Ethan’s room was a f*****g mess.
Clothes were strewn on the bed and floor. Papers and magazines were scattered all over his desk. One glance in that direction told me that they weren’t kid-friendly magazines either. It also smelled like a f*****g pig sty.
“Did he actually stay in here?” I asked wrinkling my nose. “I can’t imagine anyone spending more than five minutes in here without passing out.”
“I wasn’t his babysitter. I don’t know what he did in here or where he slept,” dad snapped. “You asked for his room and I’ve shown you to his room. Is there anything else you need?”
I could’ve lied. I could’ve tortured him longer by making him stay here, but there was no use. The more time he spent around me, the more I wanted to leave. I’d come to the realization that my father wasn’t a perf
