another task to accomplish with me. He became my personal trainer starting on my fourth birthday, by orders of my father. This was part of his plan to get me to grow up tough. I will admit, to a child so young the methods Rick used were brutal. It was more like the kind of training you'd expect someone who already had experience to go through. However, I persevered and in the end I did come out strong. And my strength only grew as I aged. I eventually became strong enough for my father to start stepping in to take care of me more. He said he was slowly growing close to me again because he knew now that if danger were to approach while we were together he'd at least know I wouldn't be a pussy and try to run away crying. I always enjoyed the time I got with him when I was younger. Whenever I got the chance to see him, he'd relay stories to me about he and I are superiors compared to the other members of the gang. "we come from a line of leaders" he used to tell me. That he was the fifth and I'd be the sixth generation to lead our gang. He told me this to give me confidence and to make sure I grew up proud. Though I see the goal he was trying to achieve, I can't help but think how damaging it was. He made me think as though the world revolved around us. Thinking back on it, this is most definitely why people think I'm a egotistical prick, or at least at first.