The world spun. My cheek throbbed, pressed against the cold, unforgiving metal of his precious car. The acrid smell of exhaust fumes filled my nostrils, mixing with the metallic tang of blood that bloomed on my lip. His grip on my hair was a vise, each strand screaming in protest as he forced my face harder against the hood.
“You scratched my car!” he roared, spittle flying. “You stupid, careless bitch! Do you know how much this costs?”
His face was a mask of rage, veins bulging in his forehead like angry worms, his eyes wide and bloodshot. I’d never seen him like this. Never imagined he was capable of such fury.
Just moments ago, we were laughing, walking hand-in-hand towards the parking lot after a perfectly ordinary dinner at Trattoria Rossi. The kind of dinner you have a million times and forget the next day. Now? Now, my world was collapsing.
