"There's nothing fucking wrong with me!" he shouted, his voice a feral, wild snarl. "Leave me the fuck alone!"
I froze like a rabbit staring down a starving wolf.
Oh, God. I'd misjudged. I'd let my stupid, naïve trust in him lull me into a false sense of security.
Everything in the kitchen wobbled, going into high relief: the yellowish glare of the light over the sink, the gleam of the countertop, Drew's glowing eyes.
The air vibrated around me; it felt as if my body went into some kind of terror-fueled overdrive.
And then the blind panic hit, and I stumbled, trying to run, unable to turn my back on him, the nape of my neck tingling and throbbing with the need to get away.
I crashed into the fridge, the cereal boxes on top of it flopping down and whacking me in the head, everything clattering, and I flailed the other direction and lurched into the laundry room, scrabbling frantically at the door.
Locked, fuck, locked, and Drew's footsteps thumped behind me.
