The towel comes down again. The water hits.
This time, I don’t even fight. My body convulses once, twice. The world dissolves into a blur of sound and colour, the hiss of water, the burning in my lungs, the black spots blooming behind my eyes.
“Where is my money?!” Daniel screams.
Just as I’m about to pass out, the towel is off me again. I gasp as much air as I can. “Daniel… please,” I splutter. “I don’t have that much. Give me a few days and I can help you.”
I flinch as he grabs the towel again.
“Daniel, please,” I gasp. “You don’t have to—”
He doesn’t listen.
The towel hits my face again, wet and heavy. The water starts instantly. Cold this time. I can’t scream. The sound turns into bubbles, trapped under fabric. My lungs seize. My body jerks violently.
I try to tilt my head, to move away, but his grip is iron. The panic consumes everything. Memories flash behind my eyes—Guy’s smile, my dad’s laugh, Craig’s steady voice telling me to stay away from danger.
When the towel finally lifts, I vomit water onto the tiles. My vision swims.
Daniel crouches close, breathing hard, eyes wild but glistening. “Just tell me where it is,” he says softly, almost pleading now. “Please, Tom. Just tell me, and this ends.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Liar!”
Daniel storms out of the bathroom. For a moment, all I can hear is my own breathing — rough, ragged, animal. Water still drips fromthe shower, pooling under my knees. The air smells like damp fear and iron.
Downstairs, a door slams. Footsteps. Then silence. Maybe he’s gone. Maybe it’s over.
But I know better.
The house hums with something electric — the kind of quiet that comes before a scream. My pulse thunders in my ears. And then it starts again: the heavy tread on the stairs, faster this time, heavier.
When Daniel bursts back into the bathroom, he looks like someone else. His pupils blown wide, his face slick with sweat.
Possessed.
In his hand — a teaspoon.
For a second, my mind refuses to register it. The banality of it. A kitchen spoon, shining under the harsh light. But then I see how tightly he’s gripping it, the tremor in his wrist, and suddenly it’s worse than any knife.
He drops to his knees in front of me, grabs my throat, jerking my head back so hard my neck cracks. His breath is sour, furious, inches from my face.
“This is your last chance,” he spits. “Tell me you can transfer the money tonight.”
“Daniel, please—”
He raises the spoon, the curved edge trembling above my cheek.
“Or I’ll take your eye out.”
The words hit like a gunshot. My vision tunnels.
The metal is cold when it touches my skin. He presses the rounded tip into the flesh just below my eyelid, enough to make the world blur. My body tries to flinch, but the tape holds me fast.
“Tell me!” he shouts. His voice cracks, part rage, part despair.
“I can’t,” I choke out. “Daniel, I can’t—”
