‘You know what I want,’ Davis said, desperately trying to return his tone to normal, but I could see it in his fingers, clenching the hammer so hard they’d turned white: The anger was there; soon, it would be more than he could control.

Davis knelt down, carefully plucked my phone from the paraphernalia.

He pressed the button on the bottom, then walked forward, hovered over me again. I could practically taste him as he shoved the phone in my face, he was so close. ‘Unlock it,’ he said.

‘Why?’ I asked, shoulders hunching. I wanted to become miniature, like Alice in Wonderland, so small I could crawl under the bed, snuggle into Dusty’s fur. Disappear.

‘Just do it,’ he said again, shoving the phone even closer to my face.

Hands trembling, I took it, holding it out so I could see it, so my eyes could focus through the tears that twisted my vision. I keyed in my passcode, but typed it wrong.

‘Don’t mess with me,’ Davis said. ‘I know what you’re trying to do.’

‘I’m not,’ I said, the words difficult to form as my breathing became rapid, shallow. ‘I promise.’ Hands still shaking, I tried again, and like that, my apps appeared against a background photo of Dusty.

He took the phone, his fingers working quickly.

‘I know you’ve got it on here. Ellie told me.’

I stared at him, holding my dad’s hammer, his fingers clenching even tighter. I imagined him lifting it over my head, letting it fall, my skull his nail, smashing me into Maggie’s god-awful quilt, turning me to mush.

It’s all in the wrist, my dad used to say. Gravity does the work.

I held my breath as Davis’s expression changed, as he turned the phone around. It was too close, too blurry. I scooted back, desperate to create space between us, and then, breath still tight in my throat, I saw it.

I saw me.

My face. Turned purple and blue. My bruise, captured in high definition.

Again, I imagined the hammer coming down. A flowering blossom, a spray of red. Dusty crawling out from beneath the bed, lured by the sight of blood …

‘Delete it,’ Davis said.

I swallowed, shaking my head. ‘Davis –’

For once, his calm tenor escaped him. ‘Delete it!’

My palms were wet as I took the phone. My fingers felt thick, as if they were drunk, as I clumsily tapped at the trash can icon, playing along with his futile exercise. Finally, the option popped up: Delete Photo.

I tapped it, and Davis took the phone eagerly from my hands.

‘Are there any more?’

I shook my head.

‘You promise? You swear on your mother’s grave?’

‘I swear,’ I said instinctively, finding my words, then covering my face, my chin, with my hands. He tossed the phone onto the bed.