Shirley and Sandra sat together on the couch in their new spacious room. They had saved up a few months prior to snatch up the open listing for a tiny house in a small Highland neighborhood. They would have never imagined sharing a house together, and would have preferred it being under more favorable circumstances.
They have been watching a new channel called "MTV" for a few hours, and it has quickly become their favorite. They had rested their legs on the small wooden coffee table in front of the television.
It felt domestic sharing a quiet moment together, like how it should have been with Shirley's parents in her childhood. There were little nostalgic memories she harbored of that period in her life, and she is now focused on building a new life that did not have them in the equation.
Sandra reached for the opened potato chip bag on the table and took generous bites. They both had gained increased appetites since they had discovered their pregnancies, so they had snacked throughout the day.
Shirley reached for her own bag, but hesitated. An invisible force prevented her from eating, and she suddenly felt insecure. The dark recesses of her mind were reprimanding her because of the follies of her human body.
Don't take another bite, you'll get fat, they chanted. She abandoned any logic and caved into her thoughts, slumping back into the couch. The scolding did not cease unfortunately, so she resigned to watching the next music video.
Thankfully, Sandra did not see her internal struggle, that meant less conversation on her problems. Why bother talking things out when it's easier to never reveal your weaknesses. She did that to all the men around her, Sandra was no different.
No amount of trust would peel away the layers that made Shirley the way she was, and it would stay that way. She crossed her legs and clutched her stomach, which had gained a noticeable hump on her otherwise lithe body.
She had heard that expecting mothers listened for their childrens' heartbeats, but that was not her intent. The little bastard was kicking, and it had been a nuisance to her for the past few days.
She groaned softly and shifted on the couch cushions in a vain attempt to stop the discomfort. She accidentally bumped into Sandra whilst situating herself, and she gave her a worried look. Her widened doe eyes made Shirley's stomach churn.
"What's goin' on hun? You look terrible." Sandra set down her chip bag and licked the powdery flavoring off her fingers. Shirley did not have the willpower to speak, she returned a slightly pitiful stare at her. She still felt the incessant brat kicking, as if it were trying to escape its fleshy prison.
She nearly doubled over from the increasing pain in her lower abdomen, and she felt Sandra snake her arms around her shoulders. "Want me to getcha some meds?" Sandra asked gently, squeezing her arms around Shirley.
Shirley stifled a whimper and refused to look at her housemate, looking down at her feet and focusing her mind away from the discomfort. Sandra took that as a response, and quickly left the living room to fetch some painkillers from the kitchen.
Swinging open the cabinet, she reached her hand inside to retrieve the godsend of pain relief. She also went to the fridge nearby and snagged an armful of beers. Crudely closing the fridge with her leg, she hobbled back to the couch, setting down the drinks and medicine bottle.
Shirley was still folded over with arms wrapped around her waist. She recognized the metallic clank of cheap beer and noticed that her meds were directly in front of her.
She gingerly took the medicine bottle and snapped open the cap, shaking it to get two small capsules. Lifting the tab on one of the beers, she threw the pills in her mouth and gulped down half the drink.
The malty, slightly bitter, aftertaste stayed fresh in her mouth, so she stole a handful of Sandra's chips to neutralize it. Shirley knew that she would regret it, but her instincts trumped her irrational mind.
She turned her head over to her couch companion, who uncharacteristically didn't complain nor even acknowledged the crime of stealing her precious food. Shirley was debating if she should feel more anxious or not.
To distract herself, she took another swig of her cold beer, which had accumulated condensation. The tv had just transitioned to another music video, starring Pat Benatar, in one of her recent songs for the new decade.
She fancied the concept of having music videos to some of her favorite artists along with new billboard charters, it gave the music more meaning. It also gave an image on what the original artist (or artists) intended on with their music.
Despite sitting only a foot or so away from Sandra, she felt oceans apart from her touch. She wished she could swallow her pride and take action to get closer to her, but she stayed, anchored in her spot.
She desired attention from others, and sought validation from those she deemed worthy of her presence. She never received adequate attention from her parents, as it was primarily discipline or corporal punishment, and had found it hard to make friends in her adolescence.
All this boiled down to her dependence on Sandra, a fickle thing. There have been many situations in which she felt she could leave her for someone richer by selling her body, but what little conscience she had coerced her to stay.
In the end, she gained money, protection, and emotional support from her, far more valuable than ego or an unfaithful man.
Roused from her thoughts by the television, she took a glance at Sandra, who had taken her mind hostage since her pregnancy was revealed. Wordlessly, she inched closer to her, enough that she could feel the radiating body heat, but with sufficient distance that she could move away if she was uncomfortable.
Sandra felt Shirley moving towards her, and she felt a warm sensation bloom in her chest. Shirley in turn felt her eyelids droop, fussing about her feelings does tire one out.
She leaned into Sandra more, her large forearm cushioning her head. She would have nuzzled if she were an animal, it was far more comfortable than resting on the hard couch end.
The medicine had taken into effect, Shirely's entire body felt airy and hollow. She no longer had the jabbing pains near her abdomen, nor had any desire to dwell on anxieties. It was blissful, a feeling she had been starved of for many years.
Splotches of black dotted her vision and the last thing she felt was her head lolling forward. Sandra saw her lurch forward and caught her by her hunched shoulders.
Without a second to spare, she gently leaned back on the couch, taking Shirely with her. She knew she would not awaken from this interaction, when she took meds she was out cold.
She felt her stir, mumbling something incoherent. To Sandra, being this close and intimate with Shirley felt otherworldly, unreal even. Every breath and every small movement she made on her felt ethereal.
In the position she was in, with Shirley's whole weight on her chest and stomach and limbs sprawled and hanging off the couch, she would not be able to escape for several hours. Tangled up in a ball of limbs, a fate that she would fantasize about.
Sandra was also just as sexual if not sometimes more so than her friend, but she was privy to the soft moments. She soaked in all the times she had the privilege to hold or be physically close with Shirley, and would keep those memories cherished.
She hugged Shirley closer so her cheek was supported by her chest, and rubbed random patterns along her spiny back.
It was just now that her condition finally dawned on her, it made her shiver and her blood ran cold. She had been neglecting herself, by not eating or taking the doctor's advice.
Granted, she didn't care two hoots about whatever a medical professional suggested, they drained money after all, which was best spent on food and beer. But she had known that Shirley was obsessed with her figure, and the pregnancy bump had driven her mad.
She would often forgo meals to reside in her room upstairs or sit by the couch, and when she went to work she vehemently refused any snacks that Sandra offered.
Her self-destruction and erratic nature were a boiling pot for disaster, especially when under great stress. Sandra sighed and continued to rub her back, this would have to be a discussion for another day.
She resigned to delicately shift her legs beneath Shirley's and grabbed a pillow behind her. The couch was not so accommodating to her height, as ankles hung off the opposite side. Shirley, who was only slightly shorter, had her limbs hang limply onto one side.
The sounds emanating from the tv faded into a dull buzz, and her sluggish mind was fading into the realm of the unconscious.
Pressure. A steady and firm pressure was what stirred Shirley from her restful slumber. Her consciousness was a bit slow to come into fruition, the medicine and beer concoction was a recipe for disaster when it came to her sleep schedule and general wellbeing.
Her head felt like it was swimming in a thick membrane, struggling to wriggle itself out to the clearer surface. She had redirected herself to the ever present grip on her back and arms, and it would not falter when she wished to move herself.
She panicked, eyes wildly searching the room for any form of escape. From the natural warmth and soft texture, she deduced that Sandra had held her in her sleep. Her body relaxed, and she stayed in place before she had a sudden urge to vomit. She squirmed, trying to get out of Sandra's arms, but Sandra was not letting go.
She vomited all over one of the armrests in defeat, waking up Sandra.
Sandra screamed, ruggedly throwing Shirley off of her and tripping on her own feet. She narrowly missed the pool of vomit that dripped from the couch. Shirley had barely recovered, her body trembling and much colder with being exposed in only thin clothes.
"Shirls, what the FUCK?"
Her shrill voice pierced her sensitive hearing, Shirley recoiled from her outburst. Sandra was fuming, her face in a beastly scowl and her cheeks red. She stomped out from the living room and into the bathroom, muttering obscenities under her breath.
Shirley was in earshot of Sandra, the cluttering and rushing for cleaning supplies evident from across the hallway. After a little under a minute, she returned with an assorted set of sprays, towels, and carpet cleaners.
Sandra was not the housekeeper type, not in the slightest. If they had the funds, she would have called a cleaning lady in a heartbeat. But when things got unbearably disgusting, she was often the one tasked to get down and dirty.
She wiped the initial vomit off the armrest and threw it in a garbage bag, then sprayed the area and vigorously scrubbed. Shirley, still in shock, sat on the other side of the couch and pitifully watched her labor.
Eventually, Sandra tied up the bag and dragged it behind, going out the front door to the garbage can. In those silent seconds, completely alone, tears welled up in Shirley's bloodshot eyes.
She was too tired to bother holding them, so they streamed down her freckled face. Sandra announced her return with a loud slam, locking the door frustratedly.
In an instant, Shirley hid her face, hoping to cling onto the last shred of dignity she possessed. She gripped her shorts with feeble fingers, stabilizing herself in some way without resorting to destructive practices.
She could feel the falling footsteps coming closer to where she sat, she cringed thinking about how she would react to her helplessness. Sandra got comfortable in the dent she created on one of the cushions, a physical cue that it was her spot to claim.
Unfortunately for Shirley, her sniffles were just audible enough for Sandra to notice. She patted Shirley's back gently, the quiet sobs racked her trembling body.
She was about to shield her eyes with her hands, but Sandra graciously wiped her cheeks with a tissue.
"You don't gotta tell me notin'," She took a deep breath, dropping her hand from her back. "But I would help me to know what's got you all upset." Her voice was calm and leveled.
Shirley was hesitant, her throat sore from clenching. She shook her head, her pale gold hair swaying along with her motion. The long waves made her resemble a willow tree.
More tears slipped from her eyes. "I- I don't know." Her voice wavered, her emotional instability getting the best of her. "I've been feeling, so, so, dreadful."
She snorted up mucus that dripped from her nose, using her forearm to wipe away tears. She figured that purely from the sounds she made, she looked impresentable.
Sandra stood up and lumbered over to the counter, Shirley leaning forward to peer at what she was getting. She brought the item back and layed it carefully on the coffee table.
It was an expensive red wine glass, fashioned with a velvety ribbon tied in a bow. Shirley's mind reasoned that it was the kind of wine reserved for anniversaries or elaborate celebrations, and was most likely stolen.
Popping the tightly sealed cork with a bottle opener, Sandra poured a glass for herself and her friend. She raised her wine glass, Shirley following suit. "Bottoms up!" Sandra proclaimed, taking heavy gulps of her drink.
Shirley watched her briefly, then took small sips of hers. She wanted to savor the pricey taste of the wine. Keeping it in her mouth for a moment, she began swirling her tongue to better get the chocolate notes.
She would not mind having another glass or two. It tasted what it was worth, she too could have a refined palette like the hoity-toity upper class she so envied.
A few drinks later, the women felt the onset of drunkenness. Their mannerisms were exaggerated, their words slurred out their lips. The room felt fuzzy and strange, but thanks to their dulled senses, they did not notice.
They were on the couch, laughing and sharing random anecdotes of their highschool years. Sandra poured another glass for herself, but her hand slipped and it fell on the carpet. "God damnit." she growled.
Shirley saw her struggle with picking up her glass and tapped her shoulder. She gave Sandra her last bit of wine, which she chugged down in nearly a second.
"A 'thank you" would've been nice." Shirley said, her eyes darkened. Sandra saw her expression, and the tension increased because she was not sure if Shirley was being playful or not.
Cupping the glass gently in her hands, Sandra stared at its center, mesmerized by it. "You wanna know why I got this wine?" She spoke in an unusually sensitive way. She stroked the glass with her thumb, not looking away from it.
"Because you like alcohol? What other reason does there gotta be?" Shirley raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She leaned slightly to see Sandra's face, but it was unreadable. She had no clue what gears were turning and why.
She heard Sandra swallow her saliva, "I- uh." she swallowed again. "I got it, 'cus you are important. And someone like you deserves something like this." Shirley didn't understand, it was like she was speaking an ancient tongue.
She decided to press on, with morbid curiosity. "Important how? Like what you tryin' ta say?" She saw the glass that Sandra held so dearly shake in her hand slightly. Sandra inhaled deeply, breathing out through her nose. Her face had gotten paler, so her blush was blatantly apparent.
Shirley didn't know what to do, so she resigned to stay on the couch and stare worriedly. "You are everything to me." Sandra said in a near whisper, she continued before Shirley could interject. "You are the reason I am happy in the morning, and why I am able to sleep at night."
She suddenly grabbed Shirley's shoulders, and they were positioned so that neither one could avoid each other's sight. "I love you with all my heart, Shirley Beavis."
Shirley was paralyzed in temporary shock. If her mind were any better, she would have processed what she was confessing a hell of a lot faster. The realization only hit her when she felt a pair of cold lips crash against hers.
She shoved Sandra off, who fell pathetically on the armrest. The only sounds in the room were their labored breaths. Shirley shakily stood up, clutching the couch for support. She knew her face was tomato red, which made her chest feel heavier and her mood soured.
"What in the FUCK, did you do?" She shrieked, which made Sandra flinch at her ferocity. Anger boiled within Sandra, who didn't think when she responded. "I said I fucking love you! God you can be such a bitch though."
Shirley swayed, but still stood with the adrenaline she now felt coursing through her veins. "Don't FUCK with me Sandra." She stabbed an accusatory finger in her chest for emphasis. "I know you don't mean it. I know you don't."
Sandra only got angrier. The one she loved, who she had confessed to so genuinely, who she gave everything to, rejected her in what she only imagined in her worst nightmares. Now here she stood, with disappointment and sadness at her feelings for her.
"This ain't some crush Shirls, I-I've been thinkin 'bout it longer than you-" Shirley grabbed the glass from her hand and threw it on the table, which shattered on contact. "Stop talking! Nothing you say can make this ANY better!"
Tears were flowing from her face like waterfalls, her dam finally broke. She glared at Sandra so hard that she might as well have been boring holes into her skull. She collapsed on the couch, heaving and failing to hold in horrendous sobs.
Sandra languidly gets up, refusing to look Shirley in the eye. She grabs the bottle of wine and storms off to the front door, breaking the bottle on the wall. She leaned on the door to calm herself, and dropped what little left was of the bottle.
She stumbled out and slammed the door behind her, void of any last words or locking the door.
The tears eventually stopped, but so did everything else. The tv was off, there was no motion in the house, just an eerie stillness. Maybe that's what I deserve, to be alone, to live alone. Shirley thought, shrinking into the couch.
Her drunken stupor caused her to feel very tired, and the comfort of the couch was not helping her predicament. She guessed that Sandra went off to her dead-end job as a night shift janitor, it was dark outside.
Succumbing to her fate, she closed her eyes and shifted to have her arms underneath her head, supporting it. Hopefully she could sleep off whatever chaotic event this was. Although, she did wish that someone was holding her while she napped.
Her dreamless sleep was woken by a stabbing pain. It radiated throughout her lower body, it was so bad she feared of sitting up. She resorted to curl up further, but the pain worsened. She flopped off the couch and landed on her back, heaving herself up.
Her vision was disordered, and her movements to the phone that hung on the wall were disoriented. She instinctively dialed the emergency line, holding onto the wall for dear life.
She heard the receiver on the other line and hurriedly explained her situation. A few minutes later, she heard the telltale alarm of the ambulance, and her blood pressure increased. She fell to her knees, screaming in agony.
The paramedics rushed to her aid, carrying her to lay her on a stretcher. The sequence of events after that moment were all a blur, the pain being present throughout the ordeal. Many machines were hooked to her on the ride to the hospital, which would have scared her more if not for her fatigued state.
When she awoke, bright hospital lights attacked her senses. The rhythmic beeps from the heart monitor was the first thing she heard. Then came the distant voices of doctors, one by her side, the others congregated across from her.
Breaking out in a sweat, she felt her anxiety claw its way up to bombard her. The nurse next to her was saying something about medicine to her associates, and she thought she heard a familiar name in the midst of it.
She swears that she heard Sandra, and that she was also admitted to the same care unit. She lifted her head from the flat pillow, but the nurse beside her said something about 'laying down'. She couldn't think, couldn't understand what they were saying.
All that occupied the crevices of her mind was Sandra. Until she distinctly felt something cradled in her arms. It was warm, and wriggled like a defenseless creature.
Tilting her head, she saw it. The thing that had been killing her slowly for the past few months. The thing that had been the motivator to buy a house to settle in and find a somewhat stable job.
One of the nurses turned over to Shirley.
"Oh, and by the way, it's a boy." Was all she said before turning back around.
The thing that resembled way too much like a man she once knew, a man she swore to forget. It had his eyes, his face, and God did it have the same, signature hair. It gurgled and held out one of its pudgy hands toward her.
The thing was hers, it shared her blood, and now it will share all the regrets and horrors of her life up to this very moment. She extended a finger to it, and it in return performed its first palmar grasp reflex.
The nurse beside her gave Shirley and the thing wrapped in cloth a wide, comforting smile. She gently rubbed her arm and fixed her pillow. "So, what do you want to name him?"
She was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly forgot to register the basic procedure to do with a new child. She hadn't researched much about childbirth beforehand, but it was common knowledge to name a newborn. Of course, since the child had a preterm birth, it wasn't expected of him to survive past delivery.
She sighed and dropped her hand from the thing that held it.
"Don't give him one."