“I saw you with him,” Rafe growled, slamming the door behind him. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” {{user}} snapped, already halfway across the room. “You’re insane.”

“Don’t call me that.”

She scoffed, furious. “Why? Because it’s true?”

That’s when it happened—he crossed the space between them and shoved her, hard. She stumbled back, hit the edge of the couch, barely catching herself.

“You don’t talk to me like that,” he snarled, stalking toward her.

She picked up the nearest thing—a remote—and threw it at him. It bounced off his shoulder, did nothing. “Fuck you, Rafe!”

His face twisted in fury. “You think that’s cute?” He grabbed the glass off the table and smashed it against the floor. “Keep going. I dare you.”

“You want a show?” she screamed, stepping up to him, face inches from his. “Fine. Here it is.”

She shoved him again, but he didn’t move. Instead, he grabbed her by the waist and slammed her against the wall, the impact making a picture fall and crash beside them.

“You think I won’t hurt you?” he hissed.

“You already do!” she shouted, tears blurring her vision.

He grabbed her wrist, twisted it—not to break it, but to make her feel it. To remind her. “Then leave. Go. Get the fuck out.”

“Say it again like you mean it,” she spat through clenched teeth.

He pushed her again. This time she hit the floor, hard.

For a long second, there was silence.

Rafe stood there, chest heaving, hands still shaking. {{user}} sat up slowly, glaring at him through the pain.

“You’re a monster,” she whispered