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He just poured boiling water on me and ran off.

I’m not joking.

He said my ass was hot, poured water on it, and ran off.

Alice:

OH MY GOD

Are you okay?!

Are you burned? You probably are!

I don’t stop there. I text Phil, his father:

Me:

Your son just poured boiling hot water on me.

He is insane and needs serious help.

I screenshot the conversation and share it with Alice.

Me:

Just sent that to his dad.

Gotta do what you gotta do, yeah?

Alice:

Yes.

You absolutely need him away from you.

Before a serious injury happens.

A FEW HOURS LATER

He comes back like nothing happened, his swagger infuriatingly intact.

“You poured boiling water on me,” I say, my voice low and even. “It still hurts.”

“No, I didn’t,” he snaps, his expression one of exaggerated disbelief. “Stop making things up. You’re such a fucking liar.”

The gaslighting is the final straw.

A white-hot fury boils up inside me, eclipsing the pain. Without thinking, I shove him off the bed. He lands with a loud thud, his shoulder slamming into the closet door.

“What the fuck was that for?!” he yells, scrambling to his feet.

“What do you think?” I fire back, my voice venomous.

“I didn’t do anything,” he insists, doubling down. “And by the way, I think I might jump off the balcony. I’ve been thinking about it.”

I laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “Don’t let me stop you.”

He glares at me, his face a mask of wounded indignation, before retreating to the kitchenette, muttering under his breath.