tampax

-08

❝I get filthy when that liquor get into me.❞

- Beyonce, Drunk In Love

 ✦

PART ONE

"Would you mind getting me a tampon?"

And for a moment, a moment bearing the meticulous definition of brief, Jack's breathing pattern befouls, and his pupils shrivel until their size equals that of a speck of dust, and his face quirks until the tip of his mouth is tickling the exterior skin of his nostril.

A tampon? He failed to cast his mind back to the last mishap in which he found himself having to use that word. He failed to remember what the hell it was. A tampon? As in a tampon? Confusion enthralls him, as scratches the hook of his head in intense thought-

"Girl, I don't mean to be, hm," she pauses her ramble, releasing a gut-wrenching groan, before gripping the seat plastered to her behind, and continuing, "if you don't have one, could you just ask Molly at the bar? She always has a bunch-"

And for some reason, her choice of words provokes a meaningless simper to appear across the lower half of Jack's face, "I'm not a girl, girl."

On the other side of the door, Sahar's jaw drops. It sags low, with an imperceptible swing, and her pearly whites threaten to slip-and-slide over her glistening bottom lip.

"And by that, you mean you're, like, an alien, right? Don't aliens wear tampons too? Oh, who am I kidding, of course aliens don't wear tampons. Do you have a pad then?" Sahar prattles, hope and alcohol clouding all the smartness living in the back of her head-

Somewhere.

"Nope, sorry to disappoint you, I'm a guy,"Jack's simper transforms to a grin, insensibly amused at his afresh situation. Sahar's nose crinkles as her patience wears thin and her stomach begins a game of WWE with her womb.

"Come on! If you're a guy, shouldn't you at least carry some pads for your wife? Dude, I'm dying here! I get she might not want you sharing her necessities, trust, I wouldn't either, but this isn't how I planned on meeting my end!" Sahar raises her voice, and Jack swears he can almost hear tears leaping from her lower lid and racing down her freckled cheeks.

At the sound of the door opening behind him, Jack whips around, his face already burning with embarrassment before spotting an identity. His heart rate abates as he dubs the familiar visage as Sam Wilkinson, who's expression holds nothing but stupefaction.

"What the fuck are you doing in here-?"

"Is that another fucking alien? This is a girls' toilet! Go shit outside or something! I need a pad!" Sahar bawls, followed by an ear-splitting exclamation. Sam's eyebrows furrow at Sahar's words, as he struggles to find the sense in them.

"What the hell?" he murmurs, inching towards Jack's side, who only shrugs. They both stare down the door, as if their gazes may just be strong enough to knock it down. Sahar cringes as the two shadows patterning the floor blur and double.

"Dude, do you have a... a t-tampon?" she struggles to assemble a structured sentence as her alcohol consumption wrestles for her mind's dominance. Jack looks to Sam, who looks to Jack, as they consider how they could be of any assistance.

And just as Jack convinces himself it's time for the both of them to exit as if they hadn't seen nor heard anything, Sam's eyes light up in realization as he begins digging his hand into the back pocket of his sweatpants, with unintended aggression.

Jack's eyes light up, once he catches sight of the white, blue-spotted wrapping engulfed in Sam's palm. "It was Stassie's." He recognizes it immediately to be their momentarily prized possession. A tampon. Jack snatches the flimsy item from Sam's grip, stepping towards the trembling door.

"We found a tampon," he mutters, before descending to his knees, and placing his hand beneath the door, anticipating what his infatuation would do next. Sahar sends a heartfelt cry of thanks to God and her saviors, reaching towards Jack's wavering hand.

Just at the momentary contact between them, they both felt bolts of adrenaline shoot through them. Jack leaps back, and Sahar's shoulders jump, straining her neck. Sam and Jack wait, as they listen to Sahar's struggle with the tampon. 

Within a minute, the flush of a toilet and the muffle of a zip fill their ears, before the toilet door swings open, leaving them no time to brace themselves for the beauty on the other side. As their wide eyes meet her drooping ones, a smirk slithers across Sam's features, and-

An anxious grin, across Jack's.

Sahar looks the two obliging intruders up and down, her eyes taking an extra minute on the brunette. She was drunk enough to openly compliment his looks, but sober enough to filter her words; there were so many inappropriate phrases she could use to declare his mighty beauty.

"You're really hot." As soon as the words absentmindedly slip from her lips, Sam releases a hot laugh, and Jack's cheeks dim a bloody red. Sahar smiles a sloppy smile in Jack's direction, flicking her wrist in a messy wave. She stretches her arm fourth, still grinning.

"I'm Sahar, thank you for the tampon," she slurs, casually, waiting for his hand's acceptance. Jack hesitantly slips his hand into hers, ignoring how perfectly it fit, how loud his heart was thumping, how lifted he felt at the simple proximity between them.

"He's Jack," Sam intercepts, realizing how unarguably dazed his friend was, "and I'm Sam." Sahar crosses her free hand over her engaged one, reaching for Sam's hand, which punctually entwines with hers. She releases their palms, turning back to the mess she'd made on the floor.

She bends, gathering her belongings and stuffing them back into the depths of her bag, in no organized manner. Jack doesn't bother to shield his eyes as they trail down to the exposed skin at the lows of her back. With the curves above her hip unintentionally displayed, he couldn't help but admire with lust.

"Jack," Sam hisses playfully, nudging his friend. Jack reluctantly gazes away, locking eyes with Sam. "I think you should drive her home." Jack laughs lowly at the preposterous thought of driving with a stranger. No amount of alcohol could convince him to do so.

"Uh, yeah, no," he grumbles, the smirk not shifting from his face, "I don't know where she lives, or who she is. And she probably won't want to get into a car with a stranger."

"Just ask her for her address, she's so drunk she won't even notice who she's getting into the car with. She can't drive, she'll crash. You don't want to be responsible for that, do you?" Sam whispers, with a teasing tone. Jack's eyes roll, knowing his friend is entirely correct.

Sahar rises, dusting away the grime she'd collected from the bathroom's floor, gazing at the two before her. She steps forward, the alcohol tickling her knees and teasing her strength. She stumbles, but Jack's arms are already by her side, ready to catch her before she falls.

"Are you good?" He mutters, concern clouding his eyesight, as he checks over Sahar. She nods, looking up at him. Although his eyes were dark, Sahar saw nothing but stars. The longer she stared, the brighter they seemed to sparkle. She was so intrigued, she failed to notice Sam slip from the room.

"I-I'm fine," Sahar sighs a shaky sigh, stepping away from Jack's supporting arms. He stares her down in admiration, looking for the right words.

"Uh," he stutters, "how are you- you know, 'cause you're, like, pretty, uh, wasted- not that you, like, look it or- um... do you need a lift?"

Tampax

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