The Other Piece... (Closed)

[ShyMystica]

Pandora stood motionless, the mist from her warm breath dissipating into the torrential rain as she gazed upon the house. The rain cascaded around her, her coat doing little to keep her dry. Each heavy drop forced the violent coolness to seep to her soul, her body trembling from both the cold and from the reasons why she had come to be here. She watched as the flickering of lights behind the drawn curtains highlighted the silhouette into view. He was home. Her heart pounded from the realisation. Her mind at war as to what to do; turn and walk home and continue the agony of each day as the abyss grew deeper within her soul. He wasn’t expecting her, so there would be no harm in walking away. Or she could surrender to her desire for him...for peace, true peace, a peace only he seemed to give her...she could go to him.

Both options had her pulling in their direction. The pain she knew, and knew it well. It had become her shield against the world, hiding her from the harsh reality that seemed to gravitate and find a home within her. It was safe; despite the torture and suffering it brought...it was her life. Each new day it grew; sometimes violently, ripping her soul to shreds as it destroyed all hope and love within her. Yet sometimes it was dull, morphing her mind and spirit into a sense of numbness, dulling her very existence into a mundane routine. There was no in between, the violent pain becoming more frequent and intense then the last.

Peace? Well...it was something that her soul would not give up on. There was no need for money, a big home, riches and wealth...no, all she had ever wanted was inner peace. A peace to be free to live. No more pain...as simple as that...no more pain.

Images flooded her mindseye at the memory of him, the rain continued to pour; the hum of the shower pouring down onto slickened, naked bodies dancing a sensual dance of passionate exploration; soft moans echoing amidst fervent kisses and heavy breaths; a soft gasp as masculine hands capture wrists above her head; soft thighs part and wrap to pull him closer still; a silent plea with lust-crazed emerald eyes, his mesmerising brilliant orbs shinning with both understanding and anticipation; a dominant growl, spinning and pulling her back; moist, heated breath with a whisper of desire, lust-crazed heat; then a thrust, splitting her moist core, pushing deep...

Thunder rolled above her, drawing her attention back to the man behind the curtain. It has been months since she had last spoken to him. She remembered the day well; a simple touch of his passing hand had her entire body and soul humming with electricity. She didn’t understand, how could she? She barely knew him; he was nothing but a stranger to her, yet that simple touch awakened a primal need within her. While it was a fleeting touch, it filled her with the peace she so desperately yearned for...he completed her.

Yet she ignored it and the pain never left. No, it only seemed to grow the more she saw him in passing. Her world had become blanketed with hopelessness. There was nothing beyond the abyss...no light, not even a flicker. It absorbed her; everywhere she looked was the mist of despair. Her soul was dying, the anguish pushing her to stand outside his home in one last act of desperation. She was drawn to him; the reasons she didn't know. Yet it felt right in every fiber of her being. Destiny, fate, chance...philosophers had spanned their lifetimes trying to understand it...and yet they never came close to understanding it. And neither did she. She just knew it was right. She couldn’t hide from him any longer, couldn’t hide her vast array of emotions that simple touch on her. She needed him to see; the passion, the desire, the overwhelming need he awakened within her. She needed his strength, his understanding, his authority to give her back a light, if only a flicker, to give her back an understanding of what lay beyond the mists of despair, beyond the agony within her...hope, she needed hope only his touch could give.

She remembered the day she met him. The day passed through her mind in a symphony of images. The coffee shop, of all places. It was after another session with the psychiatrist...pointless, emotionally testing and expensive. She didn't wish to go home, no desire to head into work on her day off. So she walked, and walked...and walked some more. The coffee shop intrigued her. She wasn't one for coffee. Didn't even remember if she enjoyed it or not. But the storefront pulled her; her intuition screaming for her to enter. And she did. She was lost in the array of coffees to choose from. The Barista waited patiently as she began to panic. It was then his hand touched her...HIS hand...the man she had so often dreamed of standing right behind her. His voice real, teasing her senses as he placed her order...

"She'll take a skinny caramel latte; hold the cream.'

The rest of the afternoon she barely remembered. She was dumbfounded, confused, simply lost for all words and logical thought. She had spent three years lost to the world, her amnesia never fading. Three years of dreaming of him...and he sat before her in the flesh. A business card with his address was all he left her before he walked away. The pain hit her instantly as he stepped through those doors.

Lightning crashed around her, the rain seemingly hammering down upon her frozen form. With a final breath of desperation she moved forward; the click of her heels drowning within the puddles of the driveway. Her mind flooded with doubt...would he see her? Would he even remember who she was? Would he turn her away? Would he understand? Would he be upset? Would he even care? The last thought rendered her paralysed, her hand barely tapping the front door before she fell to her knees. Her heart lurched as the deep grip of pain burst from within and seemingly exploded to her entire being. She could cry, but there were no tears left within her to do so. With all her strength she lifted her hand to knock weakly upon the painted wood of the door. The click of the lock opening brought the anxiety to the surface; her head buried low, her form shivering in a wet pile on his doormat...Would he turn her away? Would he even care?

 

[Firmhanded_Daddy]

Rain.

Droplets struck his modest home with violent pin prick explosions. It was like being the target of a thousand tiny pin pricks. It did not rock his home, it made the building vibrate. Like the string of a guitar; once plucked it hummed with energy.

Occasionally he turned his gaze out to the dark stormy evening. His breath misted against the window as he drew in and let it out in a sigh. Another fruitless day; searching, never to find her. He had managed it that one day in the coffee shop. Yet how do you tell someone who clearly didn’t remember you that she was the other piece of your soul? Without her you were a shell of a man, and she a shell of a woman. For the millionth time he cursed himself a fool for leaving her side when he had. North Korea was not a safe place, even for them when separated. He had made a snap decision, a mission critical decision. It had saved the mission, but cost him everything in the process.

Now this house was all he had, and he didn’t want it. He used it for simple logic and creature comforts. She had to have a way to find him. Yet it had been months since their last contact and he had not even received a phone call, let alone contact. It was eating him alive! The storm seemed to reflect his brooding mood; Cold, hard, angry, and violent. He was weary, so very weary of this world. Perhaps this was what really happened to their brethren? They did not separate to die, but died from separation. He certainly had moments where her absence became unbearable.

Not only did being without her just cause his soul to ache, it left him of all things mortal; fragile, delicate, weak. He crossed the smooth hard wood floor and tugged open the refrigerator. Pulling the bottle free he pushed the door shut. Pulling out a small glass he poured the dark liquid in and stoppered the bottle. Tipping the glass back the dark liquid burned a path down his throat. He released another deep sigh. One of the few blessings of being mortal, he could get drunk with much more ease.

Something tickled his senses. There was no way he could have heard that knock from his distance from the front door, not over the rain. It was something else. It tugged, no it pulled at him. It was impossible, yet the glass slipped from nerveless fingers and shattered upon the hard wood floor as steps pulled him toward the door. Thick fingers latched around the handle and he pulled the door open. There sat a huddled form soaked from the rain, the face indistinct in the darkness, in her huddled form. He didn’t need to see her face. He could feel her. Forgetting the white button up shirt and dark dress slacks he stopped and folded his large arms around her. Tugging, pulling, easing her up from her near fetal position he crushed her against his chest. Then he pulled her over the threshold, and scooped her up in his arms.

Ice cold water soaked through his clothing, met his flesh but he didn’t care. The opposite happened as well. The heat of his flesh soaked through her sodden clothing and instantly warmed his skin. It was deeper than that even. The warmth of one soul meeting another, finding that missing piece; it passed between them and infused both of them with an old familiar heat. He didn’t stop, cradling her like a child he walked through the house and back toward the bathroom. He paused in his bedroom and gently eased her figure down onto the bed. She instantly soaked his comforter, and the sheets beneath. Instead of fussing over it, he wrapped her in the comforter to try and heat her body. She was near frozen to death from the rain.

“I’ll be right back. Try to warm yourself. Are you hurt?”

He disappeared into the bathroom just off his bedroom and she could hear the sound of water beginning to run. Seconds later steam billowed from the room as the shower head spewed jets of blessedly hot water. He returned a moment later with a large fluffy towel and a dark bath robe.

His voice was warm, filled with deep concern, but there was something deep, buried beneath it. Like a core of something hard under the concern. Something commanding and firm.

“Assa, are you hurt? Are you ok? Do you remember me?”