Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to "LOST."

It's a Silly Time to Learn to Swim When You Start to Drown

The strange thing was, Greta wasn't even attracted to other women. She'd always been the boy crazy one in school, the one her friends had teased because she'd always had so many crushes and boyfriends. But then, as she'd gotten older, none of the boys, and then men, had held her attention, and for one reason or another, she had felt so lost in her life that she had jumped at the opportunity that the man calling himself Richard Alpert had offered her.

And then there, suddenly, looming large in her life, was Bonnie. Bonnie made no secret of the fact that she preferred women to men. Sometimes it seemed to Greta that she just liked to shove it up in people's faces, make them confront something that made them uncomfortable, so she could watch them squirm awkwardly (though honestly, it seemed to Greta like nobody much cared who Bonnie slept with. Maybe they knew she wanted them to care and they acted indifferent out of spite or amusement or boredom, or maybe it was just that the sexual politics on the island were so odd that everyone had enough in their own lives to concern themselves with).

The strange thing was, Greta wasn't even sure when it started. One day Bonnie was her abrasive neighbor, and within a week, or a day, or hours or minutes -- who knew? -- Greta was falling asleep to fantasies of the two of them in bed together, despite the fact that she wasn't even completely certain of what they would do if they were in bed together. She didn't even know what it was about Bonnie that attracted her. Her prickliness was not exactly charming. Sometimes she wondered if it wasn't because some part of her wanted to fix Bonnie. She sensed something damaged -- something broken -- in the other woman, that made her aggressive and aloof by turns. It was hard, when they were just friends, to be pushed away and cold shouldered for no discernible reason. It was harder still after the night that Bonnie had knocked on her door, invited herself in, and kissed Greta so fiercely that she thought, for one ridiculous moment, that she might swoon.

The strange thing was, for such a hard woman, Bonnie could be gentle, soft, even fragile. Greta remembered the first time she saw her lover cry, and later, she would recall with shame that more than anything else, she had felt a smug satisfaction that Bonnie could hurt on the outside like anybody else. Like her, in fact. Because Bonnie hurt her frequently, in a million little ways, every day. She could be cruel and sarcastic, with a cutting remark for Greta at every turn, or overly sensitive and passive aggressive, with long, chilly silences stretching between them, or any number of other things that Greta often felt were wearing her down to nothing.

The strange thing was, when it came to choosing between leaving Bonnie and being worn down, day by day, losing herself a little more with each passing week, she couldn't bring herself to walk away.