“ Hold on. “ Simon mumbled incoherently as he dug his calloused fingers into your savings. Barely savings, you were child after all. It was still hard earned.

You tugged his cargos and begged him to give it. Your nose burned with the smell of sweat and alcohol. Though, pleas grew annoying. His hand flew across your face.

“ I said hold on— “ Simon snapped, before pausing.

“ Sweetheart, I’m sorry! It’s— dad needs this, okay..? “ His trembling hands went to rub your bruised cheek.