Lost Fic - Coda - Shannon - PG13
Title: Coda
Author: tinkerbell99
Rating: R for non-graphic sex
Character: Shannon
Summary: A marriage ends on a wet hardwood stage. Congratulations, Shannon. This is the role you were born to play.
(Based on flashback events from Abandoned, including a deleted scene implying she became the requested au pair.)
Little girls in perfect rows.
Did my daddy see me?
I think he did.
It'll come back around.
***
He never apologizes; she never feigns surprise. It's all deliberate, a choreographed routine danced through heavily lidded eyes and necklines clinging just a little bit too low. She watched it as a child, committing to memory Sabrina's intricate steps, shadowing each lingering gaze and memorizing each brush that came a little too close. She sways easily through the same rhythms now.
"I did not know you were in the shower," he says with his eyes square on her chest, and her lips twitch while she holds back a mirthless laugh. Ballet slippers seem so long ago.
One, two, three, Two, two, three... She still hears the count inside her head.
***
The shower is cramped and the marble too slick beneath her as she works to be the one in control. Her feet keep slipping and her elbows jabbing sharply against the tiled wall. Water streams from the faucet in pinprick drops, pelting her face which must be a mess with her eyeliner smeared, but he'll never raise his eyes long enough to know.
Keep your foot turned out and arch your back.
Honestly, Shannon. Haven't you practiced this at all?
Her eyes find his hand braced against the wall and settle on its golden ring, slamming against the tile with every last adulterous thrust.
Costume jewelry, she thinks, and the water blurs her eyes.
***
She used to stay on point until her toes cramped and bled. One day blood soaked through the cotton stuffed in the toe.
Discipline, Shannon. Haven’t you practiced this at all?
She didn’t cry.
She retied the ribbons around her shaking legs.
Am I good enough now?
***
After - after the water's run cold and she slouches against the cold tile wall fighting the urge to cross her arms on her chest - You're not offstage, yet, Shannon. Can't you see the lights are still on you? After - he pulls a towel from the rack and whisks it around his waist and she half expects him to thank her or maybe pay her, but then again he already does.
He doesn't say a word.
Water falls in irregular drips as a smattered homage to the end of the act.
***
When Shannon was little, her towels were pink; pink like satin ribbons sewn by hand on soft soled slippers. Pink for daddy's little princess, but she's certainly not that; not anymore.
***
She takes another towel from the rack. It's damp from use of someone else and cold against her skin. Fluffy white towels that should be black or red or stained and there's nothing pure about any of this. He leaves and she waits, fingering satin embroidery of initials not her own.
(Sabrina insisted on embroidered towels and her daddy had agreed. They scratched at Shannon's skin.)
He never looked her in the eye.
***
She waits. She listens.
One, two, three, Two, two, three...Ready, Shannon? Did you hear that? That's your cue.
The curtain rises on the final act.
She always danced hardest at the coda.
***
The scratches stand out on her neck and arms, an angry red story burning scarlet against her pale skin. She wonders if they show through the towel.
Funny, she can't see the marks she made on him, though his wife certainly can.
A marriage ends on a wet hardwood stage.
***
Congratulations, Shannon. This is the role you were born to play.
The curtain falls.
***
When Shannon was little, her towels were pink; pink like satin ribbons sewn by hand on soft soled slippers. Pink for daddy's little princess, but she's certainly not that; not anymore.
***
Little girls in perfect rows.
Did my daddy see me?
I think he did, Shannon.
It'll come back around.
Author: tinkerbell99
Rating: R for non-graphic sex
Character: Shannon
Summary: A marriage ends on a wet hardwood stage. Congratulations, Shannon. This is the role you were born to play.
(Based on flashback events from Abandoned, including a deleted scene implying she became the requested au pair.)
Little girls in perfect rows.
Did my daddy see me?
I think he did.
It'll come back around.
***
He never apologizes; she never feigns surprise. It's all deliberate, a choreographed routine danced through heavily lidded eyes and necklines clinging just a little bit too low. She watched it as a child, committing to memory Sabrina's intricate steps, shadowing each lingering gaze and memorizing each brush that came a little too close. She sways easily through the same rhythms now.
"I did not know you were in the shower," he says with his eyes square on her chest, and her lips twitch while she holds back a mirthless laugh. Ballet slippers seem so long ago.
One, two, three, Two, two, three... She still hears the count inside her head.
***
The shower is cramped and the marble too slick beneath her as she works to be the one in control. Her feet keep slipping and her elbows jabbing sharply against the tiled wall. Water streams from the faucet in pinprick drops, pelting her face which must be a mess with her eyeliner smeared, but he'll never raise his eyes long enough to know.
Keep your foot turned out and arch your back.
Honestly, Shannon. Haven't you practiced this at all?
Her eyes find his hand braced against the wall and settle on its golden ring, slamming against the tile with every last adulterous thrust.
Costume jewelry, she thinks, and the water blurs her eyes.
***
She used to stay on point until her toes cramped and bled. One day blood soaked through the cotton stuffed in the toe.
Discipline, Shannon. Haven’t you practiced this at all?
She didn’t cry.
She retied the ribbons around her shaking legs.
Am I good enough now?
***
After - after the water's run cold and she slouches against the cold tile wall fighting the urge to cross her arms on her chest - You're not offstage, yet, Shannon. Can't you see the lights are still on you? After - he pulls a towel from the rack and whisks it around his waist and she half expects him to thank her or maybe pay her, but then again he already does.
He doesn't say a word.
Water falls in irregular drips as a smattered homage to the end of the act.
***
When Shannon was little, her towels were pink; pink like satin ribbons sewn by hand on soft soled slippers. Pink for daddy's little princess, but she's certainly not that; not anymore.
***
She takes another towel from the rack. It's damp from use of someone else and cold against her skin. Fluffy white towels that should be black or red or stained and there's nothing pure about any of this. He leaves and she waits, fingering satin embroidery of initials not her own.
(Sabrina insisted on embroidered towels and her daddy had agreed. They scratched at Shannon's skin.)
He never looked her in the eye.
***
She waits. She listens.
One, two, three, Two, two, three...Ready, Shannon? Did you hear that? That's your cue.
The curtain rises on the final act.
She always danced hardest at the coda.
***
The scratches stand out on her neck and arms, an angry red story burning scarlet against her pale skin. She wonders if they show through the towel.
Funny, she can't see the marks she made on him, though his wife certainly can.
A marriage ends on a wet hardwood stage.
***
Congratulations, Shannon. This is the role you were born to play.
The curtain falls.
***
When Shannon was little, her towels were pink; pink like satin ribbons sewn by hand on soft soled slippers. Pink for daddy's little princess, but she's certainly not that; not anymore.
***
Little girls in perfect rows.
Did my daddy see me?
I think he did, Shannon.
It'll come back around.