Sunday Morning

“Are you being serious? You have to stay in New York for another week?” I asked in disbelief down the phone to my boyfriend.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Annie, but there are some songs that we haven’t finished tracking, and we need to have them finished before we can go home.” He said regretfully to me.

“Alright then honey, be careful. I’ll phone you tomorrow, love you.” I said, my prior upbeat mood having slowly drained away.

“I love you too, I’m really sorry.” I could tell he truly meant it.

I placed the phone back into the cradle with a click. Looking at the room, I sighed. I blew out the candles one by one, before sitting down at the table and letting a lone tear slide down my cheek. I had spent six hours in the kitchen preparing a welcome home dinner for my boyfriend; I hadn’t seen him in almost a month. He was in New York tracking his new album with his best friend and band mate, Spencer.

I’ll be the first to let you know how proud I am of him and everything that’s he’s achieved, but sometimes I wished he had a more ‘normal’ job. Throughout a year I would see him, at most, for two or three weeks at a time.

Despite that, we worked hard to keep our relationship afloat, I would go out to see Brendon on tour, he would send me flowers out of the blue, we would write each other letters (I believed it was more personal than a text or an email), we’d call each other on a daily basis. It was hard work, but we did it.

Sliding off my shoes, I sat on the sofa and turned on the TV. Nothing on the hundreds of channels taking my fancy, I flicked over to MTV2, and surprise surprise, they were playing Northern Downpour, my favourite song.

Slowly, my eyelids fell closed and I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

I woke to hear the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the window. I quickly realised I was no longer in the front room. Shifting my positions slightly, I felt something odd. An arm over my waist. I rolled over to see a mess of brown hair, my lips instantly curled up into a smile.

“Brendon,” I breathed, stroking the few hairs that fell over his eyes.

I kissed his forehead, his cheeks, anywhere that I could see; the lack of intimacy between us got the better of me.

His eyes fluttered open, and his smile soon matched my own.

“Morning beautiful,” he kissed me softly on the lips, his lingering on my own for a few seconds longer than necessary.

I pressed my lips to his own again, “I missed you so, so much.” I revealed.

“When I called you yesterday, I thought I was going to have to stay in New York ‘til next Saturday. But then after I phoned you, Spencer and I worked really hard and we got everything done in two hours.”

“What time did you get in?” I stroked his bare chest lovingly.

“Um,” his eyes flicked over to the clock that was placed on the bedside cabinet, “about three hours ago.”

“Well then, you need to get some sleep mister.” I mocked, pulling the covers up around him, tucking him in.

“Nuh-uh,” he fought against me playfully. This very quickly turned into a tickle fight, resulting in Brendon straddling my waist and peppering my face and neck with light kisses.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed huskily into my ear.

“I missed you so much, you have no idea,” I ran my hand through his hair before kissing him passionately.

One thing led to another and we made love. We fit together perfectly, like the pieces of a puzzle. Or as Brendon would say, I was the peanut better to his jelly.

“Welcome home baby,” I whispered, placing my head on his chest.

He kissed the top of my head as I listened to the rhythmic beats of his hearts, the steady pace was almost a lullaby to me and I felt my eyelids get heavy once more.

“Sleep Bren,” I managed to tell him before I fell into a dream world myself.

Upon waking a second time that morning, I stretched my arm, expecting it to fall on Brendon. All I was met with was cool air.

It seemed to hit me like a speeding train; it wasn’t a dream was it? Maybe I missed him so much that I dreamed he was home again.

In an attempt to wake up a little bit more, I rubbed my eyes.

“Annie?” I heard that sugary, sweet voice call.

Breathing a strong sigh of relief, “Bren?” I got up, putting on Brendon’s t-shirt that was discarded on the chair in the corner of our room, along with his jeans and socks.

“Morning beautiful,” he kissed me and put his arm around my waist. With his other hand, he prodded some blueberry pancakes in the pan, making sure they weren’t burning.

“When I woke up just now, I had a terrible thought that I’d dreamed you were here before.” I told him.

“Aw, don’t worry Annie, I’m here.” He said, not taking the slightest bit of notice towards the pink blush staining my cheeks. “I’ll bring the pancakes in in a minute, go and sit down,” he pushed me gently in the direction of the front room.

Sitting down on the dark blue sofa, I picked up the acoustic guitar that permanently rested on the far wall of the room, except, of course, when Brendon decided to serenade me (which did actually happen on a fairly regular basis).

I plucked the strings, playing the few chords that Brendon had successfully taught me to play.

“You’ve gotten a lot better.” He commented, walking into the room carrying a plate stacked high with pancakes.

“Thank you,” I said, jumping up and beginning to devour the pancakes. Brendon just laughed as I ate, pancakes were his speciality, and he only ever cooked them when he’d just come home after being away on tour or recording. No matter how much I begged him, he always stuck to this rule, according to him ‘the more you have to wait, the better they taste’.

“God,” I said through a mouthful, “you should totally make these more often.”#

“I would, but the more you-” he began.

“Have to wait, the better they taste.” I said with him, grinning at him, when he pouted at me.

I stood up on my tip-toes and kissed him, “the same goes for you.” I said with a smirk.

“Come here,” he said, leading me to the couch. I sat down and he grabbed his acoustic
guitar, the same one I was attempting to play only minutes before.

He began playing a mellow melody, his hands moving up and down the fret board with ease. His powerful voice kicked in, startling me slightly. No matter how many times I listened to him sing, his voice never ceases to amaze me with it beauty.

“Sunday morning rain is falling
Steal some covers share some skin
Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable
You twist to fit the mould that I am in
But things just get so crazy living life gets hard to do
And I would gladly hit the road get up and go if I knew
That someday it would bring me back to you
That someday it would bring me back to you

“That may be all I need
In darkness she is all I see
Come and rest your bones with me
Driving slow on Sunday morning
And I never want to leave

“Fingers trace your every outline
Paint a picture with my hands
Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm
Change the weather still together when it ends.”

“Oh Bren,” I stroked his cheek.

“I never realised how true that song was until I went away.” he told me.

“I love you, so much.” I told him.

He placed his hands on my cheeks and kissed my nose, “I love you so much Annie, its unreal.” With that, he kissed me, with so much lust, yet it was balanced by the love I could feel flowing from his body into my own.