Walls {Shelby and Toni}

Rainbows and Unicorns

- Toni -

Anger, for me, is like armor. I learned early that shielding myself with scowls, shouts and spitfire remarks keeps people out. Growing up the way I did provided plenty of reasons to build up those walls around myself.

The funny thing is, I don't think that's what I was doing with Shelby. I never hated her. I was never scared of how she could hurt me, never so frightened that I felt the need to build up walls specifically for her. Not even when her internalized homophobia reared its timid little head.

At first, I only lashed out because she was there. I was angry alright, angry with the island, with the airplane, with the ocean, with the world for throwing me into yet another tumultuous, temporary place. (I contemplated several times in those early days whether or not the island was the worst foster home I had been in. It wasn't.) But I couldn't exactly flare my nostrils and give death glares to the sand; the other girls might have thought me crazier than I already seemed. No, better they thought it was only anger issues, not actual insanity. And besides, Shelby was getting a little too close to Martha for my comfort. Clearly, I handle jealousy about as well as I handle anger.

But I always manage to take things too far, don't I? I took it too far with Reagan, took it too far with Martha too many times to count...once I selected Shelby as a target, some out of control strike was inevitable. But whacking the poor girl with a branch? That was a new low even for me. I regretted it a second later, of course, but the way she looked at me...

I had seen that look more times than I could count. It always seemed to confirm the things I feared most about myself. What a monster was the thought I read in Shelby's eyes. Whether or not that's what she was thinking I didn't know, but we see things from our own perspective, don't we? Believing she thought I was a monster and hating her for it was easier than hating myself.

I went on like that for a while, taunting her, teasing her, trying to get a rise out of her so I could find somewhere to store my frustration. But with every poke, every attempted shove closer to the edge, Shelby stood strong in that relentless facade of God-fearing cheer. It was infuriating.

So that day on the beach, that sly, cold remark:

"Hell is where the lord sends us to try and teach us something. I know He's trying to teach me patience."

It excited me more than angered me. Finally, I couldn't help but think, and How far will she go?

"I do bug you. I knew it."

Her stare was more direct and searching than I was prepared for, "I just don't understand why you run so hot all the time. Martha said it isn't just about me, that you've always been this way."

Damn her for making it personal. Damn her for trying to chink a hole in the armor.

Well, fine. I could take it there too.

"That first day," I challenged, "Why haven't you told anyone how I smacked you with the branch?"

Her smile dripped with false sweetness, "Because it was an accident."

"We both know that it wasn't. So what are you waiting for?"

The smile faded, her nose lifted, "I'm waiting to get off this island so that I'll never have to think about you ever again."

And there it was. Something washed over me when she said that, a sort of painful pleasure, like the scratching of an itch. Knowing that I had gotten under her skin, that she hated me enough and thought about me enough to give a shit one way or the other whether or not she saw me...

We were playing now. There was a strange tension in the air with strings of subtext pulling me towards her that I didn't quite understand, yet couldn't help but give in to. What else could I get her to admit?

"I bet you think about all the different ways you could get back at me," I said, whipping out the smirk, "If you had the guts."

She said nothing so I stood, that familiar, intoxicating fire erupting in my chest again.

How far would we go? How far would you go, Shelby?

I got so close to her face I could see all the little patches of sunburned skin peeling on her forehead. She stood from her casual lean against the rock, regarding me warily but not backing down. I took that as a good sign.

"You've got a lot of people here thinking you're all rainbows and unicorns and shit. But I see you," The confidence in her gaze wavered ever so slightly. I backed down, passing the baton. The few seconds with my back turned, the risks of the feigned walk-away, were excruciating.

I relished the feeling of her kick to my back a little too much.

"Is that all you got?"

It was her turn to play the bully, "I have the strength for lots more but I'm not gonna waste it on you," There was ice in her glare, "You're not worth it."

That one stung, I'll admit. But if she had brought knives to a fist fight, there was nothing stopping me from whipping out mine.

"You know who clings to religion..." I said, "People who like to tell themselves a nice story about who they are because deep down they're hiding some pretty fucked up shit."

I didn't even know what I meant, not really. I didn't know her secrets. It was all instinctual at that point. But I must have hit a nerve somewhere, deep down, because a little bit of fear bled into the hardness in her stare and her biting remarks went silent.

I walked away only because I couldn't stay, simultaneously feeling the best I had felt since we arrived at the island and the worst.

Who are you, Shelby? And what have we almost uncovered?