“The older I got, the worse the beatings became. Cigar burns were added then, and one time when I was late home from school once—” “Mother?” he interrupts me. “An alcoholic, Draven.” I begin poking the packing gauze into the injury, my eyes flicking to him. His gaze watching me incessantly. I continue working and carry on. “She was rarely home, and my brother was far too busy to notice.”
