The Sullivan Sisters

Until

Weekends were the hardest. They were days when Ava had nothing more to do than walk the narrow halls of the hotel, heat tv dinners in the microwave situated above the cheap stove in the kitchen, and lie in bed for endless hours; never getting any actual rest. Those days, the miserably lonesome ones, were the hardest.

Not to say that weekdays were much better. But at least then she had a reason to paint her face with makeup, throw on an expensive dress that coordinated perfectly with an equally exorbitant purse and pair of heels while, not to mention, showing off just enough cleavage to attract wandering eyes.

Head held high, she'd sashay into work as if she were not merely on a runway but owning it; trying her best to convince onlookers that her existence wasn't as empty as it actually was. The goal was to prove to anyone willing to give her the time of day that her life still had meaning. Purpose. And if Paloma happened to be one of those people then, so be it.

But, it was Saturday, and Saturdays didn't call for much presentation-wise. It'd been so long that Ava had nearly forgotten what copious amounts of sugar did to her. Aside from melting away years worth of hard-earned muscle buildup, it always managed to make her groggy and slow.

It was as though her body skipped right over the energetic part and puked her out on the other side. Still, she shoveled bargain brand, sugary cereal into her mouth by the spoonfuls as she mindlessly surfed the few channels the hotel provided.

The knock on her door must've not registered with her for a while because she didn't bother answering until the visitor's knock sounded more like she had the FBI on her doorstep, locked and loaded, ready for a drug bust.

Juggling her cereal in one hand, she pulled her robe together with another, not bothering with it anymore when it fell back open half a second later. Ava took a long look through the peephole. When she finally opened the door, her piss-poor smile transitioned into one fit for a Queen.

"And here I thought technology failed me. You are home. Well, as home as you can get in a dump like this."

"It's not a dump."

Ava frowned at her own defensive response. It was no castle but it was a warm bed and a roof over her head that was void of a binding lease—all of which was more than she could ask for these days.  She grumbled unobtrusively when Quinn slipped past her, not bothering to object.

"How'd you find me?" the mahogany-haired woman asked softly.

Quinn's eyes moseyed across the few features she could make out in what little light the drawn curtains left the room with. Once Ava shut the door, Quinn turned to give her a once-over.

The room was dim, yes, but she could see Ava as clear as day. Her faded, teal robe was faintly stained with milk that was likely souring by the second. The spaghetti-strap t-shirt beneath it suffered the same fate. But, her high-waisted, loose-fitting shorts appeared to have dodged the dairy bullet.

"Well, once you stopped answering my texts a week ago," Quinn emphasized this with a pregnant pause, "I decided to do some detective work and hunt you down. Given that your location is still being shared with me, I figured, deep down, you didn't want me to leave you alone."

In all honesty, Ava had forgotten about technology's mythical wonders. Then again, she figured it might've been for the best considering she wasn't all that sure she would've been able to stop herself from constantly checking up on the brunette's whereabouts in a purely nosey manner; granted that Paloma hadn't been clever enough to hide such private details like she should, of course.

All in all, Ava would've been lying if she said finally having company, especially the girl's, left her ungrateful. Quinn shrugged off her jacket and plopped down on the unmade bed, granting Ava the courtesy of minding her laptop and sprawled out clothing.