Chapter Text
Dickens had imagined the concept of a ghost in chains, rattling heavy and forged in greed. A soul burdened by its own selfishness chained to the very sin of its existence. Repent, or be charged in death with chains and clamps bearing the weight of your mistakes forevermore.
Clang, clang, clang. Thud. Thud.
The silver links holding the ratty punching bag aloft were delicate and simple. Heavier than jewelry, lighter than sacrilege. The bag shuddered and the chains jumped with every muted punch, every moment Shauna's fist connected leather with canvas. She exhaled sharply with every exertion, focused doggedly on the target.
Jab. Hook. Jab. Uppercut. Keep hitting until you have rendered the bag or your fists to mulch – whichever comes first.
Frustration flashed in Shauna’s eyes as her arms became extensions of her heart, releasing rage and tension and fear. There was no time for thinking of anything but the movements, commanding the muscles. No Callie. No caring for a sick mother. No thinking about that awkward exchange of small talk she’d had at work while assisting the butcher. Punching the bag was all she could focus on, her mind as clear as it could get in the maelstrom that had become her life.
She punched faster, harder, and harder still, baptized in sweat and praying to absolve herself. Repent, or be charged in death with the weight of your guilt.
It was then that she saw Jackie, wide-eyed Jackie, standing between her and the bag. She was beautiful and composed, her hair perfectly coiffed and her glossy pink lips gently parted. Gorgeous, perfect Jackie.
“What a sight you are, Shipman,” she said, looking the boxer up and down with a hint of derision. “I barely recognize you these days.”
And Shauna roared like a struck animal as she refused to stay her punches, sending a gloved fist right through the apparition of Jackie that still haunted her. Dead fucking Jackie Taylor, burrowed in the back of Shauna’s skull like a parasite. Rotting, poisonous, spreading bile up and down every inch of her being.
“Fuck,” she choked as the specter of her former best friend faded from view. Shauna’s panting became sobs. “Fuck you, Jackie. God… god damn it.”
Leather-bound fists wrapped the sides of the bag as Shauna collapsed into it, pressing her forehead to the stiff canvas as though it was all the tenderness she deserved. Her ghost did wear chains – but they were gold, clasped with a hollow heart pendant around a pretty little neck.
—
Shauna returned to the apartment like she always did, looking pathetic as a wet dog and smelling likely as unpleasant. Strands of dark brown hair were still plastered to her forehead as she tossed her gear bag on the floor and immediately headed for the fridge to eat the half an apple she’d begun earlier, its exposed flesh browning somewhat.
“Jesus, Shauna, you always walk in like a murderer. Would a ‘hello, I’m home’ kill you?”
Taissa was sitting on their misshapen maroon couch with infant Callie in her lap, who was herself holding her teddy bear Mr. Shwoozums. The lovey was quickly discarded in excitement when the girl saw her mother, chubby little hands grasping for Shauna.
“Sorry. Hello, I’m home,” Shauna said weakly through a mouthful of apple. An apple that she’d probably never finish at this rate, as she dropped it on their table and went to grab her daughter. “How was she?”
“Well, it was the weirdest thing – she said her first words today and they were the opening stanza of Sylvia Plath’s ‘Mad Girl’s Love Song’?” Taissa teased. “You have got to pick better bedtime stories, Shauna.” But the girl’s demeanor softened when she saw how tired her friend was. “I’m kidding, you didn’t miss anything. But she missed you.”
That much was evident by the way one of Callie’s clumsy fists was now wrapped in a loose strand of Shauna’s hair as she babbled innocent nonsense at her mother. “Thank you, Tai. Hiya, Cals,” she sighed, wincing as she anticipated a yank on her hair from the nine month old. “Thanks for being good for Auntie Tai.”
An amused look crossed the other girl’s face. “Ugh, when you say it like that, it makes me sound so old.”
“Well, not all of us had a ten-year life plan at age seven. I’m pretty sure you were born with a 401k,” Shauna retorted with a tired smile. She collapsed on the couch with Callie, who pressed her face contentedly up against her mother’s sweaty chest. Shauna’s lip curled, wondering if she was really going to have to give the girl a bath after this. It was almost bedtime – for the infant, but after her workout today, the nineteen year old was ready to collapse herself. She groaned, “I don’t want to go to work in the morning.”
“You could always come back to school with me,” Taissa offered, excusing herself from the couch to start a pot of coffee.
“As much as I’d love for Callie to get her GED before her terrible twos, you know that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? Shauna, you can’t keep punishing yourself for what happened–”
Shauna palmed Mr. Shwoozums and gave it an angry squeeze before coming back to her senses and offering the toy to her daughter. She tried not to raise her voice, but her chest was tight and hot with emotion. “I’m not. Trust me, you think I wanted to turn down acceptance at Brown? To get a job butchering meat to make some money while my mom’s back home sick, my dad is god knows where, and I’m stuck trying to figure out how to raise a goddamn child whose father is my former best friend’s deadbeat boyfriend?”
“Okay, you are not stuck, Shauna. Having Callie was a choice you made – so was sleeping with Jeff. But what Jackie did was not on you,” Taissa said sternly. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been your built-in babysitter while managing full-time classes. So don’t tell me you couldn’t make it work if you wanted it to.”
Shauna exhaled something like a snort, frustrated. Was Taissa right? Or did she just have no idea how difficult things really were for the other girl? Shauna rolled her eyes, which relieved some of the pressure as a small yawn against her shoulder told the young mother it was time for Callie to go to bed.
“Whatever, Tai. I need to get her in her crib before we completely blow the whole bedtime routine,” she said sharply, standing and cradling her daughter’s small, soft head in her hand.
Hands that had been, up until moments before getting home, wrapped in bandages soaked in sweat. Shauna’s knuckles were scraped and red, like sinful things that shouldn’t have been allowed near something as tender as a baby. A baby that she tried her best not to blame for Jackie Taylor’s suicide – but something inside of Shauna was rotten long before she slept with Jeff. And what beauty could grow inside of a festering gut? The girl was born and her mother practically wrapped Jackie’s toe tag around her like penance – Calliope Taylor Shipman.
“Sorry,” she muttered softly – but whether it was directed at Taissa, the infant, the ghost, or herself, she didn’t know. “I’ll be right back.”
—
Once Callie was asleep, Shauna took the opportunity to shower. For the sake of their utilities bill she didn’t like to linger, but there was something satisfying about feeling the sting of hot water as it discovered the little cracks and seams where her skin had scraped and split. It was the same reason she enjoyed the sensation of sore muscles in the morning – one part punishment for her too, too solid flesh and all its faults, and one part reminder that she was still alive, still fighting, and that the broken bits of her would mend themselves in time.
When Shauna emerged, she found Taissa studying at the kitchen table in their flat. The apartment was more or less one giant room, excepting the bedroom and the bathroom. Everything else felt like they were beneath an observation dome, everything laid bare above the bustling city. Thankfully, they were civil and good at sharing the space. For the most part.
Her nightshirt clung to her damp form, a loosely wrapped towel slung over her shoulder to catch the drips from her hair. Shauna picked up the remainder of the apple and chewed it thoughtfully, sitting next to Tai in silence. They were like this for a while until Shauna finally spoke up.
“I’m sorry I snapped. I just–”
“You saw her again, didn’t you?”
Hurt flashed across round, brown eyes. Confirmation. Condemnation. Taissa continued, sticking a pencil in between the pages of her textbook.
“Shauna. It’s not fair to do this to yourself. I can’t pretend to know what the fuck was going on in Jackie’s head, but that is not on you, okay? What she did was selfish and stupid and–”
“Stop. Stop talking about her like that,” Shauna said, nearly begging.
To her credit, Tai did stop. “Sorry,” she acknowledged, eyes turned down. “All I’m saying is, that is not your fault. Neither is your dad leaving, or your mom getting sick. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Taissa knew Shauna didn’t really believe it, but maybe if she said it enough times, she would. Words were the only thing that really seemed to get through to her, even if she felt like she was abandoning her aspirations to be a writer. They were both so young. And while Tai did in fact have a ten-year plan (in spite of Shauna’s jabs), she knew that her friend’s life wasn’t over at nineteen. Not while she made the choice to live, to raise Callie and try to make ends meet with odd jobs. Even the boxing was at least a somewhat healthy outlet for her emotions. Tai would have encouraged her to continue pursuing soccer, but she knew it was never Shauna’s favorite to begin with. And after how their senior year ended, she wasn’t surprised to see her leave it behind entirely.
“You’re not alone, Shauna. I mean, tomorrow night you will be, because I’m meeting with Simone for a group project, but – in the grand scheme of things, you know?” Tai reached a hand out on top of Shauna’s own, her skin still reddened from the shower. “And you’re Callie’s whole world. That’s not nothing.”
Shauna nodded silently, still chewing on her apple. She’d since reached the toughened core, but was determined to gnaw at it until it was nothing but pulp between her teeth.
She’d spent so long living in Jackie’s shadow, for Jackie’s pleasure, and now that she was gone she was haunting Shauna’s every step. And now everything she did was for Callie, or for her mother, and if any of it was for herself then she didn’t even recognize the young woman she had become. All she wanted to do was hit things, hit others, until something made sense.
It was hard to resolve anything when the one person she needed to talk most to took herself off the board. Jackie the martyr. The tragic saint of Wiskayok High.
“I really appreciate you watching Callie,” Shauna said, not making eye contact with her roommate. “If it ever interferes with your classes, please tell me?”
A boxing gym was not a place for a baby, but it wasn’t exactly the place for a barely legal young woman either, now was it? Shauna would figure it out. She had to.
It was Tai’s turn to nod silently. Her lips twitched like she had something more to say, but instead, she patted the open pages of her textbook. “I should get back to this. Just… promise me you won’t hurt yourself?”
Shauna’s brown eyes stung with guilt and emotion. Deflect, put up the gloves and block. Don’t let them break your defenses.
“Well, if I do everything right, it should be the other guy getting hurt,” she said, a weak attempt at a joke. She cleared her throat. “I promise. I… have to be there for my family.”
Taissa, the last friend she had left after what happened in high school, was a part of that family now. Even if her life plans probably didn’t account for any of this – sharing a crappy but furnished flat with Shauna Shipman and her baby, being a vegetarian in a house with a butcher who brought home slabs of leftover meat at the end of her shifts, watching her roommate come home at night bruised and battered and occasionally with a few extra dollars in her pocket for her troubles. Taissa, the rising soccer star and straight-A student, who planned to go into public policy and marry a woman and change the goddamn world someday.
Shauna wordlessly left the table, tossing her apple core in the trash and moving to finally take her sweaty gear out of its bag, laying it out by the window. It was a meditative process as much as it was a good practice, and soon she was out of distractions before bed. Taissa was engrossed in her work once again, leaving the other girl to slip away in the hopes of sleeping some before her early shift at the butcher shop (and before the baby woke).
And every night, same as the last, the ghost of the memory of Jackie Taylor dripped venom in Shauna’s ears, with terrible words she’d kept in her pocket for years. And strangely enough, the pure, unfiltered loathing always came in Shauna’s own handwriting.
—
Dear Jackie,
I hate that all I can think of you now is hatred. I hate that you killed yourself. I hate that you made it all about you one last time, forever. I hate that the smell of your perfume is gone from the scarf you bought me for my sixteenth birthday, and I hate that all the happiest days of my life have you in them. Fuck you, Jackie.
I’d say see you in hell, but you were a fucking saint. Everyone loved you. So you’re probably in heaven, if it exists. And if the Catholics were right and we’re all going to hell anyways, we probably won’t even be on the same level. You’ll end up where the cowards who kill themselves go, inside of a beautiful oak tree in the seventh circle. And I’ll be in the ninth – it’s frozen there, cold. Reserved for the betrayers like Judas. Furthest from God’s light. That’s where you’d like me to go, isn’t it? That’s where you left me.
But you’re the one that’s frozen. Forever prom queen, a smiling photo in our yearbook where everyone laid the loveliest epitaphs at your feet. My words weren’t good enough, they never would be. You will never get older – in fact, you’ll only become a smaller and smaller fraction of my life with each passing day. Why didn’t you want to talk to me? Why couldn’t I find the right words before it was too late? I didn’t even want to have the baby, but after you died… You didn’t even give me a choice. You didn’t give me a chance.
Maybe we’ll both be in the ninth circle of hell together, under the ice forever for what we did to each other. You left such a pretty corpse, you know. Of course you did. If you’re there already, if you’re with the other traitors waiting, keep my seat warm for me? I’ll see you there someday.
I hate you.
I’m sorry.