Chapter Text
Three knocks on her door this late at night could only really mean one person in the world would be bothering to disturb her. Not like many people looked for her, really - if ever at all - but still, Sharon knows very well that only one acquaintance of hers would seek her out specifically past her presumed bedtime.
“Go away,” she still tries to put on a thicker voice, “I’m trying to sleep.”
“I see your lights are on. I know you’re studying.”
“Well, then I guess you can presume I don’t want to be bothered.”
“Why are you studying on a Sunday, you loser?”
“I don’t have much better to do,” Sharon laments, flicking a page of one of the countless books that lie scattered all across her bed and floor. The person behind the door laughs in sort of a gotcha way. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Let me guess. A party of yours?”
“Not mine!” The voice pretends to be shocked, “If I had hosted a party, you’d have known by now. It’s Ignacio.”
“The guy who tried to kiss you a couple of weeks ago?” Sharon flicks another page, her tone suddenly darker and reprimanding, “The guy you elbowed and broke the nose of?”
“What can I say, he found it hot. And I think tonight is actually him celebrating his nose getting better!”
With a loud sigh, Sharon still hopes somehow inside of her that her friend - by miracle, she still has no idea why they linked and how they managed to stick together this long - will take the hint. “Come on, Shari, you know I never enjoy a party if you’re not there!”
“And you know very well that I never enjoy a party, period,” Sharon gives up and closes the book, moving it from her legs to one side of her. “Please?” the voice pleads. “I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”
Knowing resisting Priscila is a losing game, Sharon makes her way to the door, opening it to find her dark-haired best friend - again, there was never much there to pick from - beaming, her huge grin stretching her cheeks until it reaches her oddly blue-greenish eyes, freckles all around her features like a perfect storm, truly the two words that perfectly described Priscila Ferro. A storm, but a perfect one regardless. At the sight of her smile, Sharon wonders for a moment why she ever bothers fighting hopeless wars.
“Hi,” Priscila says restlessly, hands gripping the doorframe. “Did you run here?” Sharon asks furrowing her eyebrows. “I just don’t wanna miss the fun part.”
“There’s never any fun part of Ignacio’s parties. Just people throwing up or starting fights, or both. Why do you even wanna go?”
“I’m bored,” the brunette moans theatrically, “we haven’t done anything fun this week!”
“Yes, because we had finals-”
“You had finals-”
“We had finals, and only one of us bothered to study.”
“Alright, alright, let me paint you a picture. Let’s say…thirty years from now, you’re sad and all alone in your boring apartment with your boring job and your boring family. What will you remember most fondly? Those college days you spent locked up studying in your room…or the ones you spent partying hard with your best friend Prisci?” Priscila wiggles her eyebrows as if the answer is so easy Sharon doesn’t even have to verbalise it. Throwing her head back, Sharon sighs again in defeat. “Fine. But you said it, you’ll do anything I want. So if I ask you to leave early-”
“Yes!” Priscila leaps from where she’s standing to her friend, hugging her tightly. “You won’t regret it!”
“You don’t need to make a spectacle of every time you ask me to go out, you know.” Sharon fixes her glasses on her nose, before reaching her nearby desk for a hairband to hold steady her unruly blond locks. “I know that, but seeing you pretend to put up a fight never gets old,” Priscila grins again.
“I already feel a headache building up,” Sharon mutters under her breath. “And don’t paint such depressing pictures,” she closes the door behind her, Priscila jumping from excitement right next to her (she’s always had a lot of energy she didn’t know where to put. Apparently, the best answer every time was to annoy her best friend). “I want to believe that thirty years from now you’ll still be around.”
“Hmm, thirty years is long enough a time to get bored of me, Shari,” Priscila grabs her hand. “I think you’ll get bored first,” Sharon says matter-of-factly, and when the brunette’s eyebrows raise in surprise, Sharon laughs loudly, catching the other unprepared. “What?”
“How could I get bored of you? You might be the only person in this whole wide world I don’t vehemently hate.”
Sharon feels her smile turn sheepish as her cheeks grow slightly pinker. “Um…likewise,” she replies quietly before the quietness turns too awkward. Priscila’s own smile grows larger. “There we go. We’ll be together forever- that enough for you?”
Sharon rolls her eyes. “For now.”
Priscila is starting to realise that no one is going to come and save her from this stupid nursing home, so alas, she’ll make the most of the time she’s forced to stay here.
Did she go voluntarily? Yes.
Did she dread every second of the car trip there with Germán, the man who effectively ruined her life? Very much, yes.
Did she hope somewhere in her black heart that he’d turn the car around and bring her back to her daughter, who’d be willing to pretend as if nothing happened and go back to how things used to be before her miscalculated move? As much as she prides herself on being a smart woman, and as much as she’s aware of the fact that hope is a dangerous thing for someone like her to still hold out for, the answer to that is still yes.
Martyrdom never looked good on the Ferros, anyway. No matter how her parents raised her, as soon as she got out of their house by the end of high school she never looked back. And at the end of the day, the only familial bond she has that she cares for is Ludmila - her intelligent, talented, shining star of a daughter.
She wants to believe they’ll be able to fix everything one day. That they’ll be happy again. A family again.
Hope remains a dangerous thing.
And here at - she distractedly turns her head to read the shiny sign right next to the garden entrance as if she needed a reminder of her prison’s name - Friends of Heaven, the unsung (quite literally, they tend to sing everything around here) motto basically is, everyone deserves a second chance.
Priscila doesn’t need a second chance. Maybe a do-over.
Plus, that would mean putting real effort into changing her ways - now that’s a challenge she doesn’t want to face. More than a challenge, she considers it a waste of time. There’s no need for her to change - she is the way she is, she's never evolved, so nothing has changed and nothing needs to change. Realistically, she’s gone as off the deep end as one could go, and the longer she’s secluded in this stupid prison with that stupid name, she has to come to terms with the fact that between rock bottom and what she used to consider a happy life, there’s not much difference.
She misses Ludmila sometimes - sends her messages to no real avail. Logically even the most effort put there will still prove useless. It’s too soon, barely four months. One thing this place does well is numb her, as she now goes through the motions of the day with a sort of woozy outlook on everything. Life here feels as meaningless as ever, but it makes her come to terms that life was meaningless before and maybe life has always been meaningless and everything fell apart the moment she had the strange idea that it wasn’t.
Aside from the overly nice painting class lady she’s snapped at more than enough times, there’s no one from the group she really even speaks to or has connected with: she prefers to live the rest of her days in solitude rather than force fake smiles and polite conversations. If everyone agrees she’s a mean bitch, then a mean bitch she’ll keep being.
Yes, Germán didn’t ruin her life, she did it to herself. Yes, she has problems, she can recognise that - she asked for help herself, for God’s sake. She has enough self-awareness to know that her actions didn’t come from a place of great judgment. She’s aware of what being in a place like this means.
Still, it sucks.
“See, it sucks,” Sharon mutters, her hands immediately going to cover her ears the moment they enter Ignacio’s dorm room, somehow big enough to host a party without everyone having to be terribly cramped. “It’s loud and everyone’s sweaty and-”
“You just need a drink,” Priscila immediately interrupts her, “and someone to dance with!”
“But-”
“Up-up-up. No. Shut up. Don’t start your soliloquies.”
“My soliloquies?”
“You know, when you get into your depressing monologues and you just end up moping the whole night through. It’s no wonder boys never talk to you, they approach you and all they see is-” Priscila completely faces Sharon now, face scrunching in a comically exaggerated frown. Sharon purses her lips, only now realising she forced them out of a scowl. “I don’t look like that.”
“Hm, I’m looking at you right now, and I assure you, you do.”
“Whatever!” Sharon humphs. “I did not come here to talk to boys, I don’t wanna get drunk and hook up with anyone- unlike you, that’s not my idea of fun and you know it.”
“Prude,” the brunette snorts, already looking for a glass to fill up with anything she can get her hands on. “Bitch.” Sharon rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, scanning the room for a corner quiet enough to sulk in peace while simultaneously following her friend around like a ghost. “You may force me to come to parties but you can’t force me to be someone I’m not.”
“I didn’t force you, actually,” Priscila’s tone gets suddenly more stern as if she were scolding her. That’s something that she does, sometimes, when she wants a conversation to be over and done with, but most evidently, when she does not want to be contradicted or insulted for something she takes real offence at. “I never force you to do anything. You come along with me because even you know deep down your sad life would be nothing without me.”
Sharon’s taken aback by her friend's bluntness for just a moment. She knows this is what she does and how she deflects, but still, her eyes widen despite herself. Priscila seems to notice and relaxes her shoulders. “Or maybe you just like me too much,” she coos, her voice suddenly saccharine sweet.
Sharon wants to confront her just for a moment before she decides to just let it go with a heavy, resigned sigh. One thing Priscila Ferro will never do is apologise for her actions. For her, it’s all a game of chess, every person in her life a piece she moves around to protect herself, the queen of the board game. And as much as Sharon would love to see herself as the king, consort and beloved and trusted, she fears to her friend she’s just a pawn, easily expendable and only able to move forward, far away from the queen and not even managing to sneak a look back before her death: the first piece to move to start the game, and the easiest one to take down.
Her whole life, Sharon’s wanted to feel special to someone, anyone. Her father, who always travelled and even then preferred her much livelier, warm and positive sister, and the love of her life she then promptly snatched away from her. She’s felt this bottomless pit in her heart and she’s never had anyone to satisfy it with, no one to share the pain of never being anyone’s first choice with. No one who could see her, really see her, look at her and find something behind those sad hollow eyes and bony exterior.
And maybe if someone saw her, they could love her. And maybe, just maybe, with time, that someone could help her find a reason not to despise the person she saw in the mirror every day.
When she first met Priscila, she really thought that could be it. They must’ve been paired up in some way, on some occasion during their first year of studies, and now nearly at the end of their courses, it felt like they’ve always known each other - and at the same time, that they didn’t at all. They were both strong personalities, unpleasant to say the least. But at least Priscila was incredibly good at pretending she was laughing with those around her, while Sharon took pride in separating from the masses. In the end, it must’ve been survival to attach them at the hip, the same innate, primal fear in both their hearts.
But Sharon was grateful for her friend, truly. Who else would still find her in a crowd, pick her up from her own room, and get her out of her head? And even if it didn’t work (which meant most of the time), she still persisted. Another perfect word for the brunette, persistent. Maybe she just knew what battles to pick, or maybe she just won every single one she fought.
Being with Priscila made Sharon feel safe: yes, not always loved, not always a priority, but still. Being with Priscila meant being on her good side, which meant not being on her bad side - the scariest place on Earth. And even when Sharon let her brain be clouded by her better judgment, screaming at her that she kept her around because she quite literally had no one else, it was easy to be dragged into her friend’s schemes once again: one look into those eyes, one of those freckled grins, and everything started from scratch.
Plus, when it wasn’t her brain speaking, it was her stupid heart getting a few words in, and that was just a hundred thousand times worse.
Because even if Sharon accepted she had feelings for Priscila the problems that came from that, the complications and the implications and everything that could go wrong, and that would go wrong (for what in Sharon’s life, especially the romantic side of it, ever goes right?), the risks were just innumerable.
Suddenly all too aware that she’s doing exactly what she was accused of earlier, standing scarily still and scowling in silence, she looks around for Priscila and realises she’s disappeared God knows where - typical. Truly, she only ever brought her along because coming alone was even more pathetic than showing up uninvited. Resigned that this had just ended up being another night alone with her thoughts, she decides to just leave - Priscila will find her way back in the morning, helped by one of her thousand drunken suitors.
It was like everyone loved Priscila, but no one really liked her. And in some sick and twisted way, Sharon preferred it like that: if no one liked Priscila that meant she had her all to herself. After everything was taken from her, she has this one thing - well, person - that’s all hers to hold tight and keep in her brain like a precious object, shiny and weird and repugnant to anyone but her.
Yes, it’s an awful, awful way of seeing a human being, quite literally objectifying her, reducing her to nothing more than some fucked up vase that a potter had no choice but to make, leftover ceramic that they tried at the very least to mould into something, anything. And then it didn’t work and the vase was still displayed in the shop window and no one cared to pick it up for years and years, and the vase grew bitter and heartless and cold and mean. And maybe Sharon saw the vase and bought it first of all because on the side of that weirdly colourful, extremely and eternally condemned to be fucked up vase, she saw her own reflection.
Maybe Sharon bought the vase and took it home because for once a mirror wasn’t showing the absolute worst version of herself, the one she hated seeing every day.
Incredibly wrong. But recognising it was wrong made it at least that little bit better, right?
Crap, she is soliloquising.
“Bilder?”
Sharon wakes herself up, determined to make her way out of this hellhole - studying alone holed up in her room is much better than whatever this is.
“Hey, Bilder,” someone grabs her by the shoulder which makes her nearly jump. She turns around at the speed of lighting, recognising someone from one of her classes - Franco or whatever his name was. “You didn’t hear me? The music’s not that loud.”
Sharon frowns. She did hear him, she was just taken aback by the fact that anyone knew her at this party, let alone addressed her in the first place. (Plus, she’s been rotating the idea of being Mrs. Benson in her head for so long that Bilder as a last name felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.) “Don’t touch me,” she says hoarsely. “What do you want?”
“Woah, ok, easy, I just wanna know if you can get your friend from out the bathroom. She’s been in there the whole night and um, people really need to use it.”
“She’s probably fucking someone in there,” Sharon rolls her eyes, spitting out the words maybe more bitterly than she wanted to. “Ok, um, good for her?…Whatever she’s doing she needs to get out. We only have the one bathroom.”
“Do it yourself, I’m leaving-”
“Don’t you think we’ve been trying? She’s calling for you.”
And there it is again, the vase has a hole, and when the wind blows into it it almost sounds like a cry.
Sharon stops in her tracks. “For me?”
If Priscila has to hear one more time that someone is moving in the room next to hers, she will scream.
Why should she care? It’s not like she’s getting a roommate - and even then she would fight tooth and nail to keep that from happening. As if being here isn’t enough punishment. Waking up in the same four ugly washed-out shade of vomit-pink walls, barely standing everyone who dared interact with her.
That feeling of benignant tolerance faded quickly, and now, nearly a year - it could be a hundred months, it could be five hours, it could be all the time in the world and none at all - into her eternal doom, she’s just so done. Why did she ever say she wanted to get help? No, she didn’t. Nothing was worth this hell. She needs out, she desperately needs out.
Her daughter isn’t talking to her anyway, isn’t visiting her like she promised she would. She’s seen fucking Germán more than her. He comes around from time to time just to check on her for some reason. He talks about his life - again, why? Why would she care? She doesn’t love him, she doesn’t want to know what happened to him and his precious Violetta and goddamned Angie. Angie who didn’t even end up with him in the end and is now going out with that miserable nut-job of Lady LaFontaine - she never says anything back when he shows up, but at that, she remembers letting out the most ugly of laughs.
Destiny is funny, she’ll give it that.
“Come on, aren’t you excited? A new face!” The woman in charge of setting the room for the newcomer pops up at the door. “And she’s right next to you! A new neighbour! I know you weren’t too chummy with the old one-”
“Must you bother me even outside of your stupid painting classes, Judy?!” Priscila growls, snapping the book she was reading up until a second ago shut. “Sorry,” the woman winces. “Ooh, nice glasses.”
Priscila rolls her eyes, fixing the aforementioned glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Anything else you feel the need to add?”
Judy lingers for a moment, seemingly undecided on whether she really wants to get into it with a woman she knows very openly despises her - but against her better judgment, she swoops into the room, her long boho skirt flowing along with her every move. “Just…” Priscila nearly throws the book at her but ends up just sighing loudly.
“I know change can be scary…and I know you don’t feel the most at home in here. But!” Judy flashes a bright grin the charm of which seems to work on the whole world except for Priscila, “Look at it this way. Maybe this new person can symbolise a new beginning! Maybe this is a sign from the universe that’s telling you not to give up on yourself just yet.”
“What?” Priscila snorts. “I didn’t give up on myself. I gave up on everyone else. Everyone in here is annoying and terrible company.”
“Then maybe this new neighbour is the exception to your rule!” When Judy tries to sit on the edge of the bed, one glare from Priscila is enough to send her right back up on her feet again. “Just give her a chance.”
“I won’t.”
“You should.”
“Are you the boss of me, Miss Hale?”
“If I was…I’d tell you to greet her with a big smile,” Judy pats her thighs. “She’s arriving any moment now so I should get back to work.”
“Yes, you should,” Priscila marks her words opening back up her book. “Goodbye, Judy.”
“You don’t need to say goodbye to me every time I leave a room you’re in-”
“I just hope every time I see you it’ll be the last,” Priscila sends a terrifyingly fake smile her way, the power of which seems to work on the whole world except for Judy. As she turns around she suddenly remembers something and stops halfway. “Oh, sorry! Actually I was here for a reason.”
“To make my life even more of a hell than it already is?”
“The lady next room, she says she…knows you? In fact- I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but she asked to be moved next to you. Isn’t that fun!”
Priscila’s eyebrows slowly furrow as she tries to assimilate the information given to her in a way that makes sense. Someone she knows, here? In the loony bin? With her?
Even worse, someone in the loony bin with her voluntarily asking to be next door to her? The people she’s driven insane have historically had the decency to disappear from her life entirely. Who…?
No, before asking Judy Hale a question Priscila will break into the Friends of Heaven secret archives herself to find out. Who would read the name Priscila Ferro and not cower in fear? Who knew her and willingly put herself through more of her?
Who ever really actually liked her?
“Plus, I think Sharon is a super pretty name. If I remember correctly it’s Hebrew from…”
Priscila’s breath gets sucked out of her lungs.
Sharon?
“Right this way, Miss Benson,” another worker is saying from the corridor, leaving Priscila completely stunned. She jumps up, leaving Judy halfway through one of her rambles and rushing to the door-
And there she is.
Older, much older, hair much greyer and half her face is covered by huge sunglasses.
But it’s her. There's no mistaking that.
Priscila’s eyes widen. “Shari,” she breathes in, so quietly no one could possibly hear.
And yet Sharon does turn her way. Her lips slightly part as if she’s ready to say something, but she shuts them again, eerily quiet. All the employees around them have stopped in their tracks too, probably shocked by seeing Priscila Ferro, resident menace, awestruck in place.
“I-” she moves one step forward, not seeing the man coming from around the corner of the corridor carrying a plate of the breakfast buffet.
So before she can say anything else the mistake costs her an entire tray of scrambled eggs raining on her face and clothes, as the collision trips both the man and herself up.
Judy runs out of the room after hearing the sudden commotion. “Oh my god, Priscila! Are you ok?!” she squeaks, “Let me help you up!”
“No,” Priscila groans, face down and covered in egg from head to toe. “Leave me alone.”
“Leave me alone,” Priscila moans, face buried in her crossed arms on the edge of the bathtub. “Prisci, it’s me,” Sharon whispers sweetly kneeling down next to her. Priscila stops her sobs for a moment and cautiously looks up to find her best friend offering her an uncharacteristically soft smile. It almost makes her want to start crying again.
“Are you ok?” Sharon asks, caressing her back. “Do I look ok, idiot?!” the brunette chokes out. “I don’t know, I- um, I’ve never seen you this way-”
“Wow, crazy, human beings cry. That must be brand new information for you, you stupid- cyborg- robot thing,” Priscila pushes her off. Sharon holds back a chuckle, “Is that the best you can come up with?”
“If you’re gonna be like this you can just leave.”
It’s true, Sharon’s never seen her like this. The thing with Priscila is, love her or hate her, she took control of every room she walked into with ease. And now, all crumpled and small, crying on the bathroom floor, Sharon feels like she’s meeting an entirely different person. “You were calling for me?” she says tentatively.
Priscila goes quiet again. Sharon sighs. “I want to help.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Well, then tell me how to help.”
“Just go kill y-”
“Hey now.”
“Ugh.” Priscila finally picks herself up from the bathtub and sits with her back against the wall, Sharon slowly making her way next to her. “Ok, good start, now elaborate.”
“Are you serious?” the brunette coughs, wiping her own tears and makeup away with the back of her hand. “I just- I’m so done, Sharon. I’m done with- with pretending everything’s fine, with pretending I’m fine.”
Sharon looks at her, eyebrows sinking. “I’m so sorry…I didn’t know you felt this way-”
“Uh, yeah, that’s the whole point, I’m a great fucking actress,” Priscila laughs. “So much so that my life just feels like one huge play. Like I’m acting all the time. I know…” She waves her hand around, “I know all of this is fake. I know all these people don’t give a shit about me, that I show up unannounced and uninvited and they look at me and the only thing they see is someone they might take to bed tonight. And I’m ok with it, I am. Why would they care? I don’t care.”
“Are you sure about that?” Sharon whispers. Priscila turns around briskly, the mix of tears and smudged makeup turning her face into some kind of bizarre abstract painting. “I think you tell yourself you don’t care but- you actually care a lot.”
“Wow, I didn’t know you were a therapist.”
“I’m not- Jesus, I’m just trying to be your friend.”
Priscila rolls her eyes, sinking deeper into the floor. “There’s another thing you can stop playing pretend with.”
Sharon sucks in a breath. “What?”
“What what?”
“Why would you say that? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Shari, I wasn’t born yesterday, you think I don’t know what’s happening here? What’s been happening all these years?” Priscila moves a finger between the two of them. “You call this friendship?”
Sharon’s lips form a straight thin line as she goes suddenly still.
“Because this- this is not friendship. This is us being the most pathetic fucking losers of this whole college, and finding each other because without someone else to hold on to, we would just die. We would die, Sharon. And our need for survival is stronger than our need for empathy.”
“What are you even saying?”
“I’m saying you trail behind me because you’re nothing without me, and I bring you everywhere I go because- because I-”
“I love you too, Prisci-”
“Because I like the idea of someone being so completely wrapped around my finger they’d follow me anywhere and everywhere, and I could be the most cruel fucking piece of shit to you and you’d still bow your head and ask for more, you spineless moron.”
Desperately sucking in air after letting her thoughts free in one single breath, Priscila is left nearly heaving from her word vomit. Sharon’s eyebrows skyrocket upward and her eyes quickly turn glossy. “Oh.”
“Sharon-”
“Wow. Just- wow.” Sharon stands up, suddenly gaining an inch of self-respect. “You’re actually the worst.”
“Sharon, wait-”
“No, I’m glad you told me how you really feel.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
Priscila stands up as well. “Just listen-”
“I think I’ve listened enough, actually, maybe it’s time you listen to yourself now.” Sharon points a finger her way. “Get your head out of your ass. Do you think my whole life revolves around you? My mother is dead. My father hates me- my sister barely knows I exist. I am in love with a man who will never even look my way. Do you know why I hang out with you? Because you make me forget about all of this. Because we are friends, Priscila. We are.” And as she says it, she knows she can’t believe it either, and it’s like she’s convincing herself. “Or at least we were.”
“Sharon, it came out wrong. I didn’t mean-”
“I am tired of your bullshit!” Sharon screams, making Priscila subconsciously take a step back. “You know what? Maybe if the whole world hates you there’s a reason.”
“You don’t mean that.” Priscila’s tone is deflated, worlds apart from her usual dripping-with-confidence persona. “You just said you love me.”
“Hm, I wonder if I actually love you or I’m just a spineless moron.” Sharon turns around, ready to finally escape from this hellish party. “Wait, no, don’t leave me alone!” Priscila grabs her by the wrist, spinning her around.
“What do you want? What more could you possibly want to add to-”
“You’re the only one I have.” Priscila looks down, then back up at Sharon, eyes welling with tears again. “I mean it.”
Sharon knows it’s bullshit. She knows she’s lying through her teeth.
“I love you too, Sharon.”
She knows she’s lying.
“Isn’t it obvious? I love you.”
She knows, she knows.
“Why would I lie to you? Sharon, I need you.”
She knows, she swears to herself up and down, left right and centre she’s aware that it’s all a lie. That Priscila always lies, that she’s lied to her ever since they met and that the best thing she could do for herself is run away, run back to her room and away from the devil in front of her.
But it’s the vase.
The vase is lonely and empty and cries out and needs someone to take care of it, and no one else will, and Sharon’s heart aches for someone to need her and only her and to cry out for her and the moment she entered that bathroom she knew she wasn’t coming out of it without her other half.
Yes, Priscila will sacrifice her pawn the first chance she gets.
But Priscila still chose that pawn in a row of seemingly identical pawns. So there must be something special there.
Sharon tells herself she knows what she’s doing when she crashes her lips against Priscila’s, when she breathes her in and grabs her hair and pulls even closer than she thought two human beings could ever be, when they stumble outside of the bathroom and into the crowded hall and their making out almost seems like a wrestling match, when Ignacio throws some terribly out of pocket remark their way and Priscila docks him again, leaving his barely healed nose in even worse condition than before.
As they start making their way back to her apartment, as they shut the door behind them both panting like marathon runners, as Priscila throws her into bed and climbs on top of her, Sharon tells herself she knows exactly what’s going to happen, she knows exactly what she just walked into, she knows her best friend is a recipe for disaster and she’s a perfect storm, perfect but a storm regardless, and that nothing good could ever come out of loving her, no matter how sweet her cries may sound like and no matter how softly she speaks to her, how she seems to make her whole and then destroy her again, how she takes pleasure in the fact that she manages to every single time.
And yet, when Sharon wakes up in the morning and Priscila’s not there, when she looks for her everywhere and it seems like she never even existed, she still feels like someone tore her other half apart from her and left her bleeding all alone.
She should’ve stuck with her hopeless love. At least Bernie never gave her a chance.
Priscila gave her everything and then took it from her again.
The vase was just plain ugly. There was nothing there.
And maybe it was Sharon’s fault for never putting flowers in it, and only caring for the reflection she saw in it.
And now that she was gone, the only part of herself Sharon liked left with her too.
“I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
Priscila’s never been great at small talk - usually, she only started a conversation with someone when she needed something out of her interlocutor. Now, making her way to Sharon by the pool, she feels uncharacteristically young and inexperienced, like years and years of human interactions were suddenly wiped clean.
All is quiet as she sits on the sunbed right next to Sharon’s, who simply looks ahead of her at the pool, perfectly still to the point where Priscila wonders if she even noticed her coming. And those sunglasses make it impossible to realise if she’s even awake - or alive for that matter.
“How did you find me?” Priscila asks, looking at the pool as well, the full moon's reflection bright in the water. “Why would you even want to?” she adds, more quietly. Sharon still says nothing and betrays no emotion, face sickly pale and sunglasses dark.
Priscila doesn’t know how to move her, and she doesn’t understand what it is Sharon finds so interesting in the pool that she can’t move her eyes from it. “I missed you-”
“I wasn’t looking for you.” Priscila slightly jumps up hearing Sharon’s hoarse voice for the first time in what must be thirty years, or maybe even more. “But of course, you’d think that, wouldn’t you.”
Priscila is left weirdly speechless. “Well, why-”
“I live in Buenos Aires, I was looking for a nursing home, and I found it. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you, Priscila.”
“They told me you wanted the room next to mine.”
“Did they now?” Sharon laughs weakly, “Because from what I remember, they had two rooms available, and one of them was highly not recommended because it was next to the worst patient they have in here. When I heard your name I knew I had to. Even just to give you a good scare.”
“Wow,” Priscila shakes her head. “Just…wow.”
“Plus the other room was being sold to me as having a great window view and…well, there’s not much I can do with that.”
Priscila turns her head briskly to Sharon, and suddenly the sunglasses make more sense. “How…what happened?”
“A fire.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be, I started it.”
The dead-pan delivery of what used to be her best friend is enough to get Priscila to let out a bewildered laugh. “Well, that’s fun. I don’t know if I should dare ask you what you’ve been up to since we…” She doesn’t even know how to finish her sentence, so she lets it linger as the night settles into quietness again. But it’s too quiet for her liking. “Look at us. The only thing that could bring us together again is a madhouse.”
“Destiny is funny,” Sharon echoes an earlier thought. “That’s what I said too!” Priscila replies.
Quiet again.
“Look, what I did…it’s unforgivable.”
“No, no, no, I’m not here because I want you to apologise, Priscila. Even if you did, I know you wouldn’t mean it. It’s just not who you are. You just can’t. I think in all these years I’ve learned to accept that. And I wouldn’t forgive you anyway, no matter how sincere you were.”
Priscila breathes out, somehow relieved after a moment of silence. “Fair enough.”
“And I can imagine life’s not worked out that great for you either since you left.”
“Ups and downs.”
“I know you have a daughter,” Sharon muses. “She’s a singer. My own…my own daughter can’t stand her,” she chuckles. “She says she sings like a crying wolf.”
“I’m sure Ludmila holds more talent in one of her fingers than your daughter ever will her whole life,” Priscila hits back as quickly as she can. But the situation hits her so thoroughly that she can’t help it: “With that being said…maybe singing’s never been her strongest-”
She can’t even finish her thought that Sharon cackles from right next to her, and she can’t stop herself from joining in. “That’s your daughter, you can’t say that!” Sharon holds her head in her hands. “What, like she’ll hear me? She hates me enough already, I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“Maybe she needs the pep talk.”
“Sure, let me call her up right now. Hello hija, actually you suck at singing-”
“You are the worst mother in the world,” Sharon says outraged, barely holding her laughter. “Well, you’re here too, so you can’t be all that better.”
“Right. At least you make me feel a little better about my parenting skills.”
Priscila stares at her for a moment, trying to understand something, then looks at her left finger and sees no ring. “Benson, huh? So you made it.”
Sharon sighs, the hint of the smile on her lips suddenly gone. “No, no I didn’t. I…well, actually I don’t want to get into it.”
“Why? You killed someone?”
“Did you?”
As everything goes completely silent again the two women burst into fits of laughter. “Wow, ok, now everything makes a lot more sense.” Priscila wipes away at a tear forming in her eye.
“How about you? Is there a Mr. Ferro waiting for you when you’re done here?”
“Please, like I’d want there to be,” Priscila tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’ve had my fair share of men. They’re all the same.”
“I wouldn’t know. I only ever wanted one man my whole life.”
“Trust me, he was just like the rest of them-”
“Well, him and you.” Sharon’s blunt words make Priscila speechless. “I never loved anyone else.”
Priscila knows she doesn’t expect her to say she loved her too, because she knows those words wouldn’t hold the same weight. They never have and they never will. The two of them have such fundamentally, radically different ways of loving and receiving love that it turns the word into an ocean of different meanings. It would just not matter. It wouldn’t fit. So instead for once Priscila will let her heart speak.
“You know what I missed the most? Your blunt honesty. That night…you were- you are the only person who’s ever been that honest with me.”
“I sure would’ve benefited from being more honest the rest of my life after that,” Sharon mumbles, lost in her own thoughts.
“You were honest with me and I couldn’t take it and I left you- I left everything.”
“Yeah, that was a careless move. You were almost done with college- you never even graduated.”
“I would change things if I went back.”
“Would you?” Sharon asks her, expecting a real answer. Priscila sighs. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t either.”
“Really?” Priscila furrows her eyebrows, puzzled. “You’d still kiss me knowing what happened next?”
“I did love you back then. And we had fun, didn’t we?”
“I suppose,” Priscila settles back into her chair, reeling from the answer. This wouldn’t be the best time to let Sharon know that that night was actually pretty terrible and probably the worst sex she’s ever had, maybe she’ll actually never tell her. Or maybe she will. It would be fun to see her reaction.
“This feels oddly cathartic, you know,” Sharon speaks again after a minute. “It’s the two of us, alone together again.”
“Seriously?” Priscila tries her hardest to stifle her snort. “You had that one ready.” Only now does she notice Sharon’s been holding out her hand. Possessed by something she can’t name, she reaches out to grab it, and it feels like she’s brought back in time, thirty years ago.
“I told you you’d get bored of me first,” Sharon smirks, finally finding Priscila’s hand in hers and clutching it tighter.
Priscila exhales. “And I told you I liked how you were always honest with me.”
The shadow of their hands clasped together that way onto the pool, once again completely alone, almost resembles a strange vase: one put together clumsily and that somehow stood together and didn’t break as much as the laws of gravity begged it to. And the ceramic was a type the potter would’ve been a hundred per cent sure would’ve given up the moment that they started working on it.
Yet somehow now the vase stood perfectly still, so inexplicable it made perfect sense.
Because it was never meant to be perfect.