Chapter Text
Shauna stares down at the plate in front of her with eyes more dead than the hollow feeling in her chest. The food that’s placed upon it is nothing out of the ordinary. Just chicken. Certainly nothing that would make a rational person want to cry at their kitchen counter.
And Shauna wants to cry. She really does. Crying would be such a fucking relief right now. It would create a place for everything to go. Her throat might relax and lose the restriction that’s made it hard to take a deep breath for weeks. That tightness behind her eyes might finally go away. But she hasn’t shed a single tear since she’s been back in New Jersey.
Everything looks dull here. All shadowed and blurry. It’s as if she’d stared at a bright light for too long, and now her vision is trying to adjust. Shauna’s not even sure what she means by here. This house? New Jersey? It all falls flat.
It has been exactly one week that Shauna has been back in this house. She doesn’t think she can even call it ‘her’ house anymore, it’s just this house now because she feels like a stranger, walking the old carpeted rooms. She spent the two weeks before that in a hospital in Toronto, and despite it having been only seven days since, Shauna hardly remembers anything about it. Just an image of the glass doors sliding open in front of her as she stood outside, proudly stating Toronto General Hospital with the reflection of dozens of cameras flashing behind her. Lamely, she remembers thinking, I’ve never been to Canada, before it dawned on her that she’d been there for months. More than a year, really.
The clock on the microwave reads 10:32 p.m., informing Shauna that she’s been sitting at the counter for two and a half hours. Her mom had considerately made the untouched meal on the chipped porcelain plate in front of her before she left for her overnight shift at the hospital. It’s the first shift she’s had since Shauna’s been back, and it’s the first time Shauna’s been completely alone since. Shauna knew that the medical bills would be too much for her mother to afford until the money from the lawsuit came in. Nurses really don’t get paid that much, and to make matters worse Shauna’s dad stopped paying child support because he thought she was, well, dead. Meanwhile, while Shauna had been out there, her mother had been sitting in courtrooms with the parents of the other girls, begging for some sort of retribution to make up for the loss of their daughters. But now that the court knows Shauna isn’t dead anymore, that apparently changes some things in regards to the legal process.
Shauna can’t remember the last time she’s been fully, completely alone. The doctors and nurses were on a constant bedside rotation in Toronto, and before that… well Shauna could always feel someone watching her. Even if she tried her best to get a moment alone amongst the trees. Regardless, the privacy is welcome, and it allows a moment for Shauna to drop the constant front she’s had up. Her mother’s sincere, yet prying eyes that never leave Shauna’s back are finally gone for these glorious eight hours. Their relationship has been strained at best since Shauna’s return, and it doesn’t help matters when she gives her mother the same story she gives everyone else when they inevitably ask, What happened out there? It’s the story the eight of them agreed on the night before they made the final call that would get them rescued.
We starved. We scavenged. We did what we had to in order to survive. It was horrible, but we are lucky to be alive.
It’s no doubt her mother wants to hear more, if only to understand what her daughter truly went through. But Shauna just can’t. Mostly because she made a promise, one that ensured no one on this earth besides the eight of them would ever know the details of that time. But also because Shauna doesn’t have the energy to recount the horror of it. She’s slow and foggy, utterly lethargic. The little energy she does have is put into pretending she can stomach the food placed in front of her three times a day. And it’s not her fault she can’t stomach it. She’s not on a hunger strike or anything. It’s just that everything tastes like ash on her tongue, and she knows the chicken she faces tonight will be no different. Shauna wants to simply throw it in the trash and forget it was ever there. But she knows her mother has been checking it, watching her every move like Shauna is a wild animal that will bolt if spooked. Which, Shauna can’t blame her because, well, she kind of is.
Once she’s finally had enough of this stand-off with the chicken, Shauna grabs the plate with two trembling hands and carries it out the back door of the kitchen. She stalks to the edge of the concrete porch and rears back, chucking the food as hard as she can, making sure to keep hold of the plate. Hopefully, the food goes over the fence. She takes a deep breath, not really feeling any better, and makes her way back inside to the kitchen, setting the plate in the sink and running the water. She tests the temperature with the back of her hand as the water gradually gets warmer and warmer, until it’s steaming. When she can’t stand the heat anymore, she pulls her hand out and turns to lean against the counter, sighing and running the wet hand through her hair.
She studies the tiles of the kitchen floor while the heat of her hand dies down, thinking about what she’s supposed to do now and if it will ever stop feeling like this. At this point, what can she even do with her life? Go to college? She can’t go to Brown anymore, that's out of the question. Her mom rescinded Shauna’s scholarship offer before she knew Shauna wasn’t fucking dead. And anyways, college seems pointless now. There is nothing there for her. College is full of promising young adults with aspirations and hopes of successful careers, she would never make it. She’d float about campus so haunted by what she’s done, where she’s been, that she nearly laughs at the idea that she could pay attention to schoolwork. It’s not like she even wants a fucking career anymore. Shauna doesn’t want anything. The only thing she wants, she can’t ever have again. So, why should she do anything else? All Shauna can do now is wither away in the desolate fucking wasteland that is New Jersey until she finally dies for good.
The rustle of fabric startles Shauna out of her thoughts and the feeling of being watched, the one Shauna had become so accustomed to out there, the one that induces so much fright and paranoia that she nearly suffocates has returned. Her heart pounds while the light pale light of the kitchen flickers above her, and she swears she catches a faint glimpse of blonde hair rounding the stairway that leads to her attic bedroom.
She’s back.
The stairs are out of Shauna’s direct sight, but she listens carefully for the light sounds of footsteps. Jackie walks so gracefully, so lightly that Shauna can’t hear a thing, but she follows her up anyways. It has been so long since she’s seen her, and Shauna aches to hear her voice. For Jackie to tell her that it’s not her fault and that everything will be better. The last time was in the cabin, and Shauna was tempted to think that her ghost had burned along with that godforsaken place. Jackie always hated those woods, so it makes sense that she’s only returned now that Shauna is home.
The mirrors in Shauna’s room are covered with sheets (she can’t stomach her own reflection quite yet), and Jackie’s visage is perched delicately on Shauna’s bed, pouting like she’s mad at Shauna for not giving her the opportunity to look at herself. Which, it would have been a good opportunity, because Jackie looks so Jackie right now. Everything is just so innately her. She’s leaning back on her elbows and her skin is perfect. Her hair is shiny and bouncy and full. The letterman jacket hanging off her shoulders is skewed in such an unintentionally flawless way that Shauna is suddenly a little mad at herself for depriving the room of Jackie’s reflection.
“Jackie,” Shauna says, breathless.
“Are you happy now, Shipman?”
It’s not quite clear what exactly Shauna expects from this Jackie, there isn’t a playbook on how interactions between a girl and her dead best friend’s ghost, or hallucination, or whatever the fuck Shauna sees when she sees this Jackie should go, but it isn't this. However stranger things have happened to Shauna, so who is she to question it? She'll take Jackie however she can get her. In the past, they’ve talked or done each other’s makeup or hair. Sometimes scenes from their childhood play out.
But this Jackie looks different. Her eyes narrow, hazel and hostile. It takes a minute, but Shauna thinks she knows this Jackie. This is the Jackie she from the day before she died, furious with Shauna. But this one seems more sure of herself, with her set brow and lifted chin. There was no underlying thread of insecurity often found in the real Jackie.
“Wh-What?” Shauna asks, dumbfounded.
Jackie beams at her. “Congratulations Shauna! You finally got what you always wanted.”
Something is off. Her eyes, maybe? They’re too strained, too wide, if that’s even possible.
“What do you mean?”
Shauna’s eyebrows furrow, a pit forming deep in her stomach. She doesn’t want this. All she wants is to sit by Jackie on the bed. Be close to her. Take in the comfort of her presence. Shauna moves to go to her, thinking maybe she can make things better, but Jackie suddenly sits up rigid and straight, stopping Shauna from moving any closer.
“You’re finally interesting!” Jackie says with an unsettling saccharine lilt. “Not just a boring little girl from small town New Jersey anymore. All those the things you did out there were for this, right? To come back and finally have a story to tell?” It’s a question but Jackie says it like an accusation, and Shauna feels like Jackie hit her in the chest with a hammer.
“What the fuck, Jackie? You know that’s– that’s not true.”
“You wanted to prove that you were more than all this, that you were more than me. And you did. So go ahead. Tell them. Tell everyone what you’ve done.”
Shauna thinks of the reporters and the camera crews, all closing in on her and the others like vultures as they walk towards the plane. She thinks of the promise they made, and how she will never tell another soul what happened out there. Shauna will die before that happens.
“I’m not going to do that Jackie. Stop it.” Shauna doesn’t want her like this. Anything but this. Jackie isn’t supposed to be violence and anger. She’s warmth and goodness and everything Shauna can never be. Squeezing her eyes shut, Shauna tries to will her away, but it doesn’t work. When she opens them Jackie is still there, glaring at her with an intensity that nearly knocks Shauna to the ground.
“Just admit it, Shauna. You wanted this to happen to us.” Jackie practically snarls at her.
“No I didn’t!” Shauna insists. This is all wrong. Jackie looks dull and lifeless, shifting around on Shauna’s bed with awkward movements. The thing on her bed is more like a husk of Jackie. It looks like her but its mannerisms are disjointed.
“Oh, Shauna.” Jackie tuts, her greying form striding over to Shauna. Shauna braces herself as Jackie comes close enough to touch her, sucking in a breath as she pushes a piece of Shauna’s hair out of her eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me.” Jackie fingers her chosen piece of Shauna’s hair with a hand that Shauna swears is beginning to rot in front of her eyes.
“I’m not lying,” Shauna says, grinding her molars together.
“Sure you are.” Jackie says, leaning in. “You think the rest of them wouldn’t do the same?”
Shauna freezes. “They wouldn’t. We promised.”
Jackie laughs, high-pitched and eery. “Like that would stop them.”
Her face is mere centimeters from Shauna’s, and Shauna begins to smell smoke. Charred and woody. She can almost feel Jackie’s breath on her skin as she whispers, “Just ask Natalie.”
Shauna takes a step back, confused.
“Natalie?”
Just as Shauna realizes that Jackie’s entire body is decaying in front of her, Jackie crowds Shauna into the desk behind them, her hip knocking a mug to the ground. Shauna starts and is now scrambling, turning quickly to reach down and pick it up.
When she stands back up, Jackie is gone.
A month goes by and when Fall comes, Shauna is the only survivor in Wiskayok attending the Yellowjackets’ memorial. She calls Tai the week before and begs her to come with her, but Tai insists that she’s already swamped with assignments at Howard and there's no way she can get away.
“Shauna! The Taylor’s called, they want you sitting in the front with them at the memorial,” her mom calls out as Shauna heads down the stairs in an old black dress. It doesn’t fit right and Shauna tugs at the hem, wishing it was tight where it was loose and loose where it was tight.
“Okay,” she relents, grabbing her purse from the hook by the door. “But, I’m still not making a speech.”
“They know that,” her mother sighs. “Sitting with them will be a nice gesture, that’s all they want.”
The first time Jackie’s parents came by Shauna’s house, the two of them sat on the couch and sobbed while Shauna awkwardly patted Mrs. Taylor on the shoulder with dry eyes, willing herself out of existence and doing her best not to think of the circumstances in which Mrs. Taylor’s daughter died. The second time, they brought Jeff. Jeff, who before that had left message after message on the Shipman’s answering machine, now sat on the opposite side of Jackie’s family in the pew at the memorial. Shauna shuffles into the church after her mother, doing her best to stay out of sight even though she knows it’s no use.
A camera flashes at the back of the church, and Shauna feels the eyes of everyone in attendance on the back of her head. She tries to keep her gaze on her shoes, but can’t help looking out of the corner of her eye to see if, maybe, any of the others had shown up. None of them have. Mrs. Taylor reaches over Shauna’s mother to squeeze Shauna’s hand, and Shauna can’t bring herself to squeeze back. The weak gesture of attempted comfort makes her cringe. The front of the room, near the pulpit, is lined with framed faces of those who died. The sickly sweet smell of lilies fills the room, and Shauna tries not to choke. The heavy door opens and closes at the back of the room, letting in the last minute stragglers. Cameras flash once again.
Shauna drowns out the speaker while the rest of the room watches carefully for her reactions. They expect her to cry, maybe even sob into her mothers shoulder. But Shauna doesn’t feel anything. The only indication to the rest of the room that Shauna isn’t a statue are her hands. They tremble, shaking at her sides. They are capable of so many awful things. Things the rest of the room can’t possibly imagine, even in their most sadistic fucked-up nightmares. When the service ends, Shauna doesn’t even realize. Her mother guides her out the front of the church, shielding Shauna from the onlookers, all waiting for a chance to ask her that one burning question. Journalists line the sidewalk with microphones and camera crews. The only person that manages to slip past her mom is Jeff.
“Shauna,” Jeff says in the parking lot, light blue eyes wide and hopeful, putting a hand on her arm. “Can we talk?”
Her mother tells her she’ll meet her at the car, attempting to give Shauna and Jeff some privacy that Shauna very much does not want. It’s obvious that Jeff is grasping at what little of a relationship they had before this out of guilt over Jackie, and while Shauna is not above doing the same, it’s the last thing she wants to think about right now.
“No, Jeff. We cannot talk.” Shauna says icily, pulling back her arm out of his grasp. “Just go.” Jeff’s face falls and Shauna feels a momentary lapse of pity. “Please,” she adds quietly. “Not now.”
“Alright,” he nods, rejected but resolved to take whatever he can get from Shauna. “I’ll come by later this week.”
Shauna doesn’t think there is anything on this mortal earth she could say to make him change his mind, so she relents with an, “Okay” before practically shooing him off. Once Jeff has been dealt with, Shauna scans the parking lot for her mother’s car, shielding her eyes from the uncharacteristically bright September sun. Instead of locating the beat up SUV her mother drives, Shauna finds the outline of a girl with shaggy, brunette hair stumbling around the parking lot in a leather jacket and heavy boots. Eyes budging, Shauna whips her head around in search of lingering reporters in the parking lot staked out for a chance to catch a photo or a comment from one of the survivors. Or even someone who knew the survivors, it seemed like the tabloids would take either. Thank god, they seemed to have cleared out by now, because Natalie Scatorccio is making a fucking scene.
For a moment, Shauna debates if this is her problem. A tipsy Natalie wouldn’t necessarily have been anything out of the ordinary if this had been two years ago, but it’s not two years ago it’s now and she’s literally staggering and Shauna has no idea how she got here or if anyone is with her. Before Shauna can talk herself out of it, she’s storming towards Nat, her mom and the beat-up SUV be damned, and recognition lights up Nat’s face. She stands up a little straighter, pulls herself just that much more together when she notices Shauna.
“Ohhh, look who found me,” Natalie taunts once Shauna is in earshot. Shauna grips Natalie’s arm hard, pulling her behind a leftover pickup truck and out of sight of the other stragglers leaving the church. “Fuck Shauna! Let go— that fucking hurts!”
Shauna doesn’t release her until she’s satisfied that no one can see them. There is no way she’s letting anyone see Nat like this. It wouldn’t be fair. Nat’s disheveled and swaying, bags heavy under her normally bright eyes, skin sallow where there should be freckles dotting her cheeks. This isn’t the picture of Nat that Shauna has in her head, the one determined and headstrong. She’s lost all the color she had from the sun.
“What are you doing here?”
“Me? What about you?”
It occurs to Shauna that maybe Nat is here because she wants them to see her. Shauna would be a liar if she said that what Jackie had said in her room the other night hadn’t been on her mind. She said to just ask Natalie. What the fuck did that mean? That Natalie was going to tell? Surely she wouldn’t. None of them could, it was like mutually assured destruction.
“Tai told me you left. To go find Travis.” Shauna explains.
Nat rests her weight on the truck behind her, taking a long sip of a water bottle filled with a clear liquid that Shauna could smell from two feet in front of her. “Yeah well, turns out Travis doesn’t want to be found. Especially by me.”
Nat’s voice is weak and dejected, and for some stupid reason it hurts Shauna. She wants so badly to resent Nat for treating rescue like this, squandering it all to get drunk in a parking lot like she wasn’t the one scratching and clawing her way back here. But it’s like that resentment gets stuck halfway in Shauna’s throat like the tears she’s still unable to cry, she just can’t do it.
“Nat, you’re drunk. It's the middle of the day.”
Shauna doesn’t want to sound too concerned, but she can’t help it. Nat’s not supposed to be like this, she’s just not. Out there, Nat changed. They all did, but Nat especially so. Out of all of them, Nat was the one who was supposed to take what happened to them and use it for something. Sure, maybe Taissa was going to accomplish more on paper than any of them combined, but she was on that track from the beginning. Natalie had evolved. She had this motivation that Shauna had never seen in her, one that Shauna bitterly admired. Not that she’d ever admit it.
“What? You gonna punish me?” Nat cocks her head and Shauna resists the urge to shove her against the side of the truck. So much for being fucking concerned.
“We made a promise, Nat.” Shauna reminds her, gravely.
“And I’m not breaking that promise!” Nat swears. She gulps down another sip from her water bottle and a drop escapes from the corner of her mouth, sliding down her neck until Nat wipes it with her sleeve.
“Jesus, Nat.” Shauna looks her up and down. “Get your shit together.”
Shauna can practically see Nat’s defenses rise, gearing up like maybe she’s going to hit Shauna or something. Bracing for impact, Shauna thinks briefly that maybe it would feel good, maybe it would release some of the pent up everything that Shauna is full of right now, but the blow never comes.
“Oh yeah, like you did, Shauna? Parading around with fucking Jeff Sadecki and the Taylor’s? You're right, I should really take some notes from you. Or— maybe it’s really from Jackie, isn’t it?”
At that, Shauna retreats, her eyes falling to the concrete ground between them. There’s that familiar judgement that Shauna knows so well. A sick part of her almost missed it, being called out on her shit. And Nat’s right, isn’t she? The past month she’s practically been the Taylor’s stand-in daughter and, yeah, maybe Shauna is the reason the vacancy is there in the first place, but what else is she supposed to do? Refuse to see them? If Shauna couldn’t bring their daughter back, the least she could do is let them assuage their grief with the closest thing to her they can think of.
Nat must sense that she went too far because her face softens and she reaches out to give Shauna a perfunctory, if not a bit shaky, pat on the arm. “Look, Shauna. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She chews on her lip and then elects to change the subject. “The service— it was nice.”
“I didn’t see you.” Shauna comments quietly.
“Yeah, well, I stayed at the back.”
The fact that this is the first time Shauna has seen Nat since, well, the hospital probably, suddenly hits Shauna. Natalie feels like a piece of that place, and it’s strangely comforting.
“Why didn’t you leave town?”
“Where would I have gone?” Nat shrugs.
She sways for a moment and then loses her balance, stumbling to quickly upright herself. Shauna shoots out an arm to help balance her, but Nat doesn’t take it.
“If I would have known—“ Shauna offers, maybe as a weak explanation as to why she hadn’t sat with Natalie instead. Because she realizes that’s what she should have done, instead of sitting with the Taylor’s. Being next to Natalie might have grounded her, forced her to be present for this event that should’ve brought up so much guilt, so much grief. Because Shauna does feel guilty. She feels so incredibly guilty, it’s consuming her. It’s the whole reason she’s here in New Jersey in the first place, acting like the good deed of sitting next to the Taylor’s in a church can absolve her of her sins.
“None of the others were here so I—”
“Yeah, well I don’t think the loony bin was gonna let Lottie hop on a plane from Switzerland.” Nat cuts her off.
Shauna winces, remembering the last time she saw Lottie, screaming as her parents dragged her into a large black SUV. The memory is too much, Shauna has to change the subject.
“Do you need a ride?” Shauna asks, remembering that her mom is waiting on her.
“No.” Nat says firmly. “I don’t need your help.”
“So you’re just going to walk across town? Like that?”
Nat doesn’t answer, just purses her lips and looks away. Shauna grabs the bottle from her and tosses it into the grass. Nat doesn’t even protest, it was nearly empty anyways.
“Come on, let’s go.” Shauna turns to leave, unsatisfied until she can hear the hesitant steps of the other girl following behind her. They approach Shauna’s mom in the idling car, thumbs tapping on the steering wheel to whatever song played on the radio, and through the windshield Shauna can see her mother’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Quickly her expression turns kind even if she doesn’t say anything as Shauna opens the car door and gestures for Natalie to get in.
“Mom, can we give Natalie a ride?”
“Sure, sweetie. Where are you headed? Home?”
“I guess,” Nat’s dejected voice answers, sliding into the backseat next to Shauna.
The drive to the trailer park is silent. Shauna picks at her fingernails and makes little glances at Natalie out of the corner of her eye. She stares out the window seeming unbothered by it all, her legs and arms crossed, but Shauna’s mom takes a sharp turn and she starts to look a little green.
When they pull up outside of the Scatorrcio trailer it doesn’t seem like anyone is inside. The image of Natalie going inside and sitting at a kitchen table by herself for hours until nightfall flashes in Shauna’s mind, and she wonders if she should offer to stick around. But that’s probably the last thing Nat wants.
Natalie clicks open the door and nearly faceplants trying to lift herself out of the car. In the rearview mirror, Shauna’s mom gives her a concerned glare. With a sigh, Shauna exits out of her own car door and walks around to the other side to help Nat out. It should’ve been a fight, getting Nat to let Shauna wrap an arm around her waist to use her for balance as they walk to the front door of the trailer, but shockingly she doesn’t protest much.
Shauna gets her up the steps, still wondering where the hell Nat’s mom, or anyone else, is and if Nat has been here all alone this whole time. She must have held on to Nat for a little too long because Nat pulls out of Shauna’s hold and reaches for the door. Shauna waits, because she’s not going to leave until Nat is inside with all of the rabid journalists lurking around town, and Nat turns around, looking over her shoulder to appraise Shauna with a wary look.
Nat’s hair is wild and her makeup is smudged, but for a brief moment her eyes are clear. Her chin lifts and her mouth is set in a determined line as she looks at Shauna.
“Thanks, Shauna,” Nat says, somber and earnest. Then she goes inside.