His knuckles and jewelry battered against my nose and the bones in my face negotiated their positions as if they had always longed to invert themselves, to shuffle lines and sockets like new puzzle pieces. My hands swiped at his jugular before the emerald ring hammered into my mouth, prying my teeth out in groups until I looked like a piano without keys. Choking on saliva, my head jerked back as he pulled my collar toward his face. Blood pooled under my tongue and canines scraped along my stomach lining, pushing up vomit as he shouted in my ears. He was asking me questions. I’m sure he was asking me questions.