Five Times Shannon Rutherford Fired a Gun (Except, Okay, Kind of Not Really, Whatever, But She Thought About It, so Shut Up, Okay? Whatever.)
pg | no warnings apply
She's not really sure that it happened, because she was seven, and she's not stupid, but she was seven, and she's not sure what she knew when she was seven. She doesn't think she would have understood what the word "suicide" meant when she was seven.
So she thinks she remembers confusion, because her mother wouldn't have, but her father wouldn't lie, at least not to her, but this was Sabrina, before Sabrina was the Wicked Step-Mother, and he probably didn't realize she was snooping, and maybe he was just trying to ... whatever. Get laid. (Ew.) Maybe suicide sounded better than the official story she got.
Which, now, she can't remember. Heart attack? Did he tell her it was a heart attack? Why can't she remember this?
What she remembers: not even being sure if it was the same gun, because why would he hold on to it, and it was probably unloaded, because she probably ended up looking in the little hole, and she probably pulled the trigger. Or something. But she's not dead. So it was probably unloaded.
Or it probably didn't even happen.
She remembers looking for it, ransacking her father's room, and she remembers putting everything back into its place when she was done. She remembers -
- she remembers Boone's haircut. Oh, yes.
He asked her what she was doing, and she doesn't remember what she said. She's fairly certain she didn't admit that she was looking for her father's (mother's?) gun to go shoot (threaten) some guy for some stupid reason she doesn't even remember now.
It was a dumb idea, and she wasn't even going to do it, really, but it would have been nice just to wave it in his face and -
- he cheated on her with Angie Carver, of course. Fucking asshole.
She wasn't really going to shoot him.
Not that it mattered, because Boone interfered and she couldn't find the damn thing anyway.
She was, however, really going to shoot Matt.
There wasn't enough concealer to cover up the bruise he put on her forehead, and it pisses her off that Boone thinks she was faking all of them, because seriously, what the fuck, how did he think that she got so good at imitating it?
She could have watched a lot of Lifetime movies, she supposes.
But whatever, she found his gun, and she was going to shoot his fucking ass, because he could have seriously messed up her nose and she likes her nose, it's her hips she has a problem with, and of course, there were no bullets in it and she couldn't find any and -
- fucking whatever.
Later, her shrink, the one her father made her go to (because he loved her, right?), would question why she had such a problem with other people hurting her when she did so much damage to herself.
Boone didn't even know that she was seeing a shrink.
Probably wouldn't even have cared.
Jason had strong arms -
- well, he probably still has them, as he's not dead, probably -
- so Jason has strong arms, and she didn't particularly think that a shooting range was a romantic third date, until he was standing behind her, arms around her, and ... well, it still wasn't romantic. It was basically an excuse for him to press his erection against her ass.
He told her to pull the trigger, like she was too stupid to figure that part out.
He probably should have warned her about the whole fucking kick from firing the fucking thing that made her shoulder hurt after.
Jason cooed in her ear - he actually fucking cooed - and that was the last date she had with him, because someone cooing, "Goooood girl," in her ear was so not fucking sexy.
Sayid's arms are strong, too, and she realizes that both times that she fired a gun, she's had some guy's arms around her. But Sayid hadn't been trying to fuck her. And he wouldn't, now, and ... whatever.
Her shoulder still hurt.
If Boone were still alive, she'd tell him to massage it and make it feel better, but he wouldn't. He'd make fun of her, make some joke about ... something. Why can't she come up with one of his characteristic insults?
Her hand still smells like metal, because she should be in the shower right now, but she's not. She should be sitting on expensive tile, letting hot water flow over her body, inhaling the scent of expensive body wash. She should be washing away today in an expensive bathroom, or calling room service for some Swedish massage guy. She shouldn't be here.
And she shouldn't care what some middle-aged Iraqi guy thinks of her, either, but.
She needs to stop crying, because every time she wipes her face, she smells the metal, and whatever else that is, gunpowder, or something. The smell reminds her of everything, which reminds her that she has nothing, and she should be sad because Boone is dead, but she's sad because now she has nothing, and she's alone, and she gets her mother now, really. She gets it, and she's not quite as mad anymore, sort of, or something.