There was always something about Billy's intensity that had charming quality to it. Whether it was from the devilish smile, or his iconic stare - the one where his eyes made you feel like you were the only person in the room - you fell for it hook, line, and sinker.
Billy could be reckless and domineering, but he knew what little words could coax you to follow: to his games, to the movies, to the backseat of his blue Camaro. He suggested and you happily complied.
It wasn't until a few minutes ago did you realize how that intensity could turn on you like a flip of a switch.
"Billy, baby…" you asked running your hands across his bare shoulders.
"Yeah-" his arm tensed as he turned to see where you were caressing.
"Did you get in a fight? You have bruises like someone grabbed you." Your fingertips grazed a particularly purple spot, "especially here. It's like-" you stopped, noticing his jaw clench. His gaze was dark and focused. He flicked his butt before stepping forward.
"Do not bring it up again." You nodded, fearful of his vicious change in tone. He glared for a minute before giving you an easy smile. He reached beside you, and picked up his jacket. He slipped it back on, and jiggled his car keys. "Let's go." You nodded, following him once more. Although reluctant, you slid in the passenger seat without a word, the last minute or so, apparently forgotten.
