He thinks of her still, I know. He still keeps her photo in his wallet. She's beautiful, dark hair, dark eyes, small and tough. I think we look a little bit alike, somewhere around the eyes and maybe in the mouth. I wonder often if that small similarity is why he chose me. I can never be as tough as her, and it isnt' my way to be dominating, as she was. During the day he's mine though and into the night, when we make love, but when he dreams, he belongs to her still. In his sleep, he whispers her name.

Letty.

He makes me no promises, and therefore breaks none. I know he cares, on some level, but words of love don't come easily for him. He loved her though, its there, in his voice, while he dreams. She was tough, strong and cars were in her blood. I go with him when he races, but I can't join him, the way she did. My blood sings when I'm riding with him and he uses NOS, shooting us across the barren land in a rush of hot wind, but I could never drive that way. I'm not her.

Dominic.

I love him, but I'll never tell him so. During the day, he's mine, to touch, to kiss, to laugh with. At night, he's mine to make love to, to hold, to press against his chest and breathe in his scent. But once he falls asleep, he's gone, in another time, another place. He's with her still, living another life, one I have no part in. In his dreams, he still belongs to her.