Wing Mirrors Off of Cadillacs

5. Mnesic

(adj.) pertaining to memory

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The scent of sweat, vanilla and warm skin filled his nostrils, her taste strong on his tongue. His fingers were interlaced with hers as he pinned her down on the sheets, ferociously thrusting in and out of her, her legs wrapped around his waist. She moaned out his name repeatedly, which drove him wilder. She let the word 'daddy' slip out...sending him completely over the edge.

"Joan," he breathily groaned as he bent down to kiss her, feeling his tongue connect with hers, her mouth hungrily greeting him. She moved her hands which were resting on his shoulder blades, further down and grabbed onto his cheeks, pulling him deeper into her as much as she could. She dug her nails into his skin, he felt the burn of scratches on his back. His sweaty hair dangled in her face.

Alex was awakened with a start as his phone rang. Tousled hair and moist with sweat he sat up and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. He answered.

"Hey Al, sorry to wake you, I know you it's your day off but can you come to the shop like...right now? Jules had an emergency today."

Alex put the phone down for a second, sighing then put his mouth back to the receiver. "Sure, I'll be there soon as I can."

"Thanks mate," and he hung up. He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to gather himself for a moment. He rubbed his beard glistening with sweat. A few beads of sweat rolled down his bare chest, his chain gleamed as a sunbeam from the window hit it. He looked down at his boxers. Fuck, he thought.

He inhaled deeply. He swore her scent was lingering in his nostrils. It felt so real. He wished it was real. He reached for his pack of Marlboros on the nightstand and pulled a cigarette out, sticking it in between his teeth and lighting it. He inhaled the fumes deeply, hoping the nicotine would calm his fire but it barely helped. "Fuck I gotta go."

He hurriedly stripped nude and walked to his dresser, pulling out some clean boxers. He grabbed his light blue mechanic shirt off a hanger. As he stumbled around across the room pulling on his dark blue slacks he noticed himself in the mirror. Maybe it was just his imagination but he swore he saw red marks up and down his back.

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A small package arrived in the mail. Sat on the sofa, setting her glass of whiskey on the coffee table, Joan slowly opened it. It was from Muriel.

The item inside was shoddily wrapped with birthday giftwrapping. She ripped the paper apart and inside was a silver ring. It was a crow skull wearing a Native American headdress. She put the ring on her right ring finger and it fit perfectly. She admired it for a second then noticed a card left inside the envelope. She opened it.

'Sorry sis, I know your birthday has passed but you know I'm no good with these things. Call me'

Joan rarely had contact with her sister. When they were placed in foster care they were separated. Joan stayed in California while Muriel went away to South Carolina with her foster family, which incidentally was their mother's home state. Throughout the years it was usually Joan who tried to reach out but Muriel was often closed off. She tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, that she was just struggling mentally from the trauma of their childhood.

She pulled her phone out and searched for Muriel in her contacts. Her finger hovered over the green button for a few seconds. She finally pressed it, taking a small deep breath.

She heard the dial tone long enough to think that Muriel wasn't going to answer. On the last ring, someone picked up on the other end.

"Hello?"