"You never know what's going to meet you in the silence." - Byron Katie
Johnny couldn't even remember what started the argument but he knew that if he admitted that to Sarah, she'd turn back into the raving mad-woman of last week. It was better to remain silent and wait her out, but it'd been over a week now, and she still wasn't speaking to him. That scared him. They'd never gone so long without making up. Maybe some more flowers? Couldn't hurt, right?
As the florist wrapped his flowers, he remembered one of the things she'd screeched at him. "As far as you're concerned, I'm just a piece of the furniture!" followed by a whole lot more stuff about not appreciating her, not finding her desirable, not wanting her. How could she think that? She was his wife. He was always trying to get her into bed. Women.
"I'll take that box of chocolates, too," he told the florist.
The house was dark when he got home. That was unusual. Sarah hated the dark, and lit every room in the house as if electricity were free.
"Sarah?" he called, closing the front door. He turned on the lights and gazed around the empty room. The house remained silent.
Admit it, Johnny. This was a mistake. I should have stayed in New York.
Did she leave him? Turning, he stalked to the coat closet and yanked it open. An empty hanger. Her heavy overcoat, the last remnants of her life in New York, so out of place in LA, was gone.
"Looking for me?"
Johnny slammed the door and turned around. Sarah stared back at him. She hadn't gone; hadn't left him. A tightness in his chest began to ease.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Please, forgive me." He took in the overcoat—and then noticed the fishnet stockings and high heels.
"Are those for me?" she asked. "Johnny?"
"Huh?" He dragged his eyes away from her legs, and then followed her gaze down to the floor. Flushing, he bent down and picked up the flowers and chocolate he'd dropped. "These are for you," he said, thrusting them toward her.
"Hold them for a second, this coat is too hot," she said, smiling at him. Her hands went to the buttons of the overcoat and undid the top button. He swallowed hard as she reached for the next one, and then the next, mesmerized by the way her hand caressed each button before she undid it; revealing an obvious lack of attire underneath, inch by sexy inch.
His jeans grew snug. Chocolate and petals littered his feet.
The overcoat finally dropped to the floor.
"God, you're so beautiful," Johnny said, scooping Sarah into his arms.
"I am?"
"You are," Johnny said. He carried Sarah down the hallway to their bedroom. Clicking on the light, he tossed Sarah onto the bed, then ripped off his shirt.
"What about my flowers?" Sarah asked. Her hand began to move. She trailed her hand lightly up her stomach and shifted toward him.
"Flowers?" Johnny pulled and tugged as he watched her hand; he was never wearing button-down jeans ever again.
"Yes. My flowers—and my chocolate," Sarah said, her hand cresting a breast.
"Uh..." Johnny tore at his jeans, sending metal buttons zinging across the room. He got into bed and pulled Sarah to him.
"What about the lights?" she asked.
"Lights?" Husky laughter filled his ear.
Turning his head, Johnny grabbed Sarah's mouth with his own, silencing her.
The End.