Chapter 25 - Memories from Before the Island
To say that Shannon woke up on the wrong side of the bed would have been an understatement. First of all, she wasn't in a bed, and second of all, the words "wrong side of the bed" didn't even begin to cover her horrendous temper.
"Boone," she said the moment she woke up, and the time barely even qualified as morning, there were still fucking stars out. She was a little disappointed that she couldn't take even the small pleasure of waking him up, because he was sitting up (had he ever laid down?), looking off forlornly at the waves that lapped at the surface of the beach.
"What?" He whispered, turning to look at her.
"What the fuck is your problem?" She referred to his refusal to go again hours before.
"You were upset."
"I was not upset," she said shrilly, glaring at him.
"You were crying."
"I was tearing," she lied.
"Look Shannon, just because it's a little embarrassing that you cry when you have an orgasm, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me." He smirked.
"I wasn't crying!" She repeated.
"You were sobbing!"
"I can't believe you!"
"This is like, the dumbest argument we've ever had, you know that?" He asked her. She frowned. "Are you okay?"
"No," she said stubbornly. "If you had gone again, maybe I would be."
"You weren't even crying about that! Don't you remember what you said?"
"No Boone, what did I say?" She said sardonically.
"You said that everyday you get closer and closer to jumping into the waves and not coming back up. Then you said that you hated the island, you hated everyone here, and you hated me. Then -"
"I remember what I said!" She lied through her teeth, not wanting to know.
"Fine."
"Fine!" She spat, turning over. "God, I hate you," she muttered a minute later. "Tell me."
"I love you." He answered, so used to her randomness it didn't even surprise him anymore.
"Shut the hell up." Then she sneezed. Oh fuck, a cold too?
When she woke up again, her nose was so stuffed up she could barely breathe, and her throat was as scratchy as hell. He was looking at her, worried. "Why can't you just go away?" She sniffled, annoyed by his constant presence.
"You're sick." He said, putting his hand on her forehead. "No fever, though. Probably just a 24-hour thing."
"I'm not an idiot," she responded, her voice hoarse. "Is there any tea?"
"Tea? I dunno, probably. But the water won't be that hot. And there's no ice, so I can't get you iced tea."
"I hate this fucking island."
"More than you hate St. Gabriel's?" He asked.
"God, yes!" She said dramatically, remembering with horror the chi-chi Catholic school where they had attended high school.
"More than you hate me?" He asked, fishing for a compliment, bloody bastard.
"Oh no, Boone." She smiled. "I hate you much more."
"Well, if you're okay, then I'm going to go do something else." He said. She grabbed his arm.
"Can you get me some tissues?" She asked in a slightly more polite tone. She wanted something, after all.
"Yeah. Do you want to talk to Jack about… whatever you have?"
"Dho." She sniffed.
"Does that translate to 'no'?" He asked patiently.
"Yeah. Now go get me some tissues, please." The rest of the morning passed in a cloud of delirium. At some point, he got her a water bottle and brought the tissues, and sat by her side and rubbed her back for a few minutes, but then he left. Shannon saw Sawyer pass them at some point, eyeing them suspiciously.
"Remember that time when I got sick, and you cut P.E. to take me home?" Shannon asked Boone a few hours later.
"Yeah," he said. "I still don't know why you wouldn't call my mom."
"Because she's so fucking scary," Shannon muttered under her breath. "You were such a good boy, I think that was the first and last time you ever ditched."
"I was not that much of a good boy!"
Shannon scoffed. "You wanna know what Anna used to say about you all the time?"
"Do I?" He asked warily.
"She said, 'Your brother is so cute and sweet, I just want to dirty him up!'"
"Did she really say that?"
"Yup." Shannon smiled at the memory. They had been sophomores when Anna decided she liked Boone. She had started by just offhandedly mentioning how good-looking he was to Shannon, then how cute she thought he was, and then the 'dirty him up' comment.
Shannon spent the remainder of the day going through memories from their past. Whenever something related to Camilla or her father came up, Shannon shut down the memory, and tried to force her brain to think of something else. She searched through her memories chronologically, for some reason she always did this, beginning with her preschool days and ending before her father died. Things were simpler then.
She remembered the first time she had met Sabrina, when she and Boone had come over for dinner when she was almost eight. Shannon didn't think it would last, so she hadn't thought much of the quiet, serious, wide-eyed boy sitting across from her – but up to this day, she could still recall his exact expression upon seeing her for the first time – "Oh no, here comes trouble," it seemed to say. When she found out that this "Sabrina" and her father were getting married, it had been at another awkward dinner in which Sabrina had served some disgusting, expensive fish in her expansive kitchen, and when David uttered the word "fiancé" Shannon and Boone dropped their forks to their white china plates at the exact same time. Shannon's first words to Sabrina were, "I'm not going to call you Mommy."
After dinner, her father had suggested that they go upstairs and play, as if a third-grader who still believed in boy cooties would stand within 5 feet of this person who was supposed to be her brother. She had argued, lost the battle, and as she followed Boone, she heard her father say, "I wish my daughter were as polite as your son."
"So," she said to him when they arrived in his room, standing in the doorway warily. Everything in the room was blue. Navy blue, which of course complemented the lighter blue walls. Every surface was immaculate, frighteningly so. It made Shannon feel like she was in a warehouse.
"Um," said Boone, looking at his perfect J. Crew for kids shoes. "Do you want some cookies?" He reached under his bed, pulling out a bag of Oreo cookies. She looked at him disdainfully.
"No," she lied. The truth was, she would have eaten anything just to get the taste of the fish out of her mouth. But she wasn't going to eat cookies from under a fifth grader's bed. I mean, how long had they been there, anyway? "Where's your daddy?" She asked spontaneously.
"I don't have a father." He said, munching on a cookie.
"Everyone has a dad. Duh!"
"Wull, I don't," he shrugged, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"Don't you know how kids are made?" She asked, her young mind already soiled thanks to her friend Olivia's older sister.
"Yeah… I mean, yes," he answered uncomfortably.
"No, you don't." She taunted. "Give me a cookie, and maybe I'll tell you."
He handed her a cookie. "How old are these things, anyway?"
"Rosita gave them to me yesterday."
"Who's Rosita?"
"Our maid. She's my friend," he boasted.
"Your friend?"
"Yeah. We had a deal, are you going to tell me or not?"
She smiled mischievously. "Maybe."
"We had a deal!" He interjected.
She smiled, her crooked teeth covered in cookie residue. Elementary school kids don't notice this type of thing. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, as Boone's already large eyes widened in surprise.
"That's not true!" He gaped after she finished. "That's disgusting!"
"Don't tell anyone," she made him promise. Funny how they were still keeping secrets today.
Her father had slapped him for the first time when he was twelve. Shannon had gotten home from school, and put her pink denim backpack on the kitchen chair. It was oddly quiet, and as she tiptoed through the living room, she noticed her father snoring on the couch. This was familiar. She had experienced many a family blowout that ended with her father collapsing on the couch, drunk, only to wake up hours later, disgruntled but apologetic, hugging and kissing his entire photogenic family and begging for forgiveness. She wondered where Boone was – he had gotten a ride home with his friend Eric's mom, so she went upstairs looking for him. She needed help with her math homework, anyway. She crept up the stairs, and was surprised when she found herself surrounded by the enthusiastic embrace of Boone, whose eyes were red from crying and was developing a sizable welt on his right cheek. Even then, she enjoyed getting hugs from Boone, he was always so warm and soft and comfortable – but now, she wondered what the reason for his emotions were. "What's wrong?" She wrapped her arms around him.
"Your dad hit me," he blubbered.
"Daddy hit you?"
"Yeah." He sobbed, longing for her attention. It was times like these that Shannon was surprised to remember that he was actually older than her, but those moments seemed to subside after a few years.
"Do you know why?"
"Something about losing his job, and then I spilled my milk, and then he slapped me. It hurt."
"Of course it hurt," she said to him, familiar with the stinging feeling of being slapped by your parents.
After a few moments, he pulled back. "Sorry to break down in front of you," he cleared his throat. "I'm going to go in my room." Shannon sat in her room, waiting for her father's apologies to come.
When she was sick, her memories spun around her in such a strange order and way. Some memories were just pictures in her head, while others she could remember every word. For example, she couldn't remember the first time they had kissed, yet she remembered what she had eaten for breakfast on the first day of eighth grade.
She remembered one time during the summer before her sophomore year, she heard Sabrina and a friend, drinking something, tea, they claimed, from silver embossed cups, whispering hoarsely, "Sometimes I worry about them getting… too close…" Shannon flattened herself against the wall, listening to bits of conversation. "And Boone's so sensitive. He could get hurt." she said.
"Yes," her friend agreed. Martha, a fat and nosy woman who had been friends with Sabrina since college. "But I think you're worrying about nothing. They don't seem that close to me."
"Shannon can be pretty –"
" – manipulative." Finished Martha. "I can see that. But they're brother and sister. They know that."
"You haven't seen how they get sometimes," Sabrina whispered thinly. "I'll come home and they'll be asleep on the couch, with their arms wrapped around each other… sharing a blanket. I mean, what should I make of that? You're a psychiatrist, you should know."
"Oh," Martha, waving her hand, dismissed. "Was it after something bad happened?"
Sabrina paused. "Well, yes, David and I had been arguing, now that you mention it."
"They were lonely. Scared, maybe. That's normal."
Sabrina breathed a sigh of relief. "You sure? Because I've heard noises coming from their bedrooms, I think. They're too old to be sleeping in the same bed."
"Your imagination. You've formulated this in your head. I've dealt with patients who feel the same way before. And you know what? Every one of them were imagining it." Shannon walked down the hall. It wasn't that this information didn't bother her, because it did. But Shannon liked the idea of pissing off Sabrina, so she was just quieter about it from then on.
"Is it true that you hooked up with Ryan Kinsley at the dance?" He asked her as nonchalantly as possible the morning after her first school dance at Saint Gabriel's. He did this a lot, right as he took the Cheerios out of the cupboard. Dangerous questions like, "Is it true you freaked with Timothy Hailer at Anna's party?" or "Is it true that you're failing English?" or "Did you ditch Algebra last week?"
"Maybe," Shannon smiled, stretching her long legs, clad in a plaid skirt (stupid uniform) under the table. "Is it true you danced with Holly Anderson three times?"
"She likes me," he said darkly, pouring milk into his cheerios.
"I know, she thinks you like her, too."
"I don't. But stop, you're changing the subject: did you or did you not make out with Ryan at the dance?"
"Don't worry, big brother, he's a crappy kisser anyways." And with that, she kissed her brother on the forehead and went upstairs to put on another coat of mascara.
Anna decided to "dirty up" Boone the following fall. She told Shannon during their annual weekend-before-school sleepover. One of their rituals during these sleepovers was to (a) get drunk, (b), play MASH like they used to when they were in fourth grade, (c) make a list of guys they wanted to hook up with, and (d) take their school uniform skirts and sew them shorter and shorter every year. "Shannon," Anna slurred to her right before they fell asleep. "Can I carpool home with you and Boone this year? It's part of my plan."
"Um," Shannon answered. "Sure, I guess."
"Can I please, please sit in the front?" Anna was begging Shannon as stood in front of Boone's car, an expensive little Lexus, of course.
"Yeah, sure." Shannon opened the door and climbed into the back. Anna sat in the front seat and put her feet on the dashboard, exposing as much of her mile-long legs as possible. When they caught him sneaking glances, Anna pretended not to notice, stretching them out further as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
"Thanks for the ride," she whispered in his ear as she got out of the car. Two weeks later, on a Monday, Shannon was surprised to see Anna bounce into her regular passenger seat (as Shannon slinked into the back), and kiss Boone full-on the lips for what seemed like an hour. "How much fucking fun was this weekend?" She asked him, pulling back (finally).
"Really fucking fun," he said, looking at Shannon in the rearview mirror, biting his lip uncomfortably. He smiled the whole way to school, and Shannon had the urge to slap that smile right off of his face. Instead she dropped a pen on the ground and leaned over to pick it up, making sure he had a perfect view down her shirt.
They walked into the building, and Shannon felt very much like a third wheel, which she wasn't used to being. When the bell rang, Anna French-kissed him again, much to the anger of a nun (there were nuns at their school, it was so friggin' Catholic), and everyone in the hall took notice.
"How weird is it that your brother's going out with your best friend?" An awkward girl named Jackie who seemed to think she was Shannon's best friend, whispered to her as she sat down in her seat, Sister Beatrice, who they lovingly referred to as Sister Bitch, eyed Shannon.
"It's not that weird," she lied. "Can I copy your notes from yesterday?" As Shannon finished writing down the notes, Anna breezed her way into the room.
"Van Camp," said Sister Beatrice shrilly, "You're late."
"Oh sorry, Sister Beatrice," Anna graced Sister Beatrice (along with the rest of the boys of the class) with her million dollar smile. "I was having girl troubles."
"Of course, just don't let it happen again. Pop quiz!" Announced Sister Beatrice. "Clear off your desks!"
"Shit," exclaimed Joey Hailer. Shannon smiled at him.
"My thoughts exactly," she said to him.
Lunch that day was hell. She arrived at she and Anna's usual lunch spot, but instead of Anna, there was her idiot brother, with Anna in his lap. He looked up at her, almost apologetic. Shannon understood because she was well aware of how pushy she could be.
"Boone and I are going out to lunch today," she said. "Wanna come with?"
"No," she said, forcing a smile. "Nothing to ruin your appetite like watching your best friend and your brother make out, right?" She laughed, a laugh that sounded fake to her own ears. Maybe that was why she found herself kissing Joey Hailer that day after school.
Sometimes Anna would sneak into the house and up to Boone's room, more often than not drunk. She would hear their voices for a few moments, and then more muffled noises she wished she didn't have to hear. She couldn't hide the guilty pleasure she felt when Boone got an embarrassing lecture about sex from Sabrina the next day.
"Oh my god," Boone approached Shannon that afternoon. "The Korean guy just tried to kill Michael!"
"Which one is Michael?" Shannon asked, not really caring, interrupted from her reverie.
"He's black, he has a kid."
"The Korean guy is kind of hot."
"Did you hear anything I just said?"
"Go away." She looked at the bright sky, and wished desperately that it would rain.
It had been raining on February 15th of her senior year. Her car was in the shop, Anna's license had been temporarily revoked, and when she had asked Sabrina for a ride, she had sent her messenger, Boone, to give them a ride. His college was relatively near by, and he didn't have classes on Friday. When he pulled up, Shannon and Anna climbed into the car, trying to keep their tiny skirts, thanks to their tradition, in tact.
"How was Saint Craps today?" He asked.
"Don't you mean Saint Fuckworth?" Shannon retorted. Shannon looked at Anna. Boone looked at Shannon. Anna stared at both of them.
She slinked into the back seat, saying, "This is so fucking awkward," as she cheerfully took a container of vodka out of her backpack and took a long swig.
"Anna," Boone said nervously. She ignored him.
"Boone," she said instead, "You look so fucking hot right now. Seriously, if we weren't broken up, I think I'd jump you right now."
"Um," he said. "Thanks?" Anna was right. He looked really hot. Like, hotter than usual. It was something about what the rain did to his hair, and how his cheeks turned pinker in the cold. He also wasn't wearing a polo shirt, which was always a plus.
The moment Anna jumped out of the car, teetering a little bit, she pressed her lips into Boone's ear (maybe she missed his cheek?) and said something along the lines of, "Thanks, baby."
Shannon crept her hands up his thigh, smiling mischievously. As her fingers traveled further north, he smiled in defeat. "Your ass," he started, "Looks so fucking hot in that skirt."
"Anna's is shorter," Shannon pointed out.
"You look hotter," he told her as she pressed into his pants zipper. He jerked away. "Here, let me just back out of the driveway and we'll pull over somewhere, okay?"
"I don't know if I can wait," she whined. She had never seen Boone drive so fast. Pretty soon, they rolled into the back seats, thanking the creators of tinted windows profusely in their heads, and were all over each other, his hands stuffed up her skirt and her hands groping underneath his boxers. They were placing wet, slobbery kisses on each other's lips that would have been disgusting in any other case, but they were way too horny to care. She crawled into his lap, straddling him, and it wasn't long before her moans came, loud and passionate in their cries. "Yes, Boone. God, yes..." She practically screamed. He groaned into her neck as she pressed her hips into his again.
"Shit," he sighed when they were done. "Shit." Then they had driven the rest of the way home, slightly disheveled, and walked calmly into Sabrina's humble abode and ate dinner. Sabrina looked at their flushed faces, reciting Martha's words in her head, praying that they were true.
"Some of the others are moving to the caves. That's where the water is," Boone told her. "I don't want to go, though, do you?"
"Not really." She said, refusing to put her real reason to words. If they moved to the caves, people might hear them. The reason really was that simple, and they both knew it.
If I just totally ruined the story, I am sorry, but that chapter… was way too much fun to write. Please review! I didn't actually mean to submit a chapter today, I wrote it all this afternoon, but I was sick, and I had nothing else better to do, so it sort of happened. Wow, that chapter was too much fun to write.