Monday 16 December 2013

Surrender - MWBB

This weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster brought an interesting song. It's only the second song I've really listened to from this band, but I really liked it, it said so much. But as always the challenge is putting those thoughts and emotions into a story. So here's what I came up with, and it earnt me an honourable mention. Enjoy.

The Song Prompt for this weeks was:
Heavy in your Arms, by Florence & the Machine

He saw it in her face that first night; the look in her eyes. He didn’t let it distract him from what they were doing, and still lost himself in the moment of sexual ecstasy - but he’d registered it.

After she left in the morning, showering his face in kisses and making him laugh; he sat and pondered what he’d seen. He didn’t want to do it again; break someone’s heart, it wasn’t much fun. But this one? Could he love her?

He sighed. He wanted to; he wanted to give her all she deserved, but could he? Or would he just let her down like he had all the others?

Later that day he had to smile at the text she sent. She wasn’t going to wait for him, she was going to run the show and he liked that. And when she turned up at his door again the next day, throwing herself into his arms, he was overjoyed to embraced her, although he kept her in check with his silence.

The days grew into weeks, which gathered up into months. He took out the shoebox he kept under his bed and sifted through all the cards and scribblings she’d given him, trying to find the courage to return the emotion, but all he’d been able to give was his time; taking her out to dinner, shows, the cinema, pubs, bars, anywhere to keep her entertained and distracted, because he knew she wanted more. She would start to say something then stop, or tell him she wanted to know him better and then wait for him to speak, but he wasn’t good at speaking, he was only good at showing, so that is what he did. He took her to bed and showed her time and again.

It didn’t stop her pouring herself into him by including him in everything she did. He was happy to join her and get to know her friend’s boyfriends. He enjoyed the elaborate dinner parties she arranged and lost himself in the drunken conversations. But every moving it was still there; that look in her eyes.

Then the first year was over and they celebrated, and the whole evening she was watching him with expectation. He did all he could, spun her the best night they had had, and in the morning he thought he had pulled it off, but there she was looking at him only this time with a little box in her hand. He was terrified.

She had always been forward, moving it all along and he wondered how far she was taking it as he turned the box over in his hand. It was a perfect tiny square with a raised top. His mind reeled at the idea that someone else might pop the question. He fiddled with it, delaying, but she pushed his fingers against it, showing him where he could start unwrapping.

He fumbled it open and tipped the lid a crack, trying to glimpse what was within, before revealing it. And what he saw made him frown and he paused, opening the lid wider and picking up its contents.

“A key?”

“Yes, a key.”

“To your heart?”

She laughed. “No, to my apartment. It’s time, don’t you think?”

“What, for us to live together?”

She frowned at him and laughed again. “No silly, for you to be able to come round whenever you want. Why, do you want to live together?”

“Well...” He flustered.

She laughed again. “That’s what I thought. One step at a time, eh?”

“But..” He stammered.


“But, I thought, you know, that as we’re in love, you know, that was the next step? I mean, it’s been a year.”

Her jaw dropped as she looked at him, and he felt his cheeks flush. Then she threw herself on him, pushing her lips against his with such a fierceness he could only surrender - although surrender was all he wanted to do, so he returned the passion.

That night he packed a bag, and when they reached her apartment he picked her up, carrying her over the threshold. There were no broken hearts here.

1 comment :

  1. Love the way you weaved a happy ending! Great last sentence x