Wing Mirrors Off of Cadillacs

3. Whelve

(v.) to bury something deep, to hide

~ This is a shorter chapter which I originally didn't intend to post yet, but I want to start delving into the darker side of the story. And it definitely gets darker throughout.
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The morning light shone through the blackout blinds in his window, casting patterns on the ceiling. Alex laid in bed, leaning up against the headboard. Cigarette in mouth, wearing nothing but tight boxers. His mind was drowning in the waters of thoughts of that sassy waitress.

Meaner

Than the sea

"Fuck me. What a mouth on her," he said to himself, a smile playing on his lips. But he loved that about her.

She's the only one

I am afraid of

He knew there was more than meets the eye. People often hide behind a mask of anger and bitterness because they are hiding their hurt and fear from others. Or they are hiding it from themselves. And what he saw was a woman who had much to hide.

Wiser

Than the trees

He finished his Marlboro and dropped the butt into the ashtray on his nightstand. He got up and walked into the bathroom, removing his underwear. He removed the silver ring from his little finger. He fumbled it his hand, staring at the two words engraved on it. He didn't understand why he still wore it. But in a way, he did.

She's the only one

I ever dream of

Turning on the shower, he stepped in. The sensations of the hot water running down his back melted his tense muscles, sore from hard work.

Meaner

She's the one

His hair was soaked. Water dripped from his beard and cascaded down his chest. He grabbed a bar of soap, lathering his body. An image of Joan surfaced in his mind again.

I wonder how she looks under that uniform, he thought. He tried to imagine. For a moment it felt as though she was there with him under that shower. He pictured himself caressing her wet body, the electrifying sensation of her hard nipples rubbing against his palms. His fingers between her folds. His tongue tasting her. Feeling himself surrounded by her walls. He groaned in hungry frustration as he pressed his forehead hard against the shower tiles.

Wiser

She's the one

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On her way home from work, she took the long way; she felt like going for a drive. She thought of Alex. No matter how hard she tried, she found she had no control of her mind when it came to him, and she had only met him twice.

Oddly, there seemed something – sweet about him. Kind even, despite his annoying behavior at the diner, his smug demeanor and cocky smirk. But all she knew was his name...and what he did for a living. Who am I kidding? She thought. He's not interested in me. Just another torture method to make my life hell. I'm nothing. Nobody.

The California palm trees swayed by. Joan admired them. She sometimes wished she was a tree. Alive but carefree. Tall and strong.

At the stop light, she noticed a teenaged couple on a sidewalk in the distance. They appeared to be arguing. Unexpectedly, the young man struck the girl and she cowered away from him, cupping her cheek. As if in apology, he reached out in an embrace to which she barely reciprocated. She was crying, mascara running down her face, a welt reddening on her cheek.

Joan had been so distracted she didn't realize the light had been green for several seconds. Cars angrily honking behind grabbed her attention. She pressed down on the gas pedal. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel hard like a vice, her knuckles turned white.

That was when the flashbacks started again.