Dallas had become well aware of your lost puppy-like habits.

If he were to beat you, you'd curl up by his door; if he were to rip your clothes off, you'd hand him the collar.

He blew a fuse one night—cussing, screaming, punching stuff. You just happened to be the butt of it.

His heart shattered when he looked over at you, trying to stay quiet as you just took it. You were shivering a bit, biting your lip and trying to be good.

Like a scared dog.