The Deep Prick

~Chapter 11~

 
 
 
 
 
       The California highway clung to the mirage that rested warm and wavy above the far distant heated tar. Grace sped fast down the highway in the Ford directly towards it. Then she slowed to the road shoulder as she heard a strange noise coming from the right back end of the truck; the sound was as if a giant pancake was trailing behind and dropping from the sky and smacking the heated cement. Grace got out and whined, “no” as she noticed her right rear tire was flat. She wasted no time. She sprinted down that highway, as if she knew exactly where Rowan and Caroline were headed, but in truth, she had no clue.

 
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      Caroline and Rowan sat in his car that was parked in the desert; where there was not even a road to drive on. The car was submerged in the cactuses and dry desert rock, like it was stranded there, never to be found from a single soul, least of all Grace. Caroline and Rowan gazed at each other. The car was quiet, but Caroline's music in her mind couldn't help but play Air's “Sexy Boy” on repeat. Rowan placed his hand on Caroline's thigh and said, “I've missed you.”

    Caroline replied quick, “I've missed you.” She leaned her head against the head rest, gazing into his enticing eyes, then her eyes found his lips and she couldn't look away. Closer and closer their faces got to one another's, but so very slowly; the moment lasted longer if the action shared, was a slow one. At this rate they had enough time to explore every facial expression that enticed their hearts to beat faster and their bodies to want further. A lick of the lips from Rowan, only enticed Caroline to then bite her bottom lip. The rubbing of Rowan's hand up Caroline's thigh, only enticed Caroline to tug on Rowan's plaid shirt and pull him in a little closer. Though not yet close enough for the lips to touch just yet. This is the taste that Caroline could not deny from Rowan Sanders. The taste is only taken in one bite, lick, or sip at a time. It's not forced in and redundant. It's yearned for and desired. Caroline was so close to almost tasting him again, she couldn’t take the tease anymore. Caroline let out a soft moan as Rowan's lips blew out warm air on hers. He finally kissed her, pulling her face into his, then pulling in her legs, trying to get more of Caroline, but failing; as the center console stocked with root beer cans stuffed with cigarettes, kept them apart. Caroline managed to crawl her way over the center consul, to the driver’s seat, still kissing Rowan passionately. She straddled Rowan, her fingers linking around the back of his neck, through his long-oiled hair, which was still restrained quite perfectly under his beanie. She never wanted to let go, she never wanted to stop tasting Rowan Sanders. The boy who tasted like root beer and cigarettes.

 
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     Grace walked on the side of a road that seemed far from the highway. She was exhausted, with the road that nearly beat her legs senseless and numb. She dragged her feet on the sandy shoulder of the road and finally found the strength to stop her slow and shaky walk, at the sight of an old gypsy style caravan. It slowly drove beside her and stopped. A uniquely dressed man, named Reynolds, was in the driver’s seat. His jacket seemed to fear any loss of unique fabric, as it patched every kind of fabric all together to make one. Reynolds unrolled the passenger side window and asked in his cockney accent, “do you need help?”

       Grace replied quick yet breathless, “yes, do you mind?” Grace was barely able to make proper judgments about getting in a car with a mysteriously dressed stranger; but she was desperate.

     “Come on in,” Reynolds said. The back of the wagon’s double door’s swung open like magic. Grace walked to the back of the caravan. It was filled with oodles of trinkets and fabrics, cages and furniture, and sitting on a couch comfortably and dressed immaculately, was Telly Everheart. She smiled at Grace and asked, “are you okay?”