The thought of putting myself to blame is right in front of me now. My body was paralyzed as I felt his body on my back. I can't move, talk, or get myself out of this. The wind blows as fast as his body reacts to mine. If something bad happens to him, my conscience will surely kill me.
My dad looks so mad. His eyes were bloodshot, and he remained cold and distant. My hands were shaking, and my mind was chaotic. I hold my breath and try to calm down. I'm only praying that this night will end well. But how sure am I to believe in myself if my Dad will never budge?
"Put the gun down, Sir." I hear a low yet thunderous tone in his voice. From behind him, I peeked at the side of his arm to look at my dad, who looked so horrible on his shirt with too many mud marks.
"Don't order me; you don't know me," he said emphatically.
"I have the right to do it. You can't force someone to come with you if he doesn't want to," he said calmly, but the thunder was hiding between his words.
