Title: Whisper Away

Author: Jez

Email: bluefragment@hotmail.com

Disclaimers: Lost and Delirious, its characters, its plot, and its wonderful angst are not mine. Sad, but true. I’m merely a fan. Anyone that’s seen the movie understands that there are f/f and het relationships, not as subtext, quite blatantly displayed. I’m not graphic about it, so PG-13. Maybe less.

Summary: Takes place after the events in the movie. Tori’s POV. Kind of short.

Note: This is my first fanfic, so yes please! Share at bluefragment@hotmail.com


She spoke to me in Shakespeare, and they whisper and point and some of them laugh. She hadn’t laughed since she started quoting classics, since their whispering began, since the first time I kicked her out of my bed. I don’t count that day in the dining hall, because I know that wasn’t Paulie laughing: it was Lady Macbeth, the Raptor. It was anguish, a demon.

I infected her with all of that. I never wanted to, never expected to, but when I saw my sister’s face… I needed to. I had no choice because of my mother, my family, and my pride.

I tried so hard to convince everyone that I wasn’t “like that.” I was boy-crazy and in love with a guy. I tried, and the amazing thing is that I succeeded. I think I even fooled Mouse, at least for a little while.

I couldn’t fool Paulie, though, and try as I might, I couldn’t fool myself. Even with my back against a tree and a boy in front – inside — of me, I couldn’t stop loving Paulie.

I knew she would need help. I told Mouse as much, but I never thought… I knew it would be rough for Paulie. I knew it would tear her up. I just never imagined she would go so far. I never thought…

I should have known. My mother, my family, my pride — I killed her. She kept coming back like a wounded, loyal puppy, and I beat her back every time. I wounded her, infected her, and killed her.

She didn’t care about the whispering the way I did. She cared about me.

I don’t want to care about the whispers. I don’t want to care about anything. I just want to shake them all, wake everyone up and stop the laughter, the whispers. It’s not funny, it’s no rumor: she’s dead – Paulie’s dead — and I killed her with our love.

I poisoned her, not the raptor.

Still, Shakespeare is dead.

The raptor is gone.

Paulie is dead.

The whispers live on.


I’m dying inside.


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