Chapter 2 - The Countdown
The wood splintered outward, raining onto the cold tile. My husband, David, stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, a twisted, victorious smile on his face.
"Who were you talking to?" he demanded, stepping into the small bathroom.
He didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed me by the hair, dragging me out into the living room. I screamed as my broken arm collided with the doorframe, a blinding flash of white-hot agony consuming my vision.
"Please," I gasped, the world spinning in dark circles.
"You think the police are coming?" he laughed, dropping me carelessly onto the hardwood floor. "By the time they get here, I'll tell them you fell. You're clumsy, Lena. Everyone knows it."
I looked at the digital clock on the microwave. Four minutes left.
David paced around me, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. He kicked my side, stealing the breath from my lungs.
"You're nothing without me," he sneered, taking a slow sip. "Who would ever want a broken, pathetic thing like you?"
Six minutes.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just kept my eyes glued to the front door, praying the man from the diner was real, that the heavy black card hadn't just been a cruel joke played on a naive girl.
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Eight minutes.
Someone knocked.
