Almost Identical

In the dim haze of her dingy apartment, Mandy slumps on the worn couch, a mess of crumpled tissues around her. Her eyes swell red from endless tears, black mascara carving jagged paths down her cheeks. On the coffee table, that damning letter from Mom lies splayed open—spilling the gut-wrenching truth: Aaron, the brother she craved, was just a foster kid, their twisted incestuous romps landing him in chains. The phone shrills, slicing the silence. She swipes at her face, picks up. A mechanical voice drones: 'Collect call from LA County Correctional Facility. Caller: Aaron. Press 1 to accept.' Heart pounding, Mandy inhales sharp and jabs the button. Aaron's voice crackles through, raw and hungry: 'Sis, it's me. Out tomorrow, heading right to you. Gonna fuck my hot little sister raw again.' She clutches the receiver to her heaving chest, whispers fierce, 'Can't wait to take my brother's cock deep.' Cut to Aaron in the taxi's shadowed backseat, gripping a flimsy paper sack of his prison scraps. He stares into the blurring streets, fingers white-knuckled on a creased photo of Mandy's sultry face. Twenty-four months without burying himself in her tight heat—agony. Back at the apartment, Mandy paces the narrow hall like a caged animal, the letter twisting in her sweaty palm. Hide it? Burn it? Doorbell buzzes like a threat. She shoves the paper into her jeans' back pocket, yanks the door wide. Aaron storms in like a storm, seizes her waist, slams her against the peeling wall. Their mouths crash in a brutal, forbidden kiss, tongues warring with desperate fire.