My father followed several steps behind us, moving without urgency while I tried desperately to find something solid enough to hold.The living room was dark except for a small lamp near the window, illuminating the familiar furniture that suddenly felt completely foreign.
Aaron shoved me against the wall beside the coffee table, and pain flashed through my shoulder when I tried to catch myself.
“You’re always making trouble.”
I wanted to ask what I had supposedly done, but years of experience told me he did not need an actual reason.
He only needed to be angry, and Dad only needed to decide that Aaron’s anger mattered more than my safety.
My phone slipped from the pocket of my pajama pants and landed beside the coffee table with its screen glowing.
Aaron noticed me looking at it and smiled with the confidence of someone who had never been seriously challenged.
