Converting the Bad Boy ✔

Chapter 30

^Pic of Karen's dress

Salaaaam my beautiful readers! How are you all? Is you okay? Is you good coz I wants to know (Glozell reference lol)

Anyways, here's a Damianlicious chapter for you, full of Damian and his Damianess, because you all adore him so much for some reason...? Haha, enjoy! 😜

Shoutout to Plenta_Belling for being such a superfan of this book! ❤❤❤

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Damian's POV

"Where have you been?"

Dad got home late – again. He had been doing this for the past four weeks since I had been home each night, instead of going out like I used to, and I couldn't keep a blind eye any longer.

"I had another late night at work, son. Don't worry about it," Dad brushed it off with a smile, but I could smell alcohol and cigarettes and perfume off him, and his suit was a little rumpled.

"Unless work involves going to a club or a bar every night, you're bullshitting me, Dad," I sneered, wiping the smile off his face. And just to piss him off further, I added, "If you're even worthy of that title."

"Damian, don't be like that. I've had a long hard week and I was just grabbing some beers with the boys," Dad didn't slur when he was drunk. In fact, sometimes it was hard to tell he was drunk, but I had gotten good at picking up the little signs. Red eyes, shaky fingers, constant smiles that never quite looked right – he was definitely drunk.

"Boys, huh? Maybe that's why you're hardly acting like a man anymore, unable to face your own fucking problems and support your own family," I growled.

"Hey, I am supporting this family more than you think, Damian, so you have no right to call me out on that. Without me, you wouldn't have a roof to sleep under or food to eat, so how's that for being a man?" Dad spat back.

I shook my head, getting tired. Tired of his bullshit. Tired of dealing with him. Aunt Kate left yesterday to attend her husband's sister's wedding in Sydney, along with Tracey, so I was stuck alone with Mum, trying to take care of her when Dad couldn't. Or wouldn't.

"What kind of man doesn't even have time to take care of his dying wife, hm? Because I'd like to know," I said sarcastically.

Dad strode up to me until he was inches away from my face. We were about the same height, though I was taller by a couple centimetres, and from this close I could really smell his pungent breath as he seethed, "Listen, Damian. I've worked my butt off to pay for your mum's surgery and treatment, and this is killing me too, believe it or not. I love your mum, and I am trying to provide the financial support, so I don't appreciate your ungrateful teenage ass calling me out for actually doing something, okay?"

"No, it's not okay, Dad," I muttered, maintaining eye contact. "You think money is going to make up for the fact that you're never there anymore? Money can pay for mum's treatment, but can it also buy back the time you are wasting getting drunk and hooking up with other women instead of being there for Mum when she can barely breathe properly half the time? No, it can't," I answered my own question before Dad could rebut. I was blazing with anger I had held in for so long, and I was done with keeping it in. "So when mum dies, let's see how much of a man you'll be then, Dad."

"Damian," Dad sounded so appalled that he couldn't even form a string of words to defend himself. But he had nothing left to defend. I was right about him.

"Don't think I don't know what you've been up to," I continued. "The only reason you're at work so much is because you're probably screwing the secretary, because at least she isn't slowly dying from a terminal illness!"