Secret Shame

It was a shameful secret that Boone had kept for a long time, for no one would understand. How could they? Why would they? Incest was frowned upon, and the fact that Shannon was only his stepsister and therefore technically not related to him would not alter perceptions in the slightest. And his mother, head of the family business and highly concerned with appearances, would be the first to judge and turn her back on him. And disown and disinherit him too, likely as not. So he hid his feelings carefully, dating other women (but by no means being a gigolo), and not paying Shannon any more attention than a brother would pay his sister. He thought he had hidden his secret quite successfully. He was wrong.

Shannon knew. Somehow, Shannon had figured it out, and she put the knowledge to good use—for her own advantage, of course. She would play on it, calling him for help whenever she got in trouble with one of her boyfriends, knowing that he would come running and save her. And he always did, the rescue usually amounting to paying the boyfriend off. He and Shannon would exchange sharp retorts and stinging barbs, and he would go back to his mother and report that Shannon had been saved. Again.

And then, after flying all the way to Sydney, Australia to save her yet again, he found out it was all a scam, a scheme concocted with her current boyfriend, Bryan, to get money. Boone supposed that he should not have been surprised, but he was. He was also incredibly hurt at the thought of being used in such a manner, his good intentions being taken advantage of. It hurt to think that Shannon had felt the need to resort to such a scheme to get money when all she had to do was ask. He would have given it to her, they both knew that.

Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps because she knew he would always come running when she called for help, she found it more satisfying to concoct schemes for money rather than simply asking for it. Perhaps it was her way of taunting him, of milking the fact that he loved her and would always be there to save her.

Well, no more. That would he the last time he came running to get Shannon out of trouble. Let her see what happens to the girl who cried ‘wolf’. Maybe be resolutely shutting that door he could move past this disturbing fixation he had on his sister and fall out of love with her.

But even that would be easier said than done. Even as he told himself that it would be the last time, his mind concocted all sorts of scenarios where Shannon was really in trouble, and his lack of response led to being seriously hurt… or worse. He told himself not to be stupid, that Shannon could take care of herself; but the visions persisted, and he knew that he would probably go running to save her again if she called.

So he sat in his hotel room, brooding, angry with himself for letting Shannon get to him, hating himself for the idea of saving her again sometime in the future, yet knowing that he probably would. Day turned to night; his only concession to that fact was switching the lamp on.

And then came a knock at the door. Sighing, he got up to open it, revealing Shannon, who wasted no time in announcing that Bryan took the money and left her. He found that darkly ironic—the ‘player’ got played. But there was something off about Shannon, about the way she was acting. He had it pegged almost straight away—she had been drinking and was probably drunk—but that was no excuse for her actions.

For she was in his face, slowly circling him, telling him she knew about his feelings, that he was in love with her; kissing his facing, his neck, behind his ears. He tried telling her to stop, that it was wrong, that she was drunk; but it was to no avail. She just kept coming onto him, and there was only so much he could take. His nerves were already at breaking point from their previous argument; and here she was, again taking advantage of his feelings, his shameful, secret feelings, only this time in a far more dangerous manner. She was playing with fire, and he could not resist any longer. He kissed her, deeply, passionately, turning her actions against her. Part of him thought she would breaking off when he reciprocated, having gotten a rise out of him (in more ways than one); but she did not. She eagerly took what he gave, responding to passion with equal amounts of passion, allowing him to ravage her.

And when it was over, and Shannon was up and dressed seemingly without a second thought to what occurred, he again sat brooding. Angry with himself, ashamed that he had given in to what he had been fighting for so long, he sat in the dark, still naked, not inclined to move. Even when Shannon turned the lamp back on and told him to get dressed he still refused to move, so disgusted with himself was he. And his disgust only deepened when Shannon started prattling on about going home and only telling his mother that he saved her like he usually did, and basically pretending that what they just did never happened. As if he could. As if it could be swept under the rug like it was nothing of consequence.

The crash of Oceanic 815 changed a lot of things, but it could not change how Boone felt. The island meant he could not escape Shannon anymore than he could escape his feelings for her. Trapped among 40-odd other survivors meant their sniping and bitter, nasty exchanges were even more so; and the precarious situation they were all in only added to the tension. It was a relief to have something to do—hunting with Locke—to escape the beach, if only temporarily. Even if their activities at the newly found hatch meant more questions that they could not and would not answer.

Boone hated the lying to Shannon that Locke deemed necessary. He knew she was suspicious of the fact that they went out ‘hunting’ every day, yet never seemed to come back with anything; and she was tenacious—and stupid—enough to follow them one day and discover everything for herself. It made sense to him to tell her everything before she found the lies herself; and on a personal level, he wanted to stop lying to her. He did not care about lying to everyone else, they didn’t owe him anything; but his latent feelings for Shannon meant that the lying was grating on him.

But Locke wouldn’t let him tell Shannon about the hatch. The older man even when so far as to knock him out and tie him up to prevent him from doing so. To make matters worse, Locke threw a knife in the dirt, told him that if he had enough motivation he could free himself, and left him there. Just left him there, awkwardly tied up in such a away that it seemed impossible to free himself, and no amount of hollering brought him back.

Time passed, and Boone started to ache from the way he had been trussed up. But no matter how he struggled or tried to move, he could not get free. His anger at Locke grew—anger at being tied up, anger that the older man had lied to him—but anger couldn’t free him. It seemed like nothing could.

And then he heard it. Shannon calling desperately for help. Despair washed through him, almost overwhelming everything else. The moment he had feared was here—Shannon needed help, needed saving, and he would not be able to help her. It did not matter that it was through unforseen circumstances rather than a deliberate choice; the result would be the same. Shannon would be hurt, or worse.

No! He would not, could not, let that happen.

Boone knelt by his sister’s body, sobs coursing through him. He had managed to free himself, had managed to free Shannon from where that bastard Locke had tied her up (probably to provide him with ‘motivation’), only to lose her to the island’s elusive monster. The ultimate irony to the situation did not escape him: that despite everything, he was doomed not to save her. If he had ignored her pleas for help in the first place, she would be alive and well with Bryan in Australia. His efforts to save her led to her death.

But he would not let the despair he felt over that overwhelm him. For there was a more immediate cause for Shannon’s demise that he could reach, and enact revenge upon. Shannon would never have been this deep in the jungle if Locke had not tied her to that tree. So Locke would pay.

Only when he finally made it to the beach and confronted Locke, he found out that it was all an elaborate illusion ‘shown’ to him by the island. More likely as a result of the ‘glue’ Locke used on the cut he left on the back of his head. In any case, Shannon was alive and well, talking to Sayid further down the beach.

At that point, his anger at Locke knew no bounds, even overriding the relief he felt that the monster hadn’t gotten Shannon after all. But incredibly, Locke was not concerned with his justifiable anger. All Locke wanted to know was how the ‘vision’ of Shannon’s death made him feel. How the fuck did he think it made him feel?

But something brought Boone up short, and stopped him from blurting that out. Something that he did not want to admit, even to himself; but could not deny. Something that would sound horribly cruel and unfeeling if uttered aloud.

Relief. He felt relief when he thought Shannon was gone. Sure, other emotions were present: pain; anger; grief. But the overriding emotion was relief. Relief that it was over, that his secret shame would now never come to light. Relief that the burden of that secret could now be laid down, and he could finally move on.

Perhaps Locke was right. Perhaps he could use this experience to finally let go of that part of him that he hated, the part that loved his stepsister so completely. Being deserted on this island was a new beginning, and perhaps he should take advantage of it and let go of Shannon. If he was able to move on, perhaps she could as well, and finally develop a healthy relationship.