Bend me over, Professor
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like I’m going anywhere far. Still at that local community art school, living at home, so I can’t just… walk out.”
I wanted to scream. Or drive back right now and throw something at our father’s smug, red-cheeked face.
Tommy looked up again, blinking fast. “I’ve been having panic attacks. Like, real ones. Mom just tells me to breathe and stay calm, but she won’t do anything. She won’t say a word to him.”
My chest tightened.
“She never did,” I murmured.
“I thought she’d get stronger after you left,” Tommy whispered. “But she’s still scared.”
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