"Why didn't you make breakfast?" Joseph crouched down, his breath on my neck, cold and menacing, like something that had crawled out of hell.
I couldn't stop trembling, the old wounds on my body aching faintly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the flashing camera in my bag, and I started to laugh hysterically.
"Joseph, you're scared, scared that you're losing control over me." Perhaps it was the eerie laughter or the sight of my bloodied face, but Joseph hesitated for a moment before slapping me again.
I stood up and wiped the blood from my face.
He took a step closer, dressed in his fine suit, still looking every bit the gentleman, but it was just a facade.
I glanced at the freshly opened bottle of wine on the table, grabbed it, and, without hesitation, smashed it over Joseph's back.
Unfortunately, Joseph was too tall, and the bottle only barely hit his back, spilling wine all over his gray suit.
"Here's your bottle back. Don't touch me again, or I'll drag you to hell with me," I said with a smile.
When Sarah came home from school, she found the house to be a mess, but she was already used to it.
Seeing Sarah, Joseph refrained from continuing his assault.