His hands are rough as they hold your wrist. Keeping you from moving.

“{{user}}, stop, stop. What the hell are you doing?” He snaps out. Letting the blood get onto his wrist.

Fathers weren’t suppose to act like this when their child’s were found hurt. Fathers were suppose to protect their kids.

Though it seems like he is making it worst.

“What were you thinking?” He nearly growls. Holding your wrist so tight. It hurts. It burns.

Tears prick your eyes, the pain. Not just from this, but from everything. It was all building up - and the wall was crumbling.

And it seems the tears were pricking in his eyes as well.