That morning 1 month later had been unforgiving to put it lightly. The first sensation for Shirley's groggy mind was a blooming migraine. She felt it claw at her brain through the back of her eyes and stem to the rest of her head, causing it to feel heavy.
The cicada songs that blared from outside were amplified due to her heightened senses, and she regretted opening her eyes. She recoiled her head away from the blinds facing her direction, as she was assaulted by late morning sunlight.
She clutched the cheap cotton pillow with one of her hands and groaned. There was no way she could get up at this moment, the mere idea of sitting up in bed was a herculean task. It would certainly end up with her tipping over or projectile vomiting on the stained carpet floor.
She jumped when she heard Sandra retching and the accompanying sloshing noises from the bathroom. She cringed at the nauseating noises, and if she were in a better state, she would have come in to give her a fresh glass of water. The noises became quieter before the sound of the toilet flushing was heard. Sandra walked in the room, wiping her mouth.
She saw Shirley curled up pitifully on the motel bed, her face deathly pale and an expression of discomfort. Her hand came to rub her back gingerly, and she felt Shirley tense from the sudden contact. Sandra took this as a sign to stop and walked out of the small bedroom to the kitchen.
Shirley had a tight feeling in her chest when Sandra took initiative to stop soothing her, but she was too drained to call out for her. The only thing worse about being hungover than the pulsing headache was how exposed she was, all of her weaknesses and negative emotions on display.
Even if Sandra is the only person she would consider to be a friend, she had never liked the dynamic in their relationship where she tended to her when at her lowest. It only added salt to the wound because it reminded how starved she was of genuine kindness that was not founded in transactions or favors.
Sandra had always been with her, even against her benefit or to her detriment. From when they had met in sophomore year of high school to when they decided to drop college and mess around together, she had never abandoned her. Maybe it's best she leaves me now, I don't want her to hurt as much as me.
The thought came naturally to her, hangovers often made her prone to depressive spirals. She did not have the luxury of forgetting or pushing aside her regrets with the aid of alcohol, only to wallow in them as the negative affirmations assaulted her. It was like being sober meant everything was bubbling to the surface after being tightly sealed with denial.
Shirley jumped when she heard Sandra return from the walk-in kitchen, where she had a tall glass of lukewarm water and a migraine pill. Her towering figure accompanied by the bars of light from the partly opened blinds make her appear as a guardian angel.
Shirley reached a shaky hand out to the glass and Sandra steaded her so she could properly sit up on the bed, which creaked exhaustedly. She brought the glass up to Shirley's mouth and watched her drink it in large gulps, some water spilling from the sides of her face and onto her tank top.
Shirley released a garbled gasp after downing most of her water, wiping her chin with a free hand. After a few seconds of her catching her breath, she grabbed the pill from the nightstand and swallowed it with the meager remaining water in the glass.
"Thank you." She murmured, clutching the sheets of the bed and eyes downcast to her feet. Sandra found it appropriate to speak up, "Want me to heat you up some food? I got leftovers." She decided to not bring up her hangover, feeling it would add tension to Shirley's already vulnerable state.
Shirley opened her mouth, but shut it with a fleshy clap after becoming more self conscious. She felt terrible in making Sandra her designated caretaker, and she did not want to say the wrong words in fear she would be left to fend for herself.
She nodded shyly and Sandra immediately beelined to the kitchen, retrieving the Burger World leftovers from the fridge and shoving it in the microwave. A few seconds of whirring could be heard before being cut off by shrill beeps.
Sandra took the liberty of placing the now soggy fries and burger on a paper plate, and placed a napkin underneath. She walked back into the bedroom and placed the food onto the nightstand, giving an exaggerated bow. "Your food madam." She jokingly twirled an imaginary mustache.
If in a better headspace, Shirley would have chuckled or at least cracked a smile at her performance. She instead rubbed her forehead and attempted to fight off the incoming waves of nausea that plagued her.
Shirley felt added weight to her side of the bed and a hand gently massaging patterns in between her hunched shoulders. Her mind drifted to nostalgic memories, when her and Sandra could be frisky with whomever they wanted.
She remembered not caring when Sandra decided to have short flings with ladies, she was her friend and she wouldn't chastise her like everyone else. Shirley thought of all the times that Sandra paid special attention to her and her needs, and was always considerate of her boundaries.
She never understood what drove her to be so unwaveringly loyal, Shirley was not the best company to be around. Sandra's behavior and affinity for Shirley was quite the enigma, as it was not like she ever had a romantic undertone to her actions.
But in the same vein, she did have an attraction to women, even if it were short spurts of sexual desire. Shirley never felt uncomfortable or scared that Sandra would ever do anything to her though, they were so close that they practically read each other's minds. They were on the same wavelength so to speak.
Shirley had just now registered that Sandra had stopped rubbing her back and had been looking directly in her thoughtful eyes. She had gotten so coiled up in her own thoughts about Sandra that ironically, she forgot about her presence.
Shirley attempted to speak, but Sandra was quicker, "So what's got you all quiet?" Shirely responded by retreating inwards and pulling her knees into her chest. "Nothing, just, about you."
Sandra's expression had morphed into a blend of confusion and curiosity, which prompted her face to flush and wave her hands sporadically. "I meant, like, what our relationship is, you know? Like how could you stick by someone like me?" she elaborated.
Sandra slicked her hair back with her hand and let out a dramatic sigh. "Well, that's one hell of a loaded question." Sandra retrieved a cigarette from the small box in her pocket and lit it.
"To keep it short and sweet, you mean a lot to me." She inhaled through her nose and exhaled a plume of smoke directed away from Shirely. She crossed her legs on the edge of the bed and laid back on the plush comforter.
"And frankly, I've been with you for so long that it would be a waste to leave you now." She took another long breath through her nose with the cigarette in her mouth.
Shirley didn't seem to be satisfied with that answer, and her eyes darkened. Her insecurities came crawling back, and it was evident from her expression and mannerisms. "Oh, I see. I'm just convenient for you and you have no one else to be around."
Shirley grabbed a pillow beside her and squeezed into it, partially hiding her face so that only her eyes were visible. "I'm just sloppy seconds." She mumbled somberly. Sandra heard her voice tremble subtly, even with her mouth covered.
The grip on the pillow became tighter and her wavy hair shielded more of her face from Sandra's pitiful stare. She felt like she was wilting like a neglected flower.
Sandra was at a loss of words at the sight of Shirley unraveling her layers of sadness and self doubt. She noticed that the food was still untouched on the nightstand, a part of her was wondering if she should leave Shirley's side to reheat it once more.
The tension between them at the moment was so thick, it hung in the air around them. Sandra cautiously took the paper plate with leftovers and stood up from the bed.
"I'll put the food back in the fridge. You wanna eat something else?" Sandra asked, hoping Shirley would respond. She knew that instead of dwelling and feeding into her fears, she should redirect Shirely's mind elsewhere to ground her.
Shirley loosened her grip on the pillow and moved some stray hairs obscuring her face. Sandra let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, relieved that Shirley appeared to calm down.
Shirely nodded wordlessly, which prompted Sandra to place the food back in the kitchen and look through the cupboards. She figured she could make her something simple and easy on her recovering stomach.
Back in the bedroom, Shirley had time to marinate on the short conversation she shared with Sandra. There were many loose ends and things that she wished she had said, but she was stopped by the overwhelming fear of losing her best friend, her only friend.
Her thoughts drifted to her encounter with that biker last month. When there was nothing better to do than to rot in bed, she would sometimes think of her sexual encounters the month before.
He was unlike other men she had slept with. Not his inexperience or low charisma, there was something deeper to him she could not pinpoint.
He was an enigma, desperate but patient, reserved but honest, it made her confused as to why a respectful guy like him did not have women flocking to him in droves.
It may be because he wasn't so traditionally masculine, like the ones seen on television and movies, strong physically and openly confident. He also was not the type to dominate or force himself onto anyone, waiting for an opportune moment or allowing the other party to decide.
He was, to Shirley's understanding, a loyal follower rather than a strong leader, which is probably why he had not been with women before. The women at her age preferred men that are protectors and exude a strong aura of dominance.
That man was the missing piece that she had been searching for, the hole in her heart that had been poorly filled with substance abuse or men that never cared.
What am I thinking? He's not "the one." What proper man would screw a chick in a porta potty? Her internal monologue chastised, her face warming up with each progressively intimate thought.
She could still remember his gravelly voice, his unkempt hair, the way he would give a small smile at her compliments, like it was the first time someone had treated him with any level of dignity. It made her insides twist and her muscles tense.
She, even with a tipsy brain and sparse memory, managed to remember all the minute details on his face. Or maybe, an idealized version of them. Her hopes of forgetting the month before and the man in it had been squandered.
She stuffed the pillow she was holding to her face, praying to any merciful god above that she could stop fantasizing about Lionel.
She jumped when she heard the clank of a porcelain plate being set down behind her. Now suddenly self-conscious, she lowered the pillow that was obstructing her view and slowly sat up, the bed's old springs creaking.
Sandra had given her a quaint peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a favorite whenever she had a rough hangover. The bread was lightly toasted and the jelly was oozing from its edges.
Shirley picked up the sandwich with both hands, being sure to lean over the plate so as to not make a sticky mess. Her eyes wavered on the sandwich for a few seconds before switching to Sandra, who was awkwardly standing by the doorway.
"Thank you, sorry for being an ass." Shirley said, taking a generous bite of the sandwich, which had begun to drip jelly onto the vintage plate.
Sandra was about to make a snide remark or sarcastic comeback, but seeing how Shirely rarely apologizes, it made her chest tighten. "Anytime, Shirls." She nodded and stepped into the kitchen, presumably making food for herself.
Shirley observed her surroundings, they've been feeling like shit for a while, so neither of them cared to clean the apartment, they were saving up to buy a less than stellar house up the road anyway.
Sandra soon came back into the room with her lunch, toast that was smothered in American cheese and Burger World onions. Shirley had noticed her weird food preferences for a while now, as she was a notoriously picky eater. Sandra began to eat as she sat down next to Shirley.
The both of them situated themselves in their safe haven. That being, the living room that housed their reliable television. It had lasted them for over a decade, and it had been routine to sit around it to browse through channels.
As Shirley was scrolling through their limited cable networks' lineup, Sandra had a strange feeling in the back of her mind. Something had possessed her to worry about the happenings of last month's flings, and she couldn't shake the feeling that there was a mistake.
"Shirley." Sandra blurted out.
"Hm, yeah?"
"Did you remember to bring condoms when we went ham?"
Shirely was startled by her crude question. Her mouth agape and an expression of embarrassment and disgust. She was almost offended that she would even consider such a thing.
"Uh, well." It was Shirely's turn to be left speechless, her brain scrambling for an appropriate answer. "Why d'you wanna know? It's not like it's our first time or anything?" She noticeably struggled to get the words out.
"Not to scare you, just a question." Sandra said, although it did not quell either of their rising anxieties. Shirley felt a twinge of pain in her lower abdomen, which she had tried to ignore but had become more apparent with her stressed body.
"No I didn't, I was too focused on gettin' high and stuff." She said in a softened tone. Shirley brought her knees to her chest, hoping the discomfort would subside. "Though that don't make me a slut right?"
They exchanged wide-eyed glances for what felt like minutes before Sandra arose from the couch. Her tired limbs cracked and she groaned as if it were a monumental task. She didn't recall feeling so exhausted over doing nothing all day. Her energy was dangerously depleted, like she had gone on another drunken escapade.
Sandra stumbled out of the living room and Shirely heard the jingle of car keys. "Let's go to the pharmacy, Shirls. I feel like I ate rat shit." Sandra called out, her voice rougher than usual. It almost reminded Shirley of when her mom would begrudgingly take her to school in the morning.
Shirley unfolded her legs from her chest and nearly fell off the couch in the process. She felt a foreign jitteriness envelop her body, and had no clue as to why this was happening to her.
They got themselves situated in their car and drove to whatever store near them had pharmaceutical products. Sandra decided on the Maxi Mart that had just opened a few months ago.
They had run through a few lights without getting caught to get there as quickly as possible. The small bell that hung above the glass door greeted them with a ring. Cool air rushed in as soon as they had stepped foot, which was a rarity in the unforgiving heat of summer.
Shirley, for whatever reason, felt compelled to pick up a pair of pregnancy tests along with her desired pain medication. Sandra, however, stocked up on all varieties of savory and sweet snacks, grabbing them off the shelves with animalistic ferocity.
Once they had paid for their items and returned to the motel, Shirley rushed to the bathroom to test herself. After slamming the chipped wooden door, she sloppily unboxed the pregnancy test and sat on the toilet.
The small test in her fingers was a reminder of how disgusting she was. Its outwardly innocent appearance triggered a dark mindset she had struggled to keep hidden. Was this the consequence of her actions, was she doomed to a life of isolation?
After following the directions on the package, she waited impatiently, tapping her food rapidly. Sweat beaded on her head and back, dampening her shirt. She felt a sudden wave of nausea and lifted the seat before she spilled her guts.
The stomach acid scorched her throat and she was left panting above the toilet. Her hands gripped the edges of the seat, afraid she would slip and dive headfirst in her own vomit. There was no one here to comfort her, no one to quell her deepest fears.
Her only form of company was the pregnancy test resting on the sink, and the puddle of sick in the latrine. After flushing, she resumed sitting on top of the seat, hoping time would pass by faster.
Her mind raced, and she felt like she could collapse on the tile floor. She clutched her belly with her arms, and rocked solemnly to soothe herself. The pain was unforgiving, and she began to spiral into neuroticism.
With shaky hands, she grasped the test and braced herself for its results. There was a bright red line that materialized slowly on the small plastic window. And what accompanied it immediately after was the same, haunting line.
She screamed.