"What is it?" he growled, his voice cutting through the dense mist of the late winter's eve. She closed her eyes, silently denying his request before the word slipped through her sibilant lips.
At this, he thundered. "Tell me!" The command, although for a moment seeming to be decisive, quickly diminished to become a precarious request: "...please?"
The word she'd just spoken echoed in her head as she took a deep breath of the fog. "No. Last time..." She paused, the memory cursing her again with its abyssal sting. "Last time you got pissed."
He wanted to scream at her, so he did. "I won’t get mad this time!" The lightning that scorched the night sky matching the contradiction of tone and meaning in his voice; it mirrored his seething ire.
Chaotic now, she looked upon him in kind. He wanted screaming? Fine! "I don't believe you," she spit, angry and spiteful. "You always say that! Then I have to make excuses when they ask..." her face flushed red and violet, more from the stinging lash of his fingers as he violently wiped her face from those words, than the re-lived embarrassment of what she'd had to make excuses for. He had the nails of a guitarist, long and sharp.
He looked at her silently for a while; the wind was the only speaker, howling out the words they wanted to say in its ephemeral tongue. He licked his lips. "I said... I won't get mad. Now tell me." His voice was harsh, it cut like the wind, the softness she'd come to adore gone. Long gone.
"No," she offered again the decisive and fatalistic word. Through a cascade of tears, still no.
He ran a rough hand through his wet hair. "Berenice... spill it." His eyes narrowed their gaze as his hand clenched his hair like it always did when he was becoming irate.
Enough! This was not what she wanted. One thing was to be handcuffed to the bed and another to have to spill her heart about things that had absolutely nothing to do with him. "No! I will not!" she hissed. "You'll just tell your friend and..." she cut herself off. Fuck it. Not worth it. Her heels dug into the moistening ground as she spun around to leave.
His hand pulled her back by the hair. "Stay!"
"Mike, let me go..." Ferocity lingered behind the whimpering tone in her voice.
He pulled harder, ignoring her words and dipping his hand into his pocket. "I said tell me!"
"Put that thing away." She looked at his now adorned hand and tried to take a step back, wrenching her mane painfully from his fingers. The metal in his hand shined silently. His fingers curled at her words, she could tell.
"Tell me. Just tell me and I'll put it away." His hand wrapped around the metal tighter, eyes blazing. Then the rain started, pelting his face as if to stop him. He raised his eyes to look at her. They narrowed again and his fingers pressed their tips firmly against the metallic object.
Her voice was a bitter cold that cut into him harder than the frore wind and rain. "And if I don't?" She raised an eyebrow, expecting an immediate answer. "You gonna use it or something? Huh?" she taunted. Her tone held a nervous valor. Mike turned around, taking a step away from her. He rubbed his temple softly and sighed under the harsh beating of the rain and wind. "Heh, yeah, that's right," she continued, almost braver if it weren't for the terror in her eyes. "I knew you didn't have the balls." She almost chuckled at that one.
Thunder roared and so did he, it blasted through the fog and widened her eyes instantly with the intensity of its appearance. "Is this what you wanted, baby?!" his voice boomed sibilantly in her ear, barely a whispered call to insanity. She listened... but heard nothing.
Cold. The frore wind curled over the hill as Mike looked down; and metal clang at the ground when his fingers relaxed. "You asked for it," his voice bled as the wind picked up velocity. There she was, lying in a puddle of her own wine; a gaping hole in her breast. The wind sizzled with malice.
"You asked for it. You know how I am. I don't like to be taunted," he spoke to the wind, looking away from her and to the clouds that punished him with hail and howls. Once warm, midnight-blue eyes now turned an icy, slick celestine.
"You asked for it. You should have told me. It's your fault."