Sweet Surrender (Short Story) ✔

1

Lex yawned, stretched until the muscles from the tips of his toes up to his shoulders burned pleasantly and then relaxed again. Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked into the bright sunlight. How late was it? Still morning? He decided that he didn't care one bit and rolled with a groan out of bed to trudge into the bathroom and splash some cold water onto his face.

Clothed in the briefs he also slept in, he walked to the kitchen, took the milk out of the refrigerator and mixed it with cornflakes before he plopped down on the sofa and turned on the TV. Some soap he vaguely recognized but wasn't interested in. It solely served the purpose to make the flat feel less empty and quiet.

The phone rang, he ignored it.

It stopped.

He set the bowl on the table and placed the laptop on his legs to continue where he had to stop last night because he simply hadn't been able to keep his eyes open anymore.

The phone rang, he ignored it.

It stopped.

His fingers flit over the keyboard and filled page after page with words that grew to sentences.

The phone rang again, he ignored it again. It stopped again.

He paused briefly, opened up the web browser and searched the road network of a city. The maximized view showed him even the smallest alleys and after a glance he closed the window before his fingers painted sentences on the empty pages anew.

Phone, ringing, ignoring.

Stopping.

On the television a couple argued heatedly and the angry noises calmed him.

Knocking at the door, he ignored it, too.

It didn't stop, his fingers halted their task and he starred out of the window on his right, head cocked to the side in thought. Then his mind found a solution and his hands continued their work, steadily like a clockwork.

The knocking got louder and more impatient. No longer ignorable. He grabbed the remote for the TV and let the couple roar at each other so the knocking moved into the background.

The phone rang in sync with the knocking. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and proceeded.

It didn't stop.

The movement of his fingers got choppy and sketchy; the clockwork didn't work reliably anymore.

"Lexington! I know that you're in there!"

He held his breath although the arguing of the couple drowned out every noise easily. As much as he forced them, his fingers refused to type a single letter as though they federalized with the woman in front of his door. Perhaps he should chop them off and write with his toes from now on. He threw a calculating look at the knife-block in the kitchen.

"Lexington!" The voice sounded threatening. Carefully he lifted the computer off his lap, clicked as a precaution several times on the 'safe' button and rose finally. Time to face reality.

The knocking ceased and so did the ringing as soon as he opened the door. He was very tempted to run back to the sofa and continue writing in the newfound peace. It cost him every ounce of his willpower to subdue the urge.

"I waited for you!" Anne exclaimed accusingly and he blinked. His fingers that held the door drummed words on the wood agitatedly.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?"

He looked down on his body. A pair of briefs. "I am dressed."

She huffed and pushed past him into the living room. First of all she turned off the TV and he flinched when the following silence came down on him like the furious lash of a whip.