Challenge #15 Horror
Title: Maybe this Nightmare
Pairing: Shannon, Shannon/Boone
Rating: PG-13
"Mommy?" A six-year-old Shannon called through the empty house, her sparkling red shoes clicking on the expensive wooden floor. Her shoes had created the same noise that morning, after her mother had helped her tie the bows on her braids and positioned the red shoes on her tiny feet. Spinning across the wooden floors, her shoes had tapped on the floor click click click click, and laughing, she had declared it the most satisfying noise she had ever heard.
Shannon hesitantly opened the door, yearning to tell her mother about how Timmy Tomkewitz had pulled on one of her Dorothy braids, and how she had won a bag of candy corn in the Halloween Costume contest that day. Peering around the wall, she noticed, much to her dismay, that the Halloween decorations hadn't been put up yet, and wondered where her mother could be. Was she in the bathroom? In the yard? Shannon scrunched up her little nose, feeling betrayed by her mother for not sharing her excitement for Halloween.
She knocked on the bathroom door, her knuckles echoing on the sleek white paint. No answer. She turned the knob slowly, anxiously, and the door groaned open. The white marble floor, a fan of blonde hair sprawled across the floor. Drips of blood on her mother's wrists, and her right hand holding a shiny, teasing knife in her white as porcelain hand, which lay limply on the floor. "Mommy?" She said, but her voice sounded foreign. As the tears stung in her eyes, she felt a faint feeling of nausea pervade through her stomach, and she screamed until her voice was hoarse. Maybe if she screamed loud enough, this horror would go away.
Ten years later, she crawled between his comforter and his smooth cotton sheets, wrapping her arms around his chest, trying to ignore the darkness that loomed around them. "What's wrong?" He asked her, familiar with this action.
"Boone," she whispered, the scent of alcohol faint on her breath from another drunken Halloween party she had attended. "My mom committed suicide." He breathed. "Ten years ago."
"Oh god, Shannon, I'm sorry." She breathed into his ear, and she sensed goose bumps appearing on his back. He kneaded her delicate shoulders with his hands, and she couldn't help but shiver, or moan in pleasure. Rolling on top of him, she pressed her lips into his, their tongues finding a rhythm in which to touch. Maybe if she kissed him hard enough, all of this horror would go away.