The answers we find,
Are never what we had in mind. Nine Days

Boone always knew what he wanted in life - stability, order and a path. Shannon flitted about, making it harder for him to follow that path. Every time he thought he could relax into his job, his latest girlfriend; His mother would call with a job for him, to save his sister from the new villain. He never got to live the life that he had worked so hard for, because she wouldn't let him.

He saw that now, saw that she knew that once he descended into the corporate world she wouldn't hold the same power over him. There would be people that he had to please more then just his sister - she needed him to please her, to help her, to make her feel whole.

She used him, but he used her just as much. He needed her just as desperately as she needed him back. A mismatched pair that over time grew into a dynamic that was integral to both but healthy to neither.

He hated her most of the time, hated the power she had over him, unlike that of just family, more then just a girl - she knew him like a broken book that always opened to the same page. The hate was easy, simple; to hate her for wreaking the plans that he had. For her ability to turn anything he had on a head just by showing up.

Now she's can't escape, and he can't descend to save her; they are playing with the same deck of cards on the Island. Equal division, her hand matches his. There was a period, when she was his ideal - the only girl that would play with him, not tease him. His girlfriends always looked like her, but it was LA most of the girls were waifish and blond. She never dated anyone like him, always large and strong; blond hair and brown eyes. Whatever he did well, she spit on - whatever she loved, he eyed with contempt but then secretly adored.

He always thought that this push and pull was because he was her sister, and that it was her father that died. Love, the type not between family, never crossed his mind before she whispered it with wine on her tongue, spilling sweetened words into his soft mind. She was a siren, she sang and all the men were entranced. Control was everything; the moment her lips slid over his skin - he lost his and she gain hers.

It was all a game to her, just like the ones that they played as children; there was no dice or spinner, just the feel of her fingers on his back. She played him like she was born to do it, like she was burning from within to see him fall.

The fall from grace happened; he had landed in a purgatory, where he could never escape his sin, and she would never let him forget. Everyday was knives at his throat and daggers though his heart; but he could never leave, he could never atone. Not in a place like this, not with her siren's song every night, calling to him in his sleep.

Sin was a mark branded on his flesh like the bruises left in the wake of her gripping fingers.

(1/1)