The argument wasn’t even about anything real. That was the worst part.

It started with something small—him accusing you of flirting with someone at the pool, you rolling your eyes and telling him he was being ridiculous. The air in his room felt too thick, the curtains half-drawn, late afternoon sun striping the walls like prison bars. Billy paced like a caged animal, boots thudding against the floor, jaw tight enough you thought his teeth might crack.

“I saw the way he looked at you,” Billy snapped, running a hand through his hair. “You think I’m stupid?”

“I can’t control where people look,” you shot back, arms crossed. “And I’m not apologizing for something I didn’t do.”

That’s when his eyes changed.

You’d seen his anger before—sharp words, clenched fists, that dangerous edge in his voice—but this was different. This was the kind that made your stomach drop, that made your heart start racing for reasons you couldn’t quite name. He stopped pacing and turned toward you, chest rising and falling too fast.

“You never listen,” he said, voice low, shaking. “You never—”

“Billy,” you said, softer now, trying to slow things down. “This is stupid. We’re fighting over nothing.”

The word nothing set him off.

Before you could react, before you could step back or say another word, he slammed his fist into the wall beside your head.

The crack was deafening.

Plaster exploded outward, dust raining down, the sound echoing in your ears long after it was over. You flinched hard, a gasp tearing out of your chest as you stumbled back, your shoulder hitting the door behind you. Your hands flew up instinctively, heart pounding so violently it hurt.

For a second, everything went silent.

Billy stood there frozen, fist still pressed into the wall, knuckles already red and bleeding. His breathing was ragged now, eyes wide—not with anger anymore, but something else. Shock. Horror. Maybe fear.

You stared at the hole in the wall, then at his bloodied hand, then back to his face. Your throat felt tight, like you couldn’t get enough air.

“Don’t,” you whispered when he took a step toward you. Your voice shook, and you hated that he could hear it. “Please… don’t.”

That stopped him.

He looked at you like he’d just woken up from a nightmare and realized it was real. Like he finally saw the way you were pressed flat against the door, the way your hands were trembling, the tears burning in your eyes even though you hadn’t let them fall yet.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “I wouldn’t ever— I’d never hurt you.”

But the damage was already done.

Your heart was still racing, fear still buzzing under your skin, and the space between you suddenly felt wider than the entire room.