Mark Lee is the resident bad boy and a well-known bully at school. But despite his rebellious façade, many girls still fall for him. He doesn't, however, fall in love with anyone because he believes he's just not capable of loving someone.
Or so he...
It wasn't because of school, or her. In fact, everything between us were going smooth.
We've become closer in the past few days, always going to school together, going home together, getting ice creams together, or just plain hanging out together.
But today was just not particularly a good day.
Or so I thought.
It started last night, when I thought my dad wasn't drinking anymore.
In the past weeks, I noticed some changes inside the house. And if I'm being honest, those changes were also the reason why I have been in such a good mood lately.
I thought it was a dream, at first. The house had been cleaned, and it stayed clean afterwards.
My dad, who barely talks to me, had been cooking me dinner every other night. I knew it was for me because whenever I go down to the kitchen to cook or get something to eat after doing my homework, I would find the meal on the counter with a note beside it, the word "dinner" written on it.
Most of the time, he wasn't around. But I caught him once, just about to finish preparing the food that was meant for me. He didn't say anything when he saw me. When he was done, he just gave it to me and then left the kitchen. That night, I left a note on the fridge saying, "Thanks."
It felt unusual, and I wasn't used to it. But I'd be lying if I didn't say that it felt nice, because even though my dad and I aren't on speaking terms, I had this small hope that maybe, just maybe, he does care about me after all.
But all of that was gone in a moment.
I thought my dad had changed. I mean, I think he really did, because I also noticed in the past few weeks that he hadn't been drinking alcohol. But I stand corrected, because last night I received one of the most painful beatings ever in history.
Maybe it was because I jumped to conclusions and thought that maybe my dad and I were okay now. Or maybe it was because I said the wrong thing at the wrong time.
But nevertheless, I knew things between him and me would never change, nor would it be fixed.
Last night, I promised myself never to trust my dad's actions ever again, no matter how good his intentions were, what with the clean house and all those dinner meals.
I just—I was so wrong in thinking that he cares or cared about me.
Last night, I slept with one thought, and one thought only, on my mind: I hate my dad.
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