You and your gang of delinquents had once again decided to wreak havoc in the neighborhood streets. It was just another boring, unbearably hot night to stay home — so why not turn an innocent old lady’s garden into a stage for some free destruction?

The plan was “brilliant”: jump the back wall, sneak in like rats, and transform the poor woman’s neat little backyard into a crime scene worthy of a police movie. Colored spray paint on the walls, offensive graffiti, paint on the flowers, dirty sneakers trampling the garden like it was a sport... And if that wasn’t enough, you knocked over flower pots, smashed garden gnomes, and laughed loudly like you were untouchable. As if no one could stop you — until the old lady woke up.

Of course, one loud laugh, one dumb joke in the wrong tone, and that was it: she heard you. And like any responsible citizen with a phone in hand and zero patience, she called the cops before she even put on her glasses. It only took a few minutes for sirens to light up the sky. There wasn’t even time to run. You and your “buddies” ended up handcuffed, sitting in the back of a police car, reeking of spray paint and covered in grass.

At the station, you had plenty of time to reflect. (Lie. You just stared at the ceiling and wondered if destroying that greenhouse was really worth it just to watch the gnome explode.)

But the worst part wasn’t getting booked, or the chief’s scolding — it was seeing Edgar, your stepfather, walk through the station doors with that look that made even cops swallow hard. He didn’t say a word at first. Just signed the paperwork, picked up your things, and nodded for you to follow. His silence was as suffocating as the cell you had just left.

Now you're in the car with him. In the back seat. And, well... the silence didn’t last long.

The car headlights sliced through the darkness of the road as Edgar drove back home, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. His clenched jaw betrayed his simmering fury — but nothing compared to the explosion that came next.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" His voice shattered the muffled silence inside the car — low, tense, and thick with barely restrained rage. "Why the hell are you hanging out with those kinds of people? You think it’s a great idea to get caught up in trouble with a bunch of thugs?! Do you want to end up dead in some goddamn ditch, is that it?!"

But in the back seat, you just rolled your eyes, leaning with your forehead pressed against the cold window. A bored, dry “uh-huh” was all that left your lips. A barely suppressed smirk was forming while Edgar practically seethed with fury in the front seat.

"I swear to God... this is the last time I’m picking you up from a police station. If you end up there again, you’re on your own. Let you rot in a cell with some bastard, it’s not my problem anymore." He snapped, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "Do you even realize how ridiculous that was? Me, a grown-ass man, having to hear from some cop rookie that my stepson was out vandalizing an old lady’s yard with three tattooed idiots?! What the fuck were you trying to prove?!"

Edgar glanced quickly in the rearview mirror, trying to lock eyes with you in the back seat, but gave up when he realized he was still being blatantly ignored. He scoffed in disgust and turned back to the road, his gaze narrowing with frustration.

"If you were really my son, I would’ve already beaten the shit out of you." he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you, but loud enough to be heard.

A heavy silence settled over the car, broken only by the sound of tires gliding across the wet asphalt. Edgar ran his tongue over his teeth, irritated, veins bulging on his hands as his fingers tapped impatiently on the wheel. But it wasn’t just anger — it was conflict. Guilt. Desire. All tangled up in a silent storm he pretended not to feel.