SO COLD
I didn't recognise him. He was a man controlled by madness. I couldn't believe I actually used to hold feelings for him. Any fondness I once had for the man was caught in the flames of his temper and turned into ash. The cool wind of the humid summer day snuck into the crooks and crannies of the room and gently blew away the remains of the burning. I stared at him directly, enunciating my words clearly and loudly. I dared him. "Go ahead." At this point the well was empty, nothing to dredge up, I couldn't find it in myself to care for him or for what he did.
His expression splintered; confessed the emotions he held in a tightly closed fist: dismay, disappointment and confusion. His brows knitted. He resumed control, his anger returned and twisted his expression into a cruel, cold glower. I took a step towards him, strong willed and serious. My gaze travelled across the expanse of his face; over a mouth that was pulled into a grim tilt, a jaw that was stiff and clenched, black eyebrows that dug down, and eyes that burned brightly. He was a passionate man for all the wrong reasons. The intensity and ferocity of his rage had worn down his face and I had no doubt his chest was chockfull of emotions clamouring to escape.
I raised my hand to his face and he watched me with a nervous, restless energy. Unsure of himself. My gaze fell to his mouth once more, and I thought of all he said in the past hour and the days before, and then I met his look, and I found no sympathy inside of me, only a slow-burning and all-consuming fury. My fingers curled up, my arm fell to my side. "Go on, baby, drop your trousers down to your ankles and fuck whoever opens their legs to you. I'll watch, I'll prepare popcorn. Night time TV is shit and Game of Thrones isn't even on Thursdays. I doubt anyone will raise an objection to your show so... what are you waiting for? Come on." I took his hand and flashed an insulting smile his way. "What's the matter, Cole? Lost your nerve?"
"Why are you doing this?" he yanked his hand back in frustration, upset. "I thought you wanted me, that you cared for me–"
There was a roar of motorbikes on the street outside, a sudden explosion of glass and splintering wood, and a deafening sound of gunfire. Windows shattered, there were yells and cries, bodies crashing to the ground in other rooms. Cole dived at me, his arm around my waist and we slammed to the hard floor of the dining room. I felt like I'd been robbed of my breath, my lungs were crushed. I was stunned, wide-eyed at first and disorientated. He was on top, acting as a shield. Bullets lodged into the wall above me. Had Cole reacted seconds too late, we would've been lying on the floor with our brains splattered across the white paint. It felt like it lasted forever although it was probably sixty seconds of rapid and blind trigger squeezing. Engines started up again, wheels squealed away. In the paralysing silence that followed, dust settled, glass tinkled, and then there came a grief-stricken howl from the other room. "He's dead! He's dead!"
**