The storm had been building for a long time, and in the end it was something innocuous that set it off. A glass without a coaster, sweat beading off and running onto the table.
She exploded. Fair enough. I cared about our furniture as much as she did. I didn't want it to be ruined with ugly stains.
But -- as I replied forcefully -- the glass had been on the table for less than two minutes, while I went to answer the door. To take receipt of a parcel that
she
had ordered.
Our tempers had been brewing like the weather. For days the air had grown thicker, until it was like trying to breathe underneath a duvet, with your face between your lover's thighs. Suffocating, no matter how much you enjoy it, and it doesn't take long before you want to come up for air.
As the days dragged on we lay limply on the furniture, listless like wilted lettuce. Pressure from our jobs combined with the stickiness to make us short and snappy. Her face grew sullen, as sullen as the sky outside. Mine probably did too.
Sleep had kept its distance. The nights felt as sulky as we were. Morning was just the point where we gave up and went to shower. Tepid water washed away the night's grime but brought no relief, no new patience for each other, just the knowledge that the day ahead would be worse than the one before.
Now we stood glaring at each other, nostrils flaring, flushed with heat. Both knowing that we were right, both understanding that we were wrong. Neither caring. The sky lit up with distant dry lightning. The air between us felt charged.
Moisture beaded at my temples and on my forehead, trickled down my back and chest. It gathered behind my knees and tickled at my ankles. Every inch of me felt sticky.
She was faring no better. Her cotton dress was stuck to her sides. I could see the creases in the white cotton where she'd pulled it loose several times already. Her hair was tied up to expose her neck. Its dull red seemed to reflect her mood and contrasted sharply with the heat in her eyes.
"Why can't you act your age for once?" she spat.
"Me?" I gave a snort of derision. "How about you, exploding over nothing? Look!" I pulled off my shirt and wiped the table where the ring of moisture looked up at me accusingly. "Problem solved. End of the world averted."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously as I tossed the garment onto a chair. "And now you expect me to tidy that up? Do you enjoy making work for me?"
Somewhere outside there was a faint rumble, then another. I rubbed my hand across my face. It came away sticky.
"I beg your pardon." I laid the sarcasm on thick. "I suppose I could have worn that shirt for a few more days. It was barely sweaty at all."
Her chest was heaving. Whether from anger or because the air was so thick, I couldn't tell. Both, probably, if she was feeling anything like me. Her dress clung to the swell of her breasts again, and again she plucked at it. She wasn't wearing a bra, not in this heat. The faint outline of her nipples showed through the cotton, just enough to catch my eye.
"Would it have been so much effort to get a cloth from the kitchen?"
"No effort at all." I smiled sweetly. "But it would have taken more time, and by then the table might have been ruined."
With that I sat back down. I felt that I'd won, if there was such a thing as a winner. The niggling doubt prevented me from feeling as smug as I should have. I took a drink from my glass. It was barely refreshing, and emptied far too soon.
I looked around for something to put the glass on -- even in my slightly uncertain sense of satisfaction I knew better than to deliberately antagonise her -- but it was too late.
"Just give me that!" Seizing the empty glass in my hand, she tried to wrestle it from me.
She stood over me, chest heaving, just as a gust of wind whipped through the open window. Instead of cooling the room down, though, it seemed to bring an extra heat. Lightning flashed again, as dry as a skeleton's cough.
"I'm not done with it." I was, but I resented her trying to take control. Our fingers were touching on the glass. "Give it back."
"Fine." She let go and folded her arms across her stomach, forcing her breasts up. Her nipples were almost clawing through her dress. "Go get yourself a drink then. Just don't leave rings anywhere this time."
I dragged my eyes up to meet hers. They were flashing with anger. Outside the sky went white for a split second before the darkness returned. There was a rumble this time, like the growl deep in the throat of a wild animal before it savages you.
Rising from the couch made me sweat all over again. I felt her eyes on me as I stalked into the kitchen to pour myself another glass of water. The light from the fridge made me aware of just how dark it had become. Outside, beyond the porch, the sky was looming close, sending its hot breath through the open door.
I returned and sat down again. She still stood, legs slightly apart, glaring at me. A flash of white outside backlit her for a split second.
"And now you're going to sweat into the couch?"
I sighed. It might have been dismissive. "You want me to stand while I drink?" I took a large gulp and rose again, clumsily with the glass in my hand.
"For fuck's sake!" She snatched the glass and stormed into the kitchen. Around her knees the cotton of her dress hung limp, but higher up it clung to her thighs and arse like it never wanted to let go.
I was on my feet in an instant, catching her just as she placed the glass -- still half full -- in the sink. The words that were about to explode from my lips caught in my throat as she spun to face me, a challenge in her eyes. "What?"
I opened my mouth, forgot what I was going to say, closed it again. Another white flash lit the kitchen, followed almost immediately by a loud rumble. We both glanced at the window, then back at each other.
Her lips came apart, and in that instant I seized her face between my hands and kissed her. Kissed her hard. I felt her stiffen, then start to kiss me back -- force of habit perhaps -- before pulling away.
"Fuck you!" she spat, glaring. Her chest was heaving, the nipples rising up towards me before falling back again. A bead of sweat dashed down her neck. "Fuck you!" Then she kissed me.
My arms were around her, fingers sliding up her back across the thin cotton until I felt sticky skin. Her hands were on my chest, digging into my flesh like claws. I winced. "Stop that!"
She dug again, harder this time. I glanced down, saw red marks on my chest. Tiny beads of blood welled up but seemed reluctant to go anywhere.
Now I pulled away. "Fuck you." I grabbed her waist and spun her around. A hand between her shoulder blades forced her down onto the counter while the other raised her dress.
