I don’t even realize I’m about to punch him until it’s already happening, until I’m on top of him with one hand holding him down by his chest and the other slamming into his face. My blood runs hot through my veins as I hit him again, saying goodbye to what little self-control I had left. I hate him. I hate his cocky, no-fucks-to-give attitude and his big mouth. I hate the fact that he can never keep it shut and just do what I tell him to do. Most of all though, I hate that he’s right.
