It had taken every year between the age of 12, until 43 for Dominique (brunette) and Sandra (blonde)

It had taken every year between the age of 12, until 43 for Dominique (brunette) and Sandra (blonde) to get to this moment. They had always been rivals. Always been enemies. Going to the same schools. Working in the same offices. Chasing after the same men. Never letting an opportunity pass to insult each other, one-up each other, embarrass the other in the worst ways possible.

Finally, it had all led to this – a catfight on the carpet in Sandra’s living room. A conflict planned over text message, in the two women’s first conversation since junior high school. They each promised that they would hurt and wound – pull hair and scratch – smother and strangle the other … and they will. Of that there is no doubt.

But as their fight begins, they do none of those things – finding themselves compelled by desires they do not understand to hold onto and press into each  other – slowly grinding their breasts together – first to the left, and then to the right. And though they have always wished for the other to be gone from their life forever, each cling tightly – clasping their hands around the back of their rival – desperate to keep them there – terrified that they might run. Terrified that whatever their feud has meant, after all these many years – that all the passions and hate they have each felt for each other, will be suddenly stolen away. That this moment, whatever shape it may take, will end without satisfaction – without their demons being purged.