I didn’t want to look him in the face because I feared I would face my own reflection. As long as he figured as the antagonist in my distorted imagination, I could go on feeling better about my own failures. I hurt those who loved me. I lied, too. Anger suited me well. I summoned my rage as a form of protection. I was tempted to forgive him, but doing so would have stripped me of the only weapon I had mastered.
