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“Yeah, you’re right,” I said, tapping the top of the workbench with my knuckles. “And I’m definitely not going to disrespect myself and act like one of those girls who thinks they could change you… But ask yourself something, Dean. Are you punching that bag, splitting your knuckles so deep they’re bleeding, because you want to get the pain out, or are you trying to pull it in?”
Boom, if I had a mic, I’d have dropped it.
His fists dropped to his sides, and he just stared at me, stunned.
I left him there.
It was late, and I promised Brooke I’d go out with her.
Hopefully tomorrow, I’d be able to get the hell out of this town.
The hell away from my crazy drunk mother, and the hell away from him.
