He let me go.

But I understand that not out of good intentions or pity. He plays, has fun, and is not going to finish his game.

“Because it’s still early”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the headrest. Something needs to be done about this. We need to tell dad, he will figure out what to do. This freak will be found and put in jail, let him try to write his stupid poems from there.

The phone vibrates in my pocket, and I'm scared that it was my father who came back earlier and didn't find me at home. Although, this fear already seems...