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.