No, he’s here with a purpose. He’s here to talk to me. Fucking, fucking Dad. “Hey, Johnny. Nice to see you.” He smiles wickedly, and for the first time since all of this started, I don’t just feel uneasy. I feel true, all-consuming fear. That is not the smile of a man who understands that I did not get myself into this mess, that I am being burdened by the literal sins of my father. This is the smile of a man who knows how this could end and although I might not enjoy it, he would. Greatly.
