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"You're not leaving," I declare.
New rage flares on his cheeks. The fear hits me again, but I'm not giving them to him. He's too drunk.
He orders, "Give me the keys, pet."
"No," I say, my voice and body shaking.
He yells, "Give me the keys!"
"No!" I run to the bedroom and slam the door, locking it.
He bangs on the door.
I go into the bathroom, open the exit to the side balcony, and step outside. I put the keys underneath one of the vases, then return inside.
Riggs is still pounding on the door. He shouts, "Pet, open this door now."
I unlock the door, then slide into bed.
"What are you doing? Where are my keys?" he slurs.
"I threw them on the beach. You're not going to find them. Sober up and stop being a hypocrite," I add, then turn my face on the pillow.
He stands over me for a long time. I close my eyes, unsure what he's going to do next. He finally stomps out of the room and slams the door.
I stay in the room, and when I finally get up the next morning, he's nowhere.
Oh God! He must have had another set of keys.
How could I have been so stupid?
I text him.
Me: Riggs, please tell me you're okay.
I don't receive a response and try calling. It goes to his voicemail.
All day, I keep trying to contact him. I call him. I text him. But it doesn't matter. He never answers. I don't even sit at the piano. The last thing I can think about is my work.
It's late at night when he finally comes back into the house. "Where have you been?" I ask.
He has on a fresh suit and looks like he does every night when he comes home from work. He clenches his jaw and looks down at me, threatening, "Don't you ever take my keys away from me again."
"You were drunk," I state.
"Like I said, don't ever do it again," he warns, then walks into the bedroom.
I follow him. "Where did you go?"
"None of your business."
"Yes, it is," I claim, sick of this bullshit with him. I put my hand on my hip and add, "I may have signed a contract, but this is ridiculous. I'm not going to be somebody that you can just walk all over whenever you decide to have a mood swing."
He steps out of his pants and tosses them into the laundry basket. Then takes his jacket and shirt off until he's wearing only his boxers.
"Riggs, we can't keep doing this," I state.
He turns, pinning his eyes on me. "Did you write anything?"
