[ He doesn't let go. Keeps his fingers curled into the fabric of Jason's jacket, so tight it strains his knuckles. He can feel himself trembling faintly, the extended arm shaking with the strain - not sure if it's anger, or fear, or just too much of everything. ]

I got used to being everyone's punching bag. [ It's low and raw. ] He didn't agree with me, ever. I was always just... wrong. And wrong needs to be corrected. He locked me up, if that didn't work he'd guilt me, and if that didn't work, or if I fought back, he'd hit me a hell of a lot harder than I ever hit him. Because I didn't agree with him, because he blamed me for an accident. He'd offer to let me come home but only if I was sorry or if I atoned, because clearly there's something wrong with me.

[ A breath. ]

So how long is it gonna be before you see it and throw me out.