The Sullivan Sisters

The Bed Wasn't Empty

The bed wasn't empty—that was all Paloma could think late that night when the shrill of everyday life wasn't screaming at her or the rest of the world as it did during the day. It wasn't empty, but it was still.

As far back as she could remember, sharing a bed with her sister always resulted in Paloma being covered head to toe in scanty bruises that arose from the innocent—but rather painful—blows Quinn would unknowingly dish out in the midst of her slumber. It was what earned Quinn's limbs the title of 'little but deadly' many years ago. However, it appeared that with time and age, the girl relinquished the title; leaving the other side of the bed quiet and still.

Somehow, Quinn must've breeched Paloma's late-night thoughts because it was then that she sprang up in an abrupt fit with her hair matted in sweat and face twisted up in worry; like someone who'd left the stove unattended in their home and their infant child was trapped inside.

Paloma matched Quinn's position by sitting up straight. Then, her forehead creased heavily in concern. She hadn't heard such ragged breathing since, well, ever. Her eyes were focused enough to pick up on how soaked the girl's shirt was, and her pillow hadn't escaped the saturated treatment.

"You okay?"

Forgetting the brunette's presence entirely, Quinn flinched at Paloma's touch; despite it being gentler than the soft pitter patter of the rain just outside the bedroom window.

Forging a smile that was rich in deceit, she nodded feverishly. A feeble thumbs up accompanied the expression. Paloma knitted her brows together when Quinn planted her feet on the floor, pushing her glasses onto her nose as she rummaged through her bag. After finding a clean shirt, she briefly raised it into the air for her sister to see, then pointed to the door.

"I'm a little warm. Just gonna change my shirt and try to cool down a bit." When Paloma moved to stand, Quinn said, "No need. I'm good. Just stay here."

No more than ten minutes in the bathroom did the trick. Refreshed and cool, Quinn opted to meander into the living room. It was there that she realized Paloma must've had the same thought. The tv's low audio was just loud enough for Quinn to make out the light-hearted banter amongst the fictional characters.

Smiling, she took a seat next to the woman. But not before making sure to leave a decent amount of space between them. "Didn't know you watched this."

Paloma scoffed unapologetically. "The Golden Girls? You kidding? It's my guilty pleasure, that's for sure."

Quinn furrowed deeper into the couch, tossing Paloma a glance before snapping her eyes back to the television. "Same here."

Mindlessly toying with the buttons on the television remote, Paloma examined Quinn from the corner of her eyes. Her skin was far smoother than Paloma's was at her age—somehow void of ghastly pimples and acne. She smirked, seeing that the teenager's features still strongly resembled that of their late mother's. But she had their father's laid-back demeanor when it came time to unwind, that much was apparent.

Paloma only realized she wasn't as cunning as she hoped when Quinn uneasily met her gaze. Paloma looked away—albeit too late. Strained chuckle and all, she managed to get out an apology.

Paloma then asked, "You know what I like to do? Uh..." She scrounged up a sufficient answer faster than she'd anticipated. "Hot cocoa. Yep, between this show and a little chocolate, anyone can make the bachelorette life look rather appealing. What do you say?"

With an eye-roll and a giggle, Quinn stood. "Let's do it."

"So, what do you do for a living?"

Paloma looked up from the two whirlpools of hot chocolate that stared back up at her. After, she relinquished Quinn one of the mugs.

"Well, I..." The brunette handed over a small bag of marshmallows as she searched her thoughts for the right term. "In short, I'm an adult entertainer."

As if on cue, Quinn's mug overflowed with marshmallows at the admission; prompting a hearty laugh out of Paloma who could only find amusement in the girl's lost composure.

Trashing the stray marshmallows that hit the floor, Quinn nodded. "Cool, nice. Yeah. G-good for you."

"Jesus, Quinn." Paloma led them back to the couch, guffawing all the way. "That was a joke. In case you've forgotten, I make those from time to time."

Settling into the couch, Quinn grinned. "I haven't forgotten. But what do you really do? How do you manage the upkeep for this palace?"

Paloma snorted a laugh. "It's hardly a 'palace'."

"It is in my book."

"I'm a writer," the elder Sullivan resolved. "Over at Ultimate You Magazine. U-You for short."

"The fitness magazine?"

Paloma's lips curved into a smile. "You know it?"

"Seen it around, yeah. It's gotten pretty popular in this city." Quinn smirked. "Had I known you were one of their writers, I would've thrown your name around. See if I couldn't squeeze out a few favors."

Frivolously, Paloma rolled her eyes. "Anyway, my expertise is all things sex. Health, trends, advice, positions—"

"Yeah." Quinn tittered. "I think I get it."

Paloma beamed. "Which means I technically am an adult entertainer."

"I wouldn't broadcast it like that if I were you."

Stifling their laughter, they each contently sipped away at their chocolate treat. Paloma didn't let the television's audio take over the quiet of the night for too long. Thoughtlessly scratching away at her mug's chipped paint, she looked at the girl incredulously.

"About earlier..." She treaded lightly. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

"Just a bad dream."

"Figured." In spite of her nod, the brunette wouldn't accept the response at face value. "Seemed like it was pretty rough on you, though. Is that something that happens a lot?"

Quinn's eyes drifted away from the screen, but they still made a point not to meet her sister's. "Uh, yeah. Sometimes. It just takes me a few minutes to get situated but once I do, everything's fine. So, no worries."

Paloma leaned forward, setting her mug on the coffee table and breaching Quinn's peripheral view. "What do you dream about?"

"You know, I really don't wanna get into it, so can we please, just..." Quinn motioned towards the television then surrendered it her full attention before Paloma could object.

Hesitantly, Paloma complied. Eyes fixed on the screen, she dared to reach out, giving Quinn's shoulder a fleeting yet benevolent squeeze—a gesture the teenager met with acquiescence.