I was jarred from a nice deep wine induced slumber early that morning. 2:01 am leered at me from my nightstand. 

"Oi! Bloody fuck...!" 

He had smacked his shin on the coffee table in the great room. I had rearranged the furniture since his last visit. Visit? Was it a visit? Typically, one visits another to spend time with them, et al. It seemed that to Hando, these visits were more like sentences in solitary confinement - at least that is how his feelings projected onto me. A shower, a bit of tucker, a fuck, a couple of words, then...exit. I felt like Hando's own personal McDonald's Drive Thru.

Perhaps all this time I was supposed to be asking him if he wanted a Hot Apple Pie with his order. 

I had run the gamut of feelings since he departed last. All points in between. I tossed his kit out...twice. And retrieved it twice - before the garbage men got to it. I had a go with some of his motorbike mates, thinking it would temper the raw edge of my feelings. Not.

How stupid was that? Once you've been with Hando and walked through the Dark Veil, who or what could possibly measure up? I had done this to myself, I figured. I would dive into my work and my faith and pray that the goddess would forgive me and give me peace.

I could feel him watching me. He was standing in the bedroom door way. I waited for the usual...the pouncing, the rough fuck, the snoring - but nothing happened.

Had I not had so much wine, I wouldn't have dozed back to sleep.  

The glorious sun beat a path through the wooden slats of the window next to my bed. The temperature was to be perfect for gardening. The earlier morning's visit was erased from my memory...dismissed as yet another wine-induced dream. After completing my morning ritual, I breezed into the kitchen for a bite. The empty teacup in the sink told me that my dream...wasn't. My cheery demeanor faltered somewhat. I clearly wasn't in the mood for the games. Not yet.

The wind whipping at my ponytail gave some relief to the sweat I had worked up preparing the bed surrounding the maple tree in my front yard. Children were playing up and down the street. My own was away at a Girl Scout camping trip. People were out mowing and trimming their yards. I took a moment to rest and contemplate how I wanted to plant the fragrant petunias I had purchased from the old man on Military Road. I had settled for a tray of deep purple, a tray of white, and a tray of coral. I mixed in some Silver Dusty Millers to add a sparkle. I was wearing my favorite yard-work clothes: a wife beater, overall shorts, and no bra.... barefoot. The Red Neck Girl poster child, personified.

Casually caressing the fingers of my left hand along the scar on my right shoulder, I decided to plant them in groups, around the tree. 

"I always was sorry about that." Low menacing voice. 

I almost peed my britches; I was startled so badly. Regaining composure, I didn't turn around - I simply went about my business. I was determined not to show weakness.

A rough finger, not my own, traced along the evidence of teeth marks that I had been touching before. A shiver went down my being, and my nipples became like steel bullets. He was close enough that I could feel his heart beat. My Weak Self wanted to lean back into him and find the hardness that my womb craved. She wanted his hands to envelop her breasts. Instead, the Strong One took the reins and bristled at his touch.

His hand fell to his side. "You have a right to be angry." I wouldn't respond. There was a feeling of urgency tinged with...what was that? Fear? Surely not. I could hear him take a breath to speak, but the words were not forthcoming. I kneeled down to begin planting my flowers. The silence was murder.

"Are you going to help me or not?" I asked tersely. He kneeled beside me and I stole a glance at him. He was devastating in a plain white t-shirt and worn jeans. I felt the heat rise on my cheeks until I spied the bandage on his hand.

The Nurturing One shifted into gear. I suppressed a gasp. 

"It's not bad. I did a dumb thing at Uma's," he mentioned casually. 

"I'm sure you got what you deserved. You're off the hook - you are too wounded to help me." I hoped that my comment would dismiss him from my presence. Fat chance. He grabbed the trowel from my grip and proceeded to dig holes with his good hand.

"I...We.... I'd like for us to talk-"

"About what?" I cut him off. 

"Tina- I know that I can't be the man that you deserve-" 

"That I deserve? How would you know what I deserve?" I never stopped my work, nor did I look in his direction. He dropped the trowel and grabbed my wrist.

"Look at me. I'm trying, Tina. Give me a chance." 

"Why should I?" I stared him dead in the eye. "What reason do I have to give you anything?" I was looking at either a brisk slap across the face, a sharp tongue-lashing, or both. I was ready.

Hando took a deep breath and hung his head down. "I'm not good at this. I don't think I'm doing it right." 

The Nurturing One kicked The Strong one in the ass. I touched his head, reveling in the feel of his stubble on my palm. "H., you are tired from your travel and no doubt in pain. Why don't you go inside and rest? I'll be in to check on you when I get done here, okay?" I squeezed his hand and he retreated to the house, quietly.

I crawled into the cool sheets of my bed that evening, my sun kissed shoulders both welcoming and screaming at the temperature. Hando was still asleep on the couch in the great room, where I found him earlier that afternoon when my planting was done. I woke him to offer food and to give him the antibiotics I found sitting on the kitchen counter. He refused the food and took the drugs begrudgingly.

I was so confused. 

I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. Hando had taken me places in my soul that were strictly verboten to sane individuals. He was an addiction. I couldn't come up with one single positive thing about being with him, other than my own selfish sexual satisfaction.

...But he sounded so sincere, when he spoke to me today. Is this a new game? Am I falling for it hook, line, and sinker? After an hour of sleeplessness, I sought out a glass of wine. I checked on my patient and found he was sleeping peacefully. I'm glad one of us was.

A liquid warmth ran through my veins as I drowned in sleep. I dreamt. A set of powerful, protective arms was holding me. The feeling of security and something else...love? Contentment? Lips, kissing my head, murmuring possessive nothings. I felt myself melting into those arms. If only this could be...