a study in shackles

then,

After that, Toni softens - almost imperceptibly, but you can tell, you've been studying her and watching her during these long days on the island and you know her behavior enough that by now you can detect a change. Her eyes are not as hard, not as cold, and her gaze is worried when she looks at you - worried and confused, but also quietly accepting, and even relieved, like something that was puzzling her finally made sense, like she had the answers. You feel like screaming at her to tell you what she knows, to tell you what to do, because she looks like she gets it but you don't get it, so how does she?

"Fuck, I don't matter." You feel the words acutely, you want to echo Toni's previous anguished scream. Your head is spinning swimming aching why did you do that how could you do that why why why-

And then there's the fucking plane. This mirage-like miracle, for the other girls, because all they want is to get off this fucking island.

And you... you don't know what you want.

As the other girls celebrate and joke around, you retreat with burning conflict rushing through you and no small amount of self-hatred scalding you, because how could you, sinner, you will burn, you are not worthy, you are nothing.

Dot interrupts your self-hate-fest, hands you a bottle of vodka, but she may as well have handed you a shield because you block everything out as your head starts to swim (or does she hand you a double-sided knife, because you already know that drinking will dull the constant fighting in your head but it will also make your situation so much worse - and you can't bring yourself to care). For a moment, you think maybe she handed you a hammer, because there are your stupid fucking teeth, there on the rock, yet another flaw, an imperfection, a symbol that yes, there is something wrong here, there is something wrong with you.

You don't smash them, though you want to - absurdly, your initial reasoning for stopping yourself is the thought of your father - he'll kill me if I break them, you think, as if Dave Goodkind or any other human being can reach you on this fucking island.

His influence can, though, and you spend a couple moments wallowing in self-hatred before stumbling to your feet and making the walk over to the others.

You say something in response to the answer to your question (orgasms, one of the girls had called out when you'd asked what they were talking about) - you remember giggling while saying it, but you can't quite remember what stupid, pathetic thing you admitted to doing and you don't really care. You're tired and your head is swimming, but you catch Toni's quiet "Jesus, she's trashed." You don't have the energy to contest this, you don't have to agree or confirm because it's pretty fucking obvious that you're pretty fucking trashed, so instead you plop down onto the sand with your shield/hammer/knife/bottle of vodka and listen to Dot and Fatin banter, until -

"Let's face it, those cargo shorts still scream gay-" your head spins and it feels like it's stuffed with cotton but there it is again, that word, that curse and blessing and damnation and redemption, and you hear Toni's response only dimly - you get the tail end of it, "we've all got our own different swag", and she's not looking at you or talking to you, not really, but it feels like she's speaking directly to you anyway.

Fatin responds but you don't hear it. You focus back on the conversation a moment later to see Dot and Fatin making those... those flirty remarks, facial expressions, Dot blows air kisses at Fatin who leans in and people are laughing but you don't know why, you don't know why-

I just don't see the humor in that. In... pornographic gestures.

Another wave of self-hatred courses through you, for falling for that hateful bullshit your father spews, for the hateful bullshit you spewed, to Toni, to Becca-