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On the eleventh night of her trial separation, Shiv had an awful headache, and she was liable to snap Kendall’s neck if he raved about the benefits of changing scenery for one more fucking minute. Los Angeles lied on the other side of a six-hour flight, but only if she regained the ability to get any substantial, replenishing amount of sleep. Somewhere in the buzzy tension of the last few weeks it slipped away, but her and her brothers’ progress with The Hundred had stolen her attention away from paying it any mind.
Did she harbor any regrets? No, of course not. Work is work; the world wouldn’t stop turning no matter how much she tossed and turned in her hotel bed. Truthfully, all she desired was peace and quiet, but neither of those things would be granted to her, because her little ibuprofen bottle sat lonely on the sink of her hotel bathroom and the typical roar of the tarmac only made her temples throb harder.
Speaking of things which worsened her ailment: the lights strewn about the edges of the tarmac were typically pleasing to look at, but they were– along with the lights beneath the jet’s wings– awfully bothersome.
All that combined was almost enough to drown out Kendall’s hyped ramblings (to an audience of just two, neither of which were listening), but Shiv couldn’t ever be so fortunate. Nothing Kendall said in particular pushed her to snap, she just got fucking fed up.
“Holy shit,” she seethed under her breath. Then, louder than she would’ve preferred in order to be heard above the deafening engines, and with eyes fixed wide: “We’ve all been to the fucking Alps! We get the point, it’s nice there!”
Kendall momentarily paused in offense. “Well, no, I was just saying that the altitude–”
“Is not that fucking high!” Shiv gathered in a deep breath and curled up her fingers, highly grateful that they were now approaching the steps up to the jet. “If you think the thinner air fucking– fixes your aura or restores your karma, or whatever, fine. I don’t know all the Buddhist shit, and that’s the wrong mountain range, but fine. We’re going to L.A., though, so what the fuck is your point?”
“Wow, Shiv,” Roman put his hands on his hips and winced loudly. “Keep it up with that attitude and your ass is not reaching Nirvana.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Shiv scoffed, quickening her pace to be the first up the steps to the plane.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Kendall called, following suit.
Shiv didn’t bother to answer immediately; first she took a seat and sighed. For a moment she closed her eyes, savoring how the dim light within the jet alleviated the pressure behind her eyes. But then a third set of footsteps was heard, and a tiny distance away some other seat fell victim to the way Roman carelessly threw his weight around.
“My head just hurts,” she finally said, leaning to the window and squeezing her eyes shut. “I had some stuff for it, but– whatever. I couldn’t get that even if I wanted to.”
“Well, is it not with your luggage?”
“No, ‘cause I took something when I woke up this morning,” Shiv tried and failed to open her eyes, and decided to abandon the effort entirely, “which was hours ago, so I forgot to grab it when I checked out, so just– let me sleep.”
“…Checked out?” Kendall asked, “What, are you staying at a hotel or something?”
“Uh…” Shiv drew out the word and drew in a breath, seeking to calm any little nerves and dispel any little worries from her voice. Only then did she open her eyes. “Uh, yeah. I am.”
Roman snickered. “About time your landlord evicted you.”
“Give it a rest,” Kendall hissed, his glare almost as sharp.
“Hey, I’m kidding,” Roman hands were thrown up, and his gaze flickered down to the floor, then back up to meet his sister’s eyes. “I’m joking, Siobhan.”
“Yeah, yeah, nothing new,” a sigh escaped Shiv’s lungs, but there was very little irritation in her words. “You’re forgiven if you give me some quiet, ‘kay?”
“Wait– we’re just skipping past that?” Kendall put a hand out (and the two younger siblings habitually exchanged a knowing look). “How long have you been hoteling, Shiv?”
She chuckled in response. “I’ve already said too much.”
(Intently she looked at Roman, hoping he would do her a brotherly favor and follow her lead; provide a similar laugh, even if totally bogus. To her dismay, though, all she got was a contrived half-smile. Because Roman’s a bitch.)
Unfortunately for everyone in the vicinity, Kendall must have been in a pushy mood, because he sat up straighter– and even put his headphones down on a table, practically a universal signal that shit is getting real– just to say: “No, I think you haven’t said quite enough.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I think so. We made a pact the other week.”
“Okay, fuck you, that stupid pact was all you two.”
“But you were there for it,” Roman chimed in, albeit not too loudly.
“Being present isn’t the same thing as participating. Both of you go to hell.”
“Deny it all you want,” said Kendall, “but all we got is us now.”
“Well, what’s there to say?” Shiv splayed out an exasperated hand to her brothers; the elder stared at her, and the younger idly picked at a hangnail. “Tom and I made a decision, and we started a trial separation a few days ago. Are you fucking happy now? Did you get what you wanted out of me?”
Shiv pulled her knees up to her chest and plonked her head onto the window, smiling at the awful silence she flung them all into (together, because they do everything as a trio, now), because fuck them. If they wanted to be bothersome about getting the full truth, they should have had the smallest traces of foresight to consider the possibility it wouldn’t be pretty. That’s their goddamn problem.
To call it the full truth would be a terrible lie by omission though. Full truth be told, half Shiv’s fate was practically laid out across the kitchen counter, just a few glances below the gaze of her husband, and it occurred to her, or maybe just sunk in– Tom very well might not be the last. He might be the first of three husbands, just one man in a long line of unspoken, unofficial fuckbuddies she will keep acquiring and discarding, even as her body inevitably decays; by that time she’ll need pills to stay conscious and yes-men to stay calm, and he won’t even be there to support her. She’ll be out of sight and out of mind. Jesus Christ.
“Well, fuck it, since you won’t,” Roman said, breaking the silence. “How’s it going so far?”
Shiv unfurled from her balled-up state and leaned forward just to look at him. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as ever,” he confirmed, and the irony of that statement was lost on no one, so he added: “No, really, though. How’s it faring for you?”
Shiv crossed her legs. “It’s going fine. I’ve been staying at hotels.”
Roman made a stunningly loud buzzing noise (even going so far as to cup his hands around his mouth as if the sound needed amplifying). Then, wagging his finger, he said, “We already covered that, so… find something else to say.”
“What if that’s all I have to say?”
“Then you better be grateful you’re not on a game show, and I’m not the sexy ass host, because you would’ve just lost, like… twelve thousand dollars just then, if my estimates are correct. Because the network frowns upon lying.”
“I think there’s more to it,” Kendall said, “but you’re fuckin’ allergic to saying how you feel. Or you’ve blocked it all off, like an armadillo or something.”
“I’d rather be an armadillo than an open book,” Shiv leaned forward, pointing her steeled gaze at him.
“Well, you have to be a little bit of an open book to have a decent relationship.”
“You’re the expert on the subject now? Of all people?” Shiv cackled dryly. “Go ahead and lecture me on a decent relationship you have with one person in your life, and anything stolen from a rehab brochure doesn’t count.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Kendall spat, picking up his headphones. Then he muttered, “I try to be fucking nice.”
“Hey, you bitch, fucking yourself is my thing,” Roman said matter-of-factly. “Get your own. Anyways, Shiv, I don’t know if you’ve ever reaped the benefits of ignoring his righteousness and just talking to me instead, but it’s fun. No sob stories necessary.”
Her face remained blank.
But then her focus faltered. “Fine. It’s not a sob story– actually, it’s pretty funny, if you think about it. I think Tom’s been fucking Greg.”
“That fuckin’ celery stick? That– string cheese of a man?” Roman gaped.
“Well, Tom’s been Dad’s plaything since he fucked me,” Shiv shrugged, letting out a chuckle void of joy and full with contempt. “He’s in with the big man now, so he can let himself go all he wants. See if I care. Fuck him.”
“That’s the spirit. Fuck him.”
Shiv drew in a deep breath, waiting for more interrogation to come, but nothing did. It wasn’t a dissatisfying conclusion, necessarily, but what was Roman if not merely a yes-man?
No, fuck that. She didn’t want a yes-man. “Yeah, I mean… when push came to shove, he chose Dad over me. So I don’t want him anyway, ‘cause he never wanted me in the first place. Just the proximity to Dad.”
“Well, who doesn’t, right?” Roman propped up his head on his elbow. “Greg was part of Kendall’s little crusade on behalf of women everywhere, then fucked him, the same way Gerri fucked me and Tom fucked you. You’re not exactly special.”
No, she wasn’t. If no other emotional connection exists, at least all three of them were collectively screwed over. By their parents, their friends, their dick-pic receivers and all. That’s why they were in a plane now, preparing to slay the dragon together– invade his treasure hoard beneath the mountain and solidify him in molten gold– like a suitable fairytale for all ages. At the very least, that thought made her smile.