"Oh right, your grandmother died last month, didn't she?" Her tone was syrupy and cruel, the kind of sweetness that coats a razor.
"Now that your precious old woman's gone, I guess you've got no one left to rely on. Well, it makes sense you'd cling to Dominic like he's your last lifeline."
She suddenly remembered something, laughing as she brought her phone screen up to my face.
"Oh right, remember the day you begged Dominic to send the helicopter to take you to the hospital to see your grandmother one last time?"
"Wanna know why he didn't take you?"
"Because he had promised to take me to the beach to watch the sunset. Look, the photo of us kissing on my phone screen was taken during that moment."
The room went very still. The kind of stillness that precedes violence in houses like this one.
Unable to endure it any longer, I slapped the phone out of her hand and grabbed her by the throat.
The black bottle in her hand slipped and fell. Glass shattered against the hardwood floor.
The sharp, acrid stench of gasoline instantly filled the air. It soaked into the slashed remains of my clothes, pooled between the floorboards, and the guest room became something else entirely. Not a room. A trap.