Robert wiped the blood from his nose. His eyes started to tear up, but he kept them from coming. He would never let his father know how much it really hurt. He would never give him that satisfaction. He stared angrily into his fathers drunken eyes.
Rob swallowed his fear, held it in the bottom of his stomach until he came close to being sick. He wanted to talk, to yell, to say or do something besides lean against the wall staring. The trouble was, he knew if he tried he’d start to cry. So he continued this fierce staring contest with his father, wondering who would end up speaking first.