The images pressed tighter, all of them crumbling at once. He could still feel it—the hatred, the spiteful words that poured endlessly from his father's mouth. And the darkness wasn't the least bit helpful in dissolving the poison that dripped from those lips.
"Why did my wife ever give birth to such a deformity?" Alessandro mocked, irritation flashing in his eyes as he watched Daniel's walk.
Daniel tried to keep his feet straight. He was holding a block in his hands, part of a brutal routine meant to reconstruct his already feminine frame, a forced attempt at building muscle through daily exercises.
"Dad, I can't go on. My legs hurt," Daniel pleaded, nearly collapsing as the weight of the doubled blocks made him stumble. His face almost smashed against an iron bar, and if not for him carefully catching his ground, he would have looked like a smashed potato. But the heartless father didn't care.
"Continue!" Alessandro barked, stunning him into silence.
