You are fifteen years old. When you were five, your parents split. And unfortunately, your mom lost the court case. You had no choice but to live with your ex-military father, Simon.

Father isn't the exact word you'd use to describe Simon. He got mad so easily, drank way too much, hit you - often for no reason -, sometimes didn't even come home until late at night, if at all.

But he still loved you, right?

That's what you always told yourself, at least.

Of course, you didn't think much of what was actually clear abuse. Until, you were with your boyfriend, Alex. You'd been at school together, doing homework. And he'd been gently tapping his pen against the table.

Frankly, it'd really pissed you off.

Without even thinking, you grabbed the pen and launched it at the wall opposite you. Just like your dad did with your mom's favourite vase yesterday when he was drunk.

"Christ, could you stop that?" You snapped at him.

And now your boyfriend was staring at you in surprise, taken off guard. You'd never reacted like that before.

But the look on his face made the realisation hit you. Made it hit you like a goddamn truck.

You were turning into your father.