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I don't even have time to brace myself before his hand snaps out and slaps me across the face, the sharp sting lighting up my skin.

The impact knocks me back into the wall, my head bouncing lightly against it.

"Wrong answer," he spits.

Before I can move, he punches the wall next to my head, hard enough to leave a deep dent in the plaster.

I flinch, pressing myself tighter against the corner, feeling as small and helpless as I ever have in my life.

"You think you're fucking smart," he snarls. "You think you can play games with me. I tried to make this easy for you, Melissa. I gave you time. I gave you warnings. But you won't listen."

He starts pacing the living room, grabbing things off tables and shelves and hurling them across the room.

A lamp shatters.

Books scatter across the floor.

A picture frame cracks and splinters.

"You got a week," he yells, kicking over a chair. "One week to sign over that paperwork. One week to give me what I want."

I stand frozen, my back pressed so tight into the corner that it feels like I might dissolve into it.

My mouth is dry.

My knees threaten to give out.

He storms back toward me, face red, veins popping out of his neck.

"You think this is bad?" he spits, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "This is nothing. Next time, you won't be standing when I leave."

He yanks open the door so hard it bounces off the wall behind it.

The cold air rushes in, but it does not clear the stench of fear he leaves behind.

Deke points a finger at me, his hand shaking with rage.

"One week," he says again, his voice deadly.

Then he slams the door behind him, the glass rattling in its frame.

I don't move for a long time.

I just stand there, staring at the wreckage of my home, trembling so hard my teeth chatter.

One week.

One week to figure out how to save myself and Tyler.

Or lose everything.

I stare at my house, the one I left earlier today in pristine shape only now to have it ransacked. I know I should call for help, hell even just clean up but for the life of me I can't get my feet to move. I'm in shock.

I replay the scenario over and over in my mind. Of course my anxiety has me thinking of different ways I could've better protected myself. I should've checked to see if there was anyone in the house before I walked in. I should've sprang the extra cash for that gun I was looking at last week. I should've screamed.

Something would've been better than nothing.

Emotionally I feel like a failure but logically I know there is nothing more that I could've done.

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