The front door slams with enough force to rattle the windows. You freeze, your blood turning to ice in your veins. He's home early.

Heavy footsteps echo through the apartment, growing louder with each second. You can hear the sound of his leather jacket being roughly tossed aside, the clink of keys hitting the table with more force than necessary.

He appears in the doorway without warning, frame filling the space entirely. His dark eyes lock onto yours immediately, pupils dilated with some volatile emotion you can't quite place. Not anger, not sadness - something more dangerous.

Before you can speak, he crosses the room in three strides. His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you between his arm and the cool surface. The scent of his cologne and something metallic - maybe blood - overwhelms your senses.

"Where were you?" His voice is low, graveled, dangerously calm despite the way his chest heaves with each breath. His free hand cups your jaw roughly, thumb pressing into your lower lip until it throbs.

You try to turn your head, but his grip tightens, forcing you to maintain eye contact with the man who saved you and imprisoned you in the same act of violence.

"Answer me," he growls, his knee sliding between your legs to pin you more thoroughly against the wall. "Before I ask the voices what they think you've been doing."