and these shadows keep on changing
r | sexual content
Sayid won't fuck her.
Which is to say, she knows that he isn't willing to fuck her, not in the way she needs to be fucked, hard and fast and painful, because it has to be painful. She needs someone to - literally, if possible - fuck her brains out, but Sayid is an 'I want to make love to you' kind of guy, and it's over anyway, because she fucked it up like she fucks up everything, and it's not even like he would care, now, if she fucking did fuck the entire fucking camp.
(Fuck is a nice word, a hard word, with sharp corners, but she already did the whole 'walk into the jungle and scream it at the top of your lungs until your throat is raw' thing, and all that got her was Jack, who heard her and ran after the sound, convinced she was being flayed alive.)
Jack still has a bandage on his elbow, a reminder that she buried her brother with Jack's blood in his veins, and when he told her that Boone was dead, he blamed himself, she could feel it. When she kisses him, there's nothing at first, but then he kisses back, and it feels like cheating, even though she's lost Sayid and he (probably) never really had Kate.
(Or maybe he did, she's not sure. Boone, once: "You can't see anything past your own tan line.")
He's weak, from the transfusion, from not really sleeping, from running after her, but he has enough strength to wrap his arms around her. For a moment, she thinks he's going to detach her, tell her that she's grieving, that she doesn't know what she's doing. Or worse, he'll tell her to go find Sayid, go talk to Sayid, go be with Sayid.
(Like she even wants to be with Captain Hypocrite anymore. Even if he is gorgeous and sweet and he talks to her like she's an actual human being and has those eyes. Sayid can go fuck himself with a piece of jagged bamboo.)
It's tentative and halting, but he kisses her like he wants something from her, and she's sure she knows what it is. He must want to taste guilt on her tongue, must want something to reassure himself that he's not to blame.
She can't really get mad at him for using her.
Everybody is her (fake) friend once her brother is dead, even Kate.
Shannon almost stops listening once she realizes that this is one of those 'I lost somebody I loved, too' stories. None of them matter, because none of them are 'I tricked my (step-)brother into flying to Australia to (fake-)save me from my (fake-)abusive boyfriend so I could scam my (step-)mother out of money and then we crashed (here) and I treated him like shit and he ended up running through the jungle with a complete whackjob and bled to death while I was out making out with a (hot) Arab guy and I think I (could have) loved him but I ruined it but everything turned out okay in the end' stories.
"Is this even true?" she asks, absently. "Because it's kind of been established that you've been lying to us, and all."
Silence, forever, so she turns towards Kate, and the other woman has stopped staring into the fire and is now examining her hands.
"This one's real."
But it still doesn't make her feel better, because now she knows there's another child out there without a father, and she knows what that does to a person.
Sawyer is a lot of things, but he's not that guy.
Or at least, that's the story he tries to sell her when he pushes her away.
She should tell him that he wasn't even her first choice, he's not even that hot, not even her type. But Jin and Locke are out of the question, Jack wasn't willing to go all the way, Charlie's obsessed with Claire -
(Probably sucks in bed, anyway.)
- Hurley's nice and all, but ew, gross, Micheal's a jerk, the Eurotrash guy is a jerk, the Frogurt guy's a jerk, Scott/Steve/whoever is gay -
(She's almost completely sure.)
- and Artz is ... Artz.
When she comes to him, sans bra, slutty panties, when she comes to him and straddles him, he lets her kiss him for a few moments, until she rips open his shirt. Then he's acting like Captain Noble, telling her how he just can't take advantage of her, because he's not that guy. But he is that guy, because she's been with that guy, and she knows what that guy can do, and if anyone is going to make her pay, it's that guy.
He says it's because he's not that guy, but in reality, it's because he knows that Sayid is the possessive type, and even though it's over, and he has no right to be jealous, Sawyer is afraid that if Sayid smells him on her, he'll sneak into Sawyer's tent at night and rip off his balls.
(And everyone here is a fucking douchebag, so if she's stuck on this fucking island for the rest of her life, she's never getting laid again.)
She is not as stupid as everyone thinks she is, because she manages to follow Sawyer to his new hidden stash, manages to steal all his alcohol and get away unscathed. And he'll know it was her, because she makes no attempt whatsoever to hide her little booze-fest. She sits right on the beach, bag between her legs, going through the little bottles first.
Tequila is nasty, and it gives her a horrible hangover, but there are eight little bottles of it in there, and she wants to save the gin and vodka for later.
Everyone is avoiding her, now, because they're tired of watching her cry, now, and that's just fine, because she doesn't want to share, and she's tired of them telling her that punishing herself won't bring him back, like she really is that stupid, and she doesn't need their pity, and her mother is dead and her father is dead and her brother is dead and Sayid is gone and now, officially, nobody loves her.
Three mini-bottles of tequila, and she can almost forget the fact that no one would come to her funeral.
Five drinks, and maybe she'll stop thinking about how, if she dies on this stupid island, they probably won't even bother to bury her body. They'll probably just leave her in the jungle.
Eight drinks, and maybe she'll forget that this was what she was thinking when they put his body in the ground. Boone's funeral, and she kept thinking about herself.
Ten drinks, and maybe she'll forget what it was like when Boone fucked her, the look on his face when he was (finally) inside her, the sound of his voice when he whispered her name.
There's a line, in one of those Chuck Pala-whatever books, something about 'there are ways to commit suicide without actually dying'.
It's not even that she wants to die, it's just that there doesn't seem to be a point anymore, because it's a fucking raft and it's not like, seriously, going to go anywhere, and they're never getting off this fucking island, and Boone is gone and Jack won't look her in the eye and the booze is gone, because Sawyer stole it back while she was passed out drunk, and oh yeah, fucking polar bears and shit.
Sayid sits next to her, without asking permission, and she waits for him to talk, so she can tell him to shut up with an appropriate amount of vitriol. All he's going to do is say that he's worried about her, maybe, or lie and say that other people are worried about her, and then she'll call him on his bullshit and he'll get frustrated.
But he doesn't say anything, just sits there, looking at her, probably, but she doesn't dare turn her head. She can't open her mouth, because she might scream, or cry, and she's just about to stomp off when he touches her shoulder, lightly. When she doesn't recoil, he squeezes gently, and she finds herself leaning into him. Somehow, her head ends up on his shoulder, his strong arm ends up around her.
She doesn't cry, and he doesn't speak, and for the longest time, they just sit there.
At some point, she falls asleep; she wakes up in his arms, on the way to her (abandoned) shelter.
"Sorry," he whispers.
He releases her legs and she has to clutch him tightly when she doesn't quite get her footing right away. He touches her face, presses his lips against hers for the briefest of moments. It's innocent and undemanding, and she feels guilty, because she killed Boone, because she kissed Jack, because she hated him a day ago, but now she wants to be a complete girly-girl and ask him to stay, just to hold her while she sleeps. She wants to say a million stupid things, but all that comes out is -
- and it's simple, and it's true, even if it sounds unbelievably retarded, and she waits, for him to say something equally stupid -
"Then let me help you find yourself again."
- like that.
He pulls out her blanket, busies himself with arranging her make-shift bed. When she lies down, she turns away, but makes sure there's enough room for him, and he takes the hint. His warm body pressed against hers stirs up too many emotions, but she's too tired to sift through them all.
When she wakes up screaming, he'll be here this time, and she'll try not to focus on the fact that she doesn't deserve that.