Austin
Later that night, I lay in bed staring at the hairline c***k in the ceiling of my room, the glow of the streetlamp outside slicing through the blinds in harsh stripes that painted my walls like prison bars. I couldn’t sleep. I’d tried. I’d tossed and turned until the sheets felt like ropes trying to tie me down. It was too damn quiet. Usually I could pass out anywhere. The locker room bench. The couch in the common room at the rink. Even the backseat of my car after a late game. But tonight my brain wouldn’t shut up.
Because I kept replaying it in humiliating, brutal detail. Hearing him. My father’s voice slicing through the walls like a knife.
“One year. If your grades aren’t where they need to be, you’re done.”
The words felt like a brand burned into my skull.
It wasn’t suppo
