Title: Whisper Away
Disclaimers: Lost and Delirious, its characters, its plot, and its wonderful angst are not mine. Sad, but true. Iím merely a fan. Anyone thatís seen the movie understands that there are f/f and het relationships, not as subtext, quite blatantly displayed. Iím not graphic about it, so PG-13. Maybe less.
Summary: Takes place after the events in the movie. Toriís POV. Kind of short.
Note: This is my first fanfic, so yes please! Share at firstname.lastname@example.org
She spoke to me in Shakespeare, and they whisper and point and some of them laugh. She hadnít laughed since she started quoting classics, since their whispering began, since the first time I kicked her out of my bed. I donít count that day in the dining hall, because I know that wasnít 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 sisterís faceÖ 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 wasnít ďlike that.Ē 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 couldnít fool Paulie, though, and try as I might, I couldnít fool myself. Even with my back against a tree and a boy in front Ė inside ó of me, I couldnít stop loving Paulie.
I knew she would need help. I told Mouse as much, but I never thoughtÖ 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 thoughtÖ
I should have known. My mother, my family, my pride ó 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 didnít care about the whispering the way I did. She cared about me.
I donít want to care about the whispers. I donít want to care about anything. I just want to shake them all, wake everyone up and stop the laughter, the whispers. Itís not funny, itís no rumor: sheís dead Ė Paulieís dead ó 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.
Iím dying inside.
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