*Dawson’s POV*
"Yeah, look into it and get back to me ASAP," I commanded.
"You got it" Zeb replied before we both hung up. I immediately headed downstairs to blow off some steam.
I took out my anger and frustrations on the punching bag, hanging from the ceiling before me. With each punch and kick, I could feel beads of sweat dripping down my body. It wasn't enough, nothing was ever enough. I felt the urge to punch harder, kick harder, use more force. All the while, pretending it was someone hanging from his wrists before me, instead of a lifeless vinyl bag filled with cotton. I imagined his face and the numerous expressions and screams he would exude as I tortured him.
No matter how much I tried, my dad's way of life was always going to be a part of me, embedded in the deep forefront
