The Sullivan Sisters

Drunk Mind, Sober Heart

The right side of the bed was cold—unusually cold. The type of cold that told Paloma, once she finally gathered the strength to lift her heavy eyelids, that she had slept alone the night before. The feeling of the chilly, ruffled sheets beneath her fingertips is what made her pry her eyes open in the first place but it wasn't until she looked up that she realized that, unlike the previous night, she wasn't alone in the bedroom.

Her gaze settled on the two ibuprofen tablets that rested in the palm of Ava's hand. She sat up and relieved the woman of the medication then tossed the pills into her mouth. She then gave Ava the warmest smile that one with a hangover could conjure up because her girlfriend always seemed to know just what she needed.

Although her perception wasn't as needle-sharp as usual, Paloma sensed Ava's stable demeanor. She figured the woman, unlike herself, must've gotten over her hangover fairly quickly. The brunette was happy for her, though a tad bit jealous. Ava had always been more successful at retaining her alcohol and she was even better at recovering from it.

Paloma's voice was rough and husky when she spoke, "Hey, baby. I'm glad to see that at least one of us beat the hangover before noon."

Ava took in a strained breath and attempted to maintain the peaceful quiet the home had adopted that Sunday evening. Not only that, but she really didn't want to disturb Quinn, who was also in the house, any further than Paloma had the night before. But once she recalled Paloma's slurred declaration, she started to doubt that that could ever be done.

Her nose crinkled in displeasure like it had been doing for nearly the last twenty-four hours when the stench of alcohol, that Paloma still reeked of, seeped its way into her nostrils.

"It's nowhere near noon," Ava deadpanned. "And don't 'hey, baby' me."

Paloma's eyes widened for a second before returning to their natural state. If she had learned anything from dating Ava, it was that the redhead thrived on Paloma's verbal forms of affection, so her striking it down was unusual, to say the least.

"Okay," Paloma drawled. "Hey...honey?" she tried again, testing the waters with a modest laugh.

Ava didn't bite, instead, she rolled her eyes at the brunette's lackadaisical demeanor, Paloma's smirk making it infinitely more difficult to hold back her anger.

Somehow, in spite of the fog that clouded her thoughts, Paloma could tell by Ava's tensed jaw that she wasn't having any of her playful antics. Even so, she still hadn't anticipated the words the redhead said next.

"Do you have a drinking problem?"

"What?" Paloma snorted at the ridiculousness of the curt query. She only dignified the question with a response when she realized Ava expected one. "No. Of course not."

The redhead crossed her arms over her chest and lifted an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah, Ava." She frowned, wondering where the woman was going with the question. "I'm sure." When Ava scoffed, Paloma let out a wry laugh, "Were you hoping I'd say yes?"

"Well, yeah, because honestly, I could accept that more than you choosing to get unbelievably wasted on my birthday. I was supposed to be able to do that and you were supposed to take care of me, not the other way around. But you were only thinking about yourself last night."

Paloma drew her bottom lip into her mouth at the sound of Ava's hissed contention, not knowing what else to say. She couldn't remember much but now that Ava brought up the previous night, she could faintly recall a few events—the drinks being the most memorable. Still, she couldn't exactly surmise why Ava would pose the question. After all, neither of them attend a club entitled Tequila Mockingbird with the intention of staying sober.