The Sullivan Sisters

Solitude

"You're spending the night?" Paloma inquired; her tone uneasy. Her dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders as she reattached her bra and quickly pulled an oversized shirt over her head.

"I might. After all, we did have all that wine earlier," teased Sandra. "I don't think it'd be all that safe for me to drive." Her hands deftly snaked their way around Paloma's waist, dragging the other woman down into the sheets in a flash.

Paloma awarded her an awkward chuckle in return. "You didn't have that much to drink." She squirmed her way out of Sandra's firm embrace before standing and motioning for the woman to do the same. "You're good to drive," she affirmed.

Sandra tensed her jaw and eyed the brunette carefully. Once she scouted out Paloma's earnestness, she expunged a heavy sigh, ripping the comforter from her body and standing to her feet in one swift move.

"I don't know why I thought tonight would be any different," sibilated Sandra. "You got what you wanted, right? And now I have to leave?" Her eyes darted to her blouse that somehow made its way onto the bedside table's lamp in the middle of their hasty encounter. She quickly pulled the clothing over her head, getting dressed as posthaste as she could.

Paloma jeered, her arms crossing over her chest. Not bothering to stop Sandra, she studied her incredulously. "I got what I wanted?"

"Yeah, you got what you wanted and now you want me to leave." Sandra flipped her wavy, brown mane over her shoulders and curved her lips into a vicious scowl. "God, you're so selfish you can't give me five minutes after sex, not five minutes so we can just be in each other's presence? Am I that unbearable to you?" She relinquished the bedside table of her car keys, a dry chuckle accompanying the act. "I don't know why I keep doing this."

"Whoa, Sandra, it's not at all like that," Paloma maintained. "You're my—" She sucked in a breath, fighting to ignore Sandra's relentless glower. "We're—" Paloma couldn't summon the right words, so she burned a hole into the floor, instead.

"You can't even say it, can you? Actually, I guess there's nothing to say considering we're nothing."

"Don't make it out like I'm...using you or something," muttered the brunette. Still, her voice lacked far less conviction than either of them hoped. "Do you genuinely think that's what I'm doing?"

"Do you genuinely think that you're not?" Sandra spat back. Once her question was met with silence, she drifted to the bedroom door and with no objections from Paloma. Nevertheless, she couldn't leave yet, not without voicing what had been nagging her for weeks. "I can't help but think things would be different if I were a guy."

She cocked her eyebrow condescendingly when Paloma let out a boisterous laugh.

"Here it is, ladies and gentlemen—the bi card!" The dramatic roll of Sandra's eyes was nowhere near powerful enough to deter Paloma. "Sandra's go-to insult when she can't come up with shit to say!"

The impromptu ring of Paloma's phone lulled both women out of their heated argument. She gladly reached for it—anything to free her of the conversation.

"Is that a guy?" Sandra snarked. "Maybe one you're okay with spending the night and being in an actual relationship with?"

Paloma dismissed her with the absent swat of her hand. "I gotta take this," she mumbled. Typically the woman refrained from picking up unknown calls but she figured whatever awaited her on the other end of the line couldn't be any worse than what Sandra had in store for her.

Bitter grin adorning her lips, Sandra chuckled. "Of course you do. I won't wait up." She was gone in an instant, not giving Paloma an opportunity to stop her, even if she tried.

"Hello?"

Paloma was greeted by a deep voice. "Is this Paloma Sullivan?"

"This is she. Who's this and what's this about?"

"I'm Jonathan Ortiz. I work with Child Protective Services. We have recently been notified that your sister," he paused momentarily, "Alexandria Sullivan—"

"Quinn," Paloma interrupted. Brows knitted together, she listened intently. "We call her—she goes by Quinn."

"Quinn, of course," Jonathan insisted. "She was residing with a 'Perry Sullivan', her uncle, is that correct?"

"Our uncle, yeah."

"Yes, well, she's been removed from his custody due to health issues within the home. The house in which she was residing has currently been deemed unlivable and she nor Mr. Perry Sullivan are allowed on the premises."

Forehead wrinkled in concern, Paloma tangled her fingers through the tail end of her dark locks.

"Also, his guardianship has been revoked in light of these circumstances. We have a place for your sister to sleep tonight but I'm afraid that Quinn will have to be placed into the foster care system unless someone else would be able to provide her with adequate care."

"And that person, t-that can be me?" the woman stammered. "I can do that?"

"We do our best to keep children with their family members, granted that they're capable, and considering you're the only one that fits this criterion...yes. You can do that," Jonathan assured. "You would then, of course, become her sole provider if that's something you're up for?"

The brunette nodded her head with a sense of urgency. "...Yeah, yeah, yes, of course. I mean...I have no other choice, right? She needs me."

Jonathan's response was immediate. "Perfect! Tonight, Quinn will be staying in a home a few miles from where she was previously residing. Also, we have your contact information on file. I can email you the address and you can come and retrieve her, maybe, tomorrow at eight am? We can talk and discuss the arrangements in its entirety then."

"No," was all Paloma could muster out.

"...I'm sorry?"

"Can we meet at my...uncle Perry's house?" The strain on Paloma's tongue could be heard galaxies away. She could only cut her eyes at the familial acknowledgment. Perry was undeserving of that title. "If it's at all possible, I'd like to see the house and what conditions she was living in."

"Well, the home is condemned." Silence ensued on Paloma's end, illustrating her unyielding determination just enough to get Jonathan to fold. "However, if you really want to see it, I suppose arrangements can be made. Eight am tomorrow?"

"I'll be there."