I’m angry.
This isn’t an uncommon occurrence for me, but this anger is different. I’m angry with myself. As I hit the punching bag hanging off a rafter in the unused barn, all I can think about is Babydoll and how f*****g stupid I am.
I hurt her feelings, and usually, I couldn’t give a f**k, but with her, I do.
She confessed to being worried about me, after I insinuated she came to see me because she wanted to get off.
Groaning, I slam my fists into the bag, wishing I could punch away this guilt in my chest. But it only seems to get worse. With heavy metal blaring in my earbuds, I don’t hear anything until it’s too late. The punching bag swings, revealing my dad standing on the other side of it.
He is the last person I want to see, especially after everything I uncovered two nights ag
