Chapter Text
The floorboard closest to the ladder down from the attic creaks under the slightest bit of weight, so Shauna makes sure she steps over it to avoid disturbing Tai.
It is two o'clock in the morning, and just like last night, and the night before that, and every other night since the crash that she can remember, Shauna Shipman can’t sleep.
She climbs down the ladder and navigates the ground floor of the cabin—an even more perilous task. Maneuvering the labyrinthine mess of pillows, blankets, and warm bodies without making a sound isn’t easy, but Shauna has become rather adept at it.
As Shauna silently slips out the cabin door and into the night, she’s just thankful she isn’t sleeping down there anymore. As unpleasant as the attic can be, at least she has space and some modicum of privacy up there.
One roommate is better than fourteen, but it’s still too many for Shauna’s needs.
The first time it happened, she didn’t plan it. Shauna was being suffocated by the grasp of the attic, and she needed to get some air. But the second she made it outside, the coolness of the night air made her aware of the heat in her belly, the need, and she realized exactly what problem needed to be remedied.
In the weeks following the crash (at least she thinks it was weeks), Shauna began to lose focus, to lose her temper, and she started having dreams, the kind of dreams that would cause her to wake up with her face crimson. (Before the crash, Shauna used to love telling Jackie her dreams, and Jackie loved dissecting them, trying to use them to predict their future, but these were dreams that Shauna could never share, no matter how many times Jackie asked.)
The feeling of her brain being on the constant verge of explosion was one she recognized from freshman year, when an intense bout of what could only be described as lingering Catholic guilt made her swear off masturbation “for good.” (She caught the Catholic bug like a cold, the only thing that lasted longer than a week was the guilt.)
She made it eight days. This more accidental period of abstinence—now caused by a fear of starving to death in the Canadian wilderness rather than any guilt or self-loathing—had been almost a month, and she just couldn't take it anymore.
To put it bluntly, Shauna Shipman needed to get off.
After about twenty minutes of searching, she found the perfect place to do it. Close to the cabin, but not too close; under a tree next to a shallow stream, where the gently rushing water could disguise any noise that might escape from her throat.
Walking back from that first solitary moonlight tryst, she promised herself that this was a one-time thing. Yet the next night she found herself once again sneaking out of the cabin after being unable to fall asleep, being led as if by some force to that same spot in the woods.
It didn’t take long for this stealth indulgence to become a part of her nightly routine, “getting some air” once everyone had fallen asleep. Their lives have become a monotonous horror show and, well, it’s not like there’s much else to do.
So, she indulged.
And indulged.
And indulged.
She wishes she could blame the craving—its frequency, its intensity—on some fucked-up pregnancy hormones, but the truth is this was already a daily ritual long before her two (not-so) little indiscretions with Jeff.
She despises how little self-control she has. She can’t stop giving into her impulses, just like she can’t stop giving into Jackie Taylor.
Jackie says jump, she jumps.
Her body says touch, she touches.
That first time in the woods, she was coiled, tightened, a hamstring on the verge of a sprain, a tear, decimation, and she swore it took less than a minute to get herself off. Even now though, weeks later, it still doesn’t take her all that long.
She doesn’t let herself linger. She doesn’t deserve that luxury. This is purely a practical thing, to relieve stress, to regain full control of her brain, to release her pent up everything. She’s just completing a task. She doesn’t even undress, just shoves her hand down the front of her waistband, into the thatch of curly brown hair at the juncture of her thighs. By this point she knows exactly the spot between her lips to rub urgently, to rub hard.
Wanting.
Needing.
Craving.
Her mind goes to the same place every single time, the same place her mind has gone since that first semi-accidental encounter with a detachable shower head in seventh grade. She tries to shut the images out, to think of anything other than honey blonde hair and pouting lips, but she can’t help herself. It makes her finish faster anyway so maybe it’s for the best—even if it leaves her drowning in guilt.
Girls aren’t supposed to think about other girls this way, it’s not decent (as Mrs. Taylor would say). They especially aren’t supposed to think about their best friends this way.
But girls aren’t supposed to fuck their best friends’ boyfriends either, or lie to them about breaking off the college plans they’ve had for years. Shauna has already betrayed Jackie in so many ways, what’s one more little transgression to add to the pile?
She whimpers Jackie’s name under her breath like a prayer as she rubs herself raw.
She’s not willing to stop when it’s not comfortable anymore, she’s greedy. She needs more, more, more than her body can give. She might not linger but fuck, will she stop at nothing to get herself there. She hates herself for it, but she fucking needs this.
Just as Shauna is about to hit the point of no return, to come undone under her own fingers, she hears a branch snap.
Her eyes shoot open.
Jackie Taylor is standing there in the moonlight like a mirage. Is she a dream? A hallucination? Did Shauna’s fantasy conjure her into existence? Was she summoned by her name on Shauna’s lips?
No. She was real. This was real.
Shit.
The stunned slack-jawed look on Jackie’s face quickly twists into a knowing smirk, as Shauna tears her hand away from under her panties so fast that the waistband makes an audible sound as it snaps back against her body. It's like she had been doused with a bucket of ice water—or cherry Kool-Aid, because she’s still bright red.
Did Jackie hear the whispers? Getting caught is mortifying enough, but that? That would be life-ruining.
“Oh my God, were you mastur—”
“No! I was just…” Shauna trails off. It’s a ridiculous question, and an even more ridiculous answer. Jackie knows exactly what Shauna was doing, and Shauna knows that Jackie knows exactly what she was doing.
Jackie giggles. “I am so sorry, I just—”
Shame burns in Shauna’s veins. There is no part of this she finds funny. “What are you even doing here?”
“You’ve been sneaking out of the cabin at like two a.m. on the dot, every night,” Jackie responds, pointing to her purple watch. “I just wanted to see where you were going. I probably should have guessed you were—”
“Oh my God.” Shauna puts her face in her hands. This is humiliating. Has anyone else noticed her leaving? She had been so quiet, but…
Jackie tilts her head. “This is a great spot you’ve found though… There's a whole search party out looking for you so you better make yourself decent before everyone else gets here.”
“What?” Shauna bolts up and hits her head on the low hanging branch of the tree, “Fuck! Ow!”
Jackie laughs, “I'm kidding! Don’t freak out, everyone else is asleep, your secret’s safe with me.”
“That’s not funny, Jackie,” Shauna says, rubbing her head. She can already feel a bump forming on her hairline.
“Relax Shipman, don’t get so embarrassed, it’s really not a big deal. With the amount of times I’ve seen you ass-naked this isn’t exactly a huge leap for us.” Jackie says as she lowers herself down to the ground. “And besides, it’s like, a basic human need. I think everyone’s been sneaking off to do it at some point. Like, even Laura Lee, I'm pretty sure Lottie corrupted her.”
Shauna shakes her head. Part of her brain knows that everyone does it, but that knowledge does nothing to make her not feel like a uniquely lonesome pervert.
“Well, everyone except Nat and Travis,” Jackie grimaces, “I think they’ve been taking care of each other.”
“And Van and Tai,” Shauna almost adds, but she stops herself. She’s not exactly sure why.
“What else is there to even do out here?” Jackie says with her all-knowing smile. “Like do you really think I’m the master of my domain? Have you seriously not figured out that when I go off to ‘brush my teeth’ that is not actually what I’m using my electric toothbrush for?”
An image of Jackie in the throes of solitary ecstasy flashes in Shauna’s mind and her face burns hot, so much hotter than it had been before.
The guilt and the shame start to overtake her. “Please just— please just go back to the cabin.”
Jackie ignores her. “Come on, girls do it just as much as guys do, it’s really not a big deal. Flicking the bean, rubbing one out, DJing your own disco—”
“Jax! Oh my God.” Shauna wants nothing more than to throw herself into the stream (it should be deep enough to drown her).
This is too much. In her four years as a Yellowjacket she has been privy to locker room talk on every sexual topic under the sun (and quite a few from where the sun doesn’t shine), but this was something else. This topic was never mentioned. Not even by Nat. Jerking off was something that gross freshman boys did, that’s it. How is Jackie Taylor of all people being so open about this?
Jackie had always been quite willing to share how despite his best efforts, Jeff had never made her cum, but she never mentioned that she had been exploring alternative methods of relief.
(Any pride Shauna might have taken from knowing that she was able to get off with Jeff was dampened by the fact that it was only possible when she would pretend that Jackie was the one moaning not-so-meaningless declarations of love into her ear.)
“How long were you standing there?” Shauna asks, barely hanging on.
(“Did you hear me begging for you like a pathetic dyke?” is what she really wants to know.)
“Only a second, don’t worry, I wasn’t like, spying on you or anything,” Jackie smirks. “What kind of a friend do you think I am?”
Before Shauna can even begin to attempt to respond to that, Jackie stands back up, as if she’s made up her mind about something.
“I'll leave you to it, I mean, I don't know about you, but once I start I can't go to sleep until I finish. Hurry back though, you don’t want to get eaten by wolves or something.”
“I’m not gonna—”
“Uh-huh.” Jackie giggles as she disappears back into the night.
Shauna just lays there, wallowing underneath the tree. The throbbing pain of the rapidly forming bruise on her head pales in comparison to the throbbing between her legs.
There is nothing Shauna need more than to finish what she started and fuck herself until she’s gasping for air, gasping for something more, but she can’t give Jackie the satisfaction of doing exactly what she expects of her, what she would surely spend the next day gossiping to Mari about.
All that would accomplish is make Shauna feel even more disgusting than she already does.
Before she could work up the courage to drag herself back to the cabin, Shauna holds her head under the cold water of the stream, and screams as loud as she possibly can. That’s the only relief she’ll be getting tonight.
She walks back to the cabin, still dripping wet. This time, when she climbs up the ladder, she doesn’t bother avoiding the noisy plank in the attic.
Drifting off into sleep, she once again dreams of her and Jackie, intertwined, but this time, there’s something different, something wrong. They’re still intertwined, but it’s messy, bodies freezing cold but blood hot beneath. An unholy ouroboros devouring itself.