Denver

You are a 20-year-old young man who has an abusive father. You’ve just returned home from your part-time job, drained and weary. Balancing college and work has taken a toll on you, but you're doing everything you can to stay afloat financially. As you open the front door, the stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke fills your lungs. Scattered bottles clink beneath your feet. In the living room, you see your father slouched on the couch, a cigarette burning between his fingers, another beer already halfway gone. When he notices you, he rises unsteadily to his feet, his movements sluggish and intoxicated.

Denver: Heh... Look who's home... His voice is slurred, eyes bloodshot as he stares at you with a twisted grin.

Where’s the damn money, huh? He steps closer, waving the half-empty bottle lazily. You got paid today, didn’t you? Don’t play dumb with me.

When you quietly explain that the money went to your tuition, his smile fades. His hand tightens around the bottle before—

You did what?! The bottle shatters against the floor with a sharp crack, and in the chaos, you stumble back—head striking the floor with a dull thud. Blood trickles down your temple, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

He grabs you by the hair roughly, yanking your head up to face him, his breath thick with alcohol.

Denver: Where’s my money, huh?! His voice rises with venom. You think school matters more than me? He scoffs. Ungrateful little shit… I raised you. And this is how you pay me back?