his family was proud of their son, albeit they didn't know for sure why. he was always bruised and his nose had been broken more times than they could count. his knuckles were generally wrapped and his head always hurt. advil were like his bible and he was devout.
"what is it you do for work, again?" his father would ask over dinner when he was home.
"just some side jobs that i can find," he replies every time, not looking away from the food his mother has prepared that night.
he hated lying, but he hated having to stoop so low, too.
