It happened again.
Happens everytime I see my father now.
I wake up screaming, sitting in the dark, the covers tossed aside, my breath a chaos of odd rhythms.
Our relationship didn’t hold many memories; definitely not fond ones.
But he never tried to kill me.
At least not while he was alive.
All that changed once he died.
He took notice of me then.
More so than calling me to the garage to stea...