Title : Mine
Fandom : LOST
Pairing : Ben/Juliet. Mention of Goodwin.
Rating : PG
Warning : None.
Word Count : 578
Disclaimer : I don't own LOST.
Notes : I'm not an avid fan-fiction writer, so this may or may not be less than satisfactory :)


Mine.

The word chills her to the bone, and she pulls the covers tight around her body. Holds herself because nobody else will.

The tears had stopped a while ago. She couldn't remember when - who cared about time? Vaguely aware of the stupid sniffling sounds she's making. Her arms are crossed against her chest. Like an Egyptian mummy. What she wouldn't give right now, to be an Egyptian mummy. None of this pain, none of this torture. She is bound to this pain now, and the torture is only just beginning. She always knew she was the Other Woman, and yet...in her heart, she wants to believe she was the Only Woman.

Her bloodshot eyes turn to the window. She can see the moon perfectly. Silver, silent. Silent. Everything is silent. So silent that she can hear her thudding heartbeat. Silence is deafening.

She gets up. She can't bear to be alone. What she wouldn't give to have him next to her, to have his arms wrapped around her, holding her in, keeping her caged. Safe. Happy.

She pulls on her nightgown, pulling it across her body, smothering her form with the thin, silken material. Her bones are still cold. Her flesh is blazing with heat, her core is frozen. Numb. Reluctantly ready for anything.

Sticks and stones. Sticks and stones.

The house is dark. Brushed with the white of the moon. Highlighted. She finds comfort in the darkest shadows. Wishes she could be one with them. Just sit in a corner and fade away. Who would miss her?

He would miss her. In his own way.

That is where she is going right now. To him. To him. Why is she going to him? She asks herself. Gets no answer. She doesn't know.

The night is cold about her exposed body. The gown does nothing. There's no point it even being there. She would drop it, risk being naked. She needs to control something. Her emotions are spent, her heart is broken. Her mind is far from here. She needs to control something.

She sees the stone coming, yet she doesn't stop. Falls. Hands hit concrete. Hard. Sobbing, she sits back unfurling the fingers on her right hand. Blood is already flowing freely down her wrist, the cut down the centre of her palm. She cries out, angry. Angry at the moon. Angry at this goddamn island!

Picks herself up. Wanders aimlessly, ends up at his house. The door is already open when she gets there, he is already waiting for her. He looks at her. Pity. She falls against him, pounding his chest with her bloodied fist, getting blood all over his crisp shirt.

Wordlessly, he puts an arm around her waist and leads her to the sink, cleaning her hand slowly. Gently. He wipes the blood away bit by bit, revealing the wound beneath. Bandages her hand, his fingers resting in her palm just a second too long.

He looks down at her. She realises her gown has fallen open, exposing her naked body. Too late to be embarrassed. Too late to care. He nods once, moves behind her. Carefully, so carefully, he wraps the gown around her, tying the belt, pulling it tight around her slight waist.

His hands sit on her hips for a moment before brushing down her thighs and away. The touch lingers on her for a second. She hates it. Welcomes it.

This is it now.

You're mine, Juliet.