.. the fact that my father was reading it out like some kind of riot-act removed all the humor from the situation.Dad scowled when I managed to take m... diary back. He was terribly drunk, I saw, and weaving as if he were about to fall. I couldn't remember a time when I had been angry with him, as angry as I was now. "What did you do that for?" I hissed, locking the diary in my drawer. "You shouldn't have done that... "Don't tell me what I can and what I can't do, young lady," Dad shot back. I. It hadn't mattered until later, when he'd become angry. When he'd had enough.Looking around the darkness, attempting to avoid the foul visual that the meager amount of light that the drain offered him, David tightly closed his eyes. He'd definitely had enough. And how? Maybe the why still didn't matter so much, but he supposed that it was a damn good question, too. But the problem was, there were no answers for it. No reasonable answers, because his parents always gave him the same answer. He. More

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