Ashes

The flame danced in the darkness until it touched the end of her cigarette. Karen drew in a long, slow breath. The tobacco crackled as it burned and smoldered. Releasing her thumb from the lighter, the flame disappeared and the darkness returned. A darkness only broken by the moonlight streaming through the window and the soft glow of her cigarette.

She exhaled. One at a time, Karen tossed her pack of cigarettes, then her lighter, in the general direction of a purse that lay somewhere by the bedroom door.

With her free hand, she caressed her naked stomach.

It still tingled inside.

She felt wonderful.

Content. Satisfied.

A jumble of clothes lay on the old oak dresser at the foot of the bed. A single moonbeam illuminated them like a spotlight. His jeans, her skirt, his boxers, her bra... Each piled around the floral-painted urn sitting in middle of the dresser. Her mother's ashes. And the vase was stoic and cold, just like her mother's stare. For a long moment, Karen studied the urn with her panties draped over it. She had purposefully put them there.

Her gaze swept over to the man lying in bed next to her. Snoring softly. Breathing deeply. Just seeing his muscular silhouette was enough to ignite her passions again. With a smile, Karen sank her head back into the pillow.

What would he say if she reached around and began exploring his body?

Karen took another long drag on her cigarette.

He probably wouldn't say anything.

He'd let her.

She had made love him twice before she finally let him sleep. She could have done it twice more. He couldn't, but that was fine with Karen. It had been so very long since he held her, touched her, tasted her. Making love with him was just as good as she remembered. Still, she wanted to roll him over and take him again, however he wanted it. It had been so long. And she had been so lonely. She decided to let him sleep. Everything was perfect just the way it was.

Since they were children, she had been in love with him. He was hers once, for a while. When it came right down to it, she blamed her mother. He wasn't good enough for her, Mother said. Karen was tired of holding everything inside. This was her life, not her mother's. And she no longer cared what Mother knew, what Mother thought. Mother could do exactly what she was doing right now. Just sit there, watch, and keep her mouth shut.

What would Mother say if she saw them right now, in bed together?

Karen's hand blindly searched the lamp table for an ashtray.

None. Figures.

She leaned her arm over the edge of the bed and with a quick flick of her thumbnail against the cigarette butt, ashes dropped to the floor.

If Mother were still alive, Karen would personally tell her everything, before she heard it from anyone else. She would visit her at nursing home just to see her face when she told her every horrifying detail. Mother would be angry, but Karen would laugh as she told her mother that she purposefully dressed in a short skirt last night. She flirted with him in the bar, until he finally agreed to dance with her. And as they danced, she pressed herself against him and slid his massive hands onto her backside. Then the bedroom. He going down on her and she on him. And riding him in ecstasy for half the night.

Mother would've been so furious. She'd call Karen a whore, a slut, and good for nothing. Then she would clutch her chest. Her mother would grimace in pain, and then.... freedom. The last image in her head would be Karen making love to him. Too bad Mother had already died. Karen wished her story could've been the cause of her heart attack.

Karen almost laughed, when she thought about her sister. Yes. What would Janine say if Karen told her about this?

The end of Karen's cigarette crackled as she drew in another deep breath.

That is assuming she would even speak to Janine again.

Her thumbnail flicked more ashes onto the carpet shrouded in darkness.

If Karen didn't mention who she slept with, her sister would probably congratulate her on finally getting laid after six years. Perhaps she might even stop telling her to grow up, to get over it. But, that wouldn't do. Janine had to know. And as soon as Karen told her who she made love to, she too would be furious. Karen no longer cared. Janine was a bitch and she always would be. Janine didn't care how much Karen still thought about him, still wanted him.

Janine had always been Mother's little angel.

Mother, Janine, they could both go to Hell.

The end of Karen's cigarette hissed as she drew in another deep breath.

Almost done.

She sat up, careful not to wake her lover. Karen slid out of bed, walked to the dresser. She used her panties to wipe the wetness between her thighs and dropped the damp underwear on the floor. Karen took one more long drag on her cigarette. Then she opened Mother's ceramic urn and tossed the smoldering butt inside. Gently, she set the urn's lid on the dresser.

In silence, Karen dressed herself; skirt, bra, and blouse. Then she collected her purse, cigarettes, and lighter. She sat down at the edge of the bed and slipped on her heels. After she stood, she brushed out the wrinkles from her clothing.

Before leaving the bedroom, she had one last task to perform. With one foot, she nudged her panties just under the edge of the bed. Just barely concealed.

Done.

No, he'd never tell anyone they had made love last night. If he did, he'd also have to admit he still loved Karen. Heaven forbid.

Yes, Janine was going to be very upset when she comes home. When she finds Karen's soiled panties under her bed. Proof that he'd been unfaithful. Even then, he'd probably still deny it was Karen. But, when Janine finds the cigarette butt in Mother's ashes, she will know.

She will know.