I came home to Mouse’s rage. When I walked in the doorway of the apartment, he slowly stood up from the couch and walked toward me with his head down. “Shut the door,” he said. Feeling cornered in the narrow hallway but also obligated to do his bidding, I swung the door shut behind me and dropped my gym bag on the hardwood floor. My cat Quentin jerked from his position on the windowsill. My other cat, Mangus, was nowhere to be seen.

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

His low voice sent chills up my spine even though I’d heard it a million times before. “Mouse, you know I had a lot of work to do today. I have to get the web site caught up from last weekend’s competition in D.C.” I was determined not to let him corner me. I turned my body toward the wall and brushed past him into the kitchen. Even in the midst of the tension between us, I sensed his body rising as I swept past, and I felt the presence of his dark, muscular chest and broad shoulders. I opened the fridge and bent to find my yogurt.

“You’re nice and rumpled looking.” He took a step closer to me. “Did you give yourself a little bonus on your way home from work? Stop off for a little side action with another guy?”

I pulled out the yogurt and pushed the fridge door shut. My anger was rising, but I was determined not to let him manipulate me.

“With that web designer who trains with you at the gym?”

I opened a drawer and pulled out a spoon.

“Who is it, cunt?” He said the last word as though it were a term of endearment, but he forced the t sound out with a rush of breath. He never raised his voice.

I threw the spoon on the counter. “Goddammit, Mouse. You can’t call me that! You’re a jealous piece of shit—”

“Who was it, you little whore?” He was suddenly shouting, and his face was so close to mine, I saw the veins in his neck begin to bulge.

I didn’t hold back my anger anymore. I shoved him with as much force as I could. His large body budged only a couple feet, and I shoved again and again.