Regret

She can see it in his eyes. She won’t get out of this alive.

He approaches her, cowering in the corner, the sliding closet door askew from where he hurled her against it. Somehow the mirrored surface didn’t break from the impact. Bruises are blossoming along the side of her body, but it doesn’t matter. Not any more.

She shakes her head, wordlessly, trying to deny him, but he doesn’t hesitate for a moment.

His hand still stinging from the slap that sent her across the room, he reaches down and grabs her ponytail, the sexy hairstyle which exposes her slender neck, drives him wild every time.

Not this time, though. At the moment it is just a convenient handle.

He yanks her to her feet, her hands flying up to her head, ineffectively trying to soften the pain as he wrenches her hair.

He immediately slams her back against the wall next to the broken closet door. The breath is knocked out of her for a moment, and she gapes and chokes unattractively as she tries to make her lungs work again.

He doesn’t care. He is too enraged at her betrayal.

She chokes in a shaky breath.

He lets go of her hair, but she doesn’t have the chance to be relieved, because his fingers immediately stretch around her throat.

He is struck by how far around he can reach. His hands are so big, her neck so small. This will be too easy.

But again, he doesn’t care. He isn’t thinking, he is reacting. The grief and rage and pain she caused is driving him. Logic has nothing to do with this.

But her eyes look up at him, her beautiful golden brown eyes, with the thick dark lashes, tears brimming, and it makes him pause.

What is it that stalls him?

It is that her expression carries more sorrow than fear. Her eyes reflect an acceptance, but a sadness, that seems so incongruous.

With the brief second he has given her before he cuts off her air, she whispers, “You are going to regret this.”

He scoffs. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Of course not. I’m not the one you should be afraid of.” She can only whisper, his fingers are still pressed against her throat, preventing her voice from functioning. Still, she doesn’t seem afraid, only sad.

His outrage tightens his grip around her windpipe. “You think I’m afraid of HIM?” he growls.

She tries to shake her head, but she can’t, caught in his vise. She manages to croak out, “No, not him either.”

He lets go of her throat, but she doesn’t try to escape. His body is too close, touching hers, pressing her against the wall. She knows she couldn’t get away from him even if he wasn’t so close. She doesn’t have the strength, or the speed.

And she’s trying to help him. Help him not do this.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he snarls into her face. He doesn’t want to engage, he wants to end this painful scene, but her confusing statement has unsettled him.

“You’ll regret it,” she repeats.

“You’re the one who should regret what you did,” he bites out, and his fingers resume their position against her throat.

“I do,” she whispers.

“Good.” His fingers tighten. It’s time to end this.

“You won’t be able to live with yourself,” she says, already choking, but forcing the words through her trembling lips. “You’ll regret this too much. It will eat you from within. And I won’t be there to help you.”

Is it a warning? A curse? It definitely isn’t an apology, and that’s the only thing that could have saved her.

“Shut up!” he barks, and presses harder.

She is able to get out one more thing. “When it gets to be too much for you to bear, you will come and join me.”

She can’t say anything else. She can’t even gasp. Her tongue protrudes, her eyes bulge and become bloodshot, and in another minute her body goes limp in his arms.

He yanks his hands away, and she drops to the floor like a lead weight.

And he follows her, crumpling to the carpet next to her body, and the magnitude of it all hits him like a freight train. The betrayal, the discovery, the confrontation, her refusal to defend herself with anything except her strange threat of regret, and now, her sudden and total absence.

She is gone.

Oh, god.

She is gone.

His face contorts, and a sound like the wail of an animal escapes him. He buries his face in his hands, sobbing.

As his fingers, the fingers that just ended the only woman he has ever loved, cover his face, for one second he sees his reflection in the mirrored closet door. The grief and regret he sees in the mirror are on the face of a stranger.

He closes his eyes and weeps.