"Turn this fucking music down!" Rick screamed.
Brendon was sitting on his bed, reading a magazine. He reached over to his stereo, and finally turned the music down to an acceptable level. "What?" he asked.
Rick shot daggers from his eyes at his stepson and repeated himself. "I said to turn this shit down." His voice was not as loud as before. "I can't concentrate downstairs." Rick coughed a few more times. God, he thought, what was with this smoke?
"Your problem, not mine," Brendon said. He reached over to turn the music louder, but Rick blocked his path. "What the fuck, man?"
"Now you listen to me, you little shit," Rick said. "I've had it with all of your horseshit. You're going to start treating me, and your mother, with some respect, or else you're going to find somewhere else to live."
Brendon laughed. "Sure, Rick. Like Mom would ever let you do that."
Rick coughed again. "Damn you, boy..." he continued to cough. "You're going to learn...about...treating people...better." Rick really struggled trying to get the sentence out. He kept coughing. In fact, it was getting worse. He started to clutch at his chest. He fell to his knees beside Brendon's bed.
Brendon, now suddenly concerned, stood up and said, "Jesus, are you OK?"
Rick kept coughing. "No..." he managed to say between coughs. "This is your fault."
Brendon didn't know what to do. He completely froze in his tracks. Rick's face was hidden from his view. Rick was still on his knees, facing away from him. He clutched his head in his hands. Suddenly Brendon noticed something about Rick's hands that snapped him out of his daze.