-S A C R E D-

Hate Me

I did it for you, you know. Of course, you don't know. You can't know. Stupidly shortsighted and impossibly dimwitted fool that you can be sometimes, you really had no idea. I didn't do it just to hurt you. I can't say that the hurting part was in any kind of con list in my mind, oh all right it gave me a little bit of amusement, but I didn't do it to hurt you. And that amusement I just mentioned? That lasted from the second you told to me you left her to the second your eyes flooded over after I said my bit. Even in that tiny frame of time I felt a discomfort in my stomach, just a hint of sorrow that most people know as guilt. It wasn't as fun for me as you seem to want to begrudge. What was I supposed to do, you filthy son of a dirty little girl molesting bastard? Was I supposed to tell you that I was glad you left her because I hated her for taking you away? Was I supposed to laugh with relief and start trying to woo you? For God's sake Sebastian, you know who I am and if you actually expected anything like that, even for one moment, then your brain is severely addled.

Why did you look at me like that? Like I had just sliced through your throat? I've called you way worse things then what I called you that night. You weren't supposed to well up. You haven't done that in two years to the best of my knowledge, and my knowledge is very detailed. You're not a little boy, you're not the sensitive type, and you're sure as hell not the type to even feel pain over anything anyone could say. So why did you look so hurt? Damn you, you weren't supposed to run straight back to her, you weren't supposed to stomp out of my life. I thought you'd be pissed for maybe a day or so. I thought you'd reluctantly speak to me again before I could really miss your presence.

You knew I'd be angry. And you should know better than anyone how I get when I'm angry. You shouldn't have made me angry. There are consequences. Don't you know that even you aren't an exception to this rule?

You were supposed to get a black eye. Ronald was supposed to give you a pretty blue mark around your pretty face and send you into a blind anger back to my door. I just wanted to make you see what a bad boy you had been. You would have come back to me and yelled and gestured and threatened. I would pretend that you weren't being completely predictable and then you'd settle down and we'd go back to the way things were. That was what was supposed to happen. A black eye for being so silly as to change your mind and to actually choose a virginal freak over your very own Kathryn. A tiny punishment, you know. I didn't want to make you too upset, just upset enough to stride back into my room in those borderline metro sexual shoes of yours. I wasn't being difficult. You were the one who had to change our game and ruin our bet.

It wasn't my fault.

You know that, don't you? It wasn't my fault. It was yours. Yours, yours, yours. And if there was anyone else who can have a share of the blame, it's Annette. But not me. She was the one who had to be a duck footed moron and almost get run over. I wasn't anywhere near you. And Ronald wouldn't have been able to give you more than a black eye. It was her fault. So why does she get to have all the pity and ride around in the car I know you wanted me to have with that sad little smile on her face like oh you're in a better place and she can just feel you watching over her. Watch over me, damnit. Even in death you seem to favour her.

I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes tightly. Shit. I told myself I wouldn't think of that word.

Too late.

At the word 'death' my brain instantly runs through images that I would rather not think of. You're going to cost me thousands in therapy to repress you, I hope you're happy.

It doesn't work. I can't block out the tingling feeling of sadness. I tried to breathe, to keep stony. It fails. I can't even stand up. My breath came out in a gasp and I needed to gulp oxygen in quickly as I could already feel lightness flit through my mind.

I couldn't keep my composure and had to lean forward for support. Unfortunately for me that what was in front of me was the cause of my little loss of thought. My fingers brushed and then crashed into the hard, cold, and rather snobbish wooden structure I inadvertently fell into. I had been standing here and staring for the last half hour and had so far managed to be far enough away not to see or touch anything. But I can feel it now. The coldness. Much worse than that, I can see it now.

It. Do you hear me, Sebastian? You've been demoted to 'it' status.

Your face lies just inches below mine. I didn't want to see, damn it. I didn't want to see it. My face, so expressionless up to this point, instinctively hardens to marble until my very last defense mechanism, my last layer of mask and smoke is smashed to shambles as my eyes bore into every detail. I can't turn away and suddenly my face crumples, as abrupt as a heart attack.

Fuck you. Fuck you! Disgust curls itself upon my lips. Disgust at myself for allowing you to affect me. For allowing anyone to affect me. Disgust at what I couldn't tear my eyes away from. Disgust at what had become of you.

If I don't straighten up soon I just may cry. That's right, tears. For you. For you I may have to break a two year record. And before that time two years ago, it would have been a 10 year record. Oh wait. That's right. You already made me break my record. I can't believe it was only a few days ago.

Damn you. I could feel it starting. The salty beacons of weakness, of cowardice and foolishness. Look what you've reduced me to. I'm acting just like all the rest. Damn you.

I feel cold. I usually feel cold, but this time it isn't drug induced and it isn't the result of boredom or apathy. It's emptiness. You're laughing at me, aren't you? Shut up. I usually feel empty too, you're right. But this time it's as though I've lost half of my soul. What soul? I can hear you ask that. Stupid sarcastic ass hole. You wouldn't be able to appreciate a moment of respect if it took the form of a cab and ran you down for being a fucking martyr for the first time in your whole life. I'm trying to pay my respects and I can't do it. I don't respect what you've done, I don't respect how you got here. You were a fool. You, the one I actually gave credit to having a bit of sense, you turned out to be just like any other idiot hormonal boy. You didn't just ruin my life by killing my reputation, you didn't just ruin my life by taking away the one person I could identify with, you had to ruin the image of the one person I held in any type of regard while you were at it. Rest in peace? I hope you burn in the fiery pits of hell, suffering in every inch of your pathetic body while you slowly go insane for all of eternity.

I'm trying to suppress the tears but it only makes it worse. Before my self control can return to me, my hand that isn't clenched around your casket reaches out to stroke your face. It's cold, but my hand is too. Your hair is limp now. None of your product is in it now. They tried to make you look better. It's amusing- they put blush on you. You, who prided yourself on your paleness, you're wearing blush. What's wrong with those people? They tried to make a dead person look less dead. News flash, no one seeing you would be exactly surprised to find you dead. Oh look, let's go to a bloody funeral and oh my, why is there a dead guy?

The wood is fugly. Your dad doesn't know you and my mother never cared about you. It's too expensive. By that I mean it makes you look like a pompous ass wipe prefect who died with their pocket protectors and cardigan securely around them. I'm not just trying to find something to criticize. It really is a piece of crap that doesn't suit you at all.

Annette wanted to have you cremated. She said it was what you would have wanted. I almost lost it and reared out my nails and tore out her lungs right there. She batted her eyes in that brave little way of hers and said that you would want to be cremated and spread to the winds as she drove about in your car. Her car now. You weren't married and yet she got your most prized possession. Seriously, your dad couldn't stop diddling the pastor's daughter for long enough to realize the most expensive thing you owned was getting taken away by some chick you barely knew?

Cremation. Sure, Annette. I flatly refused, naturally. She glared at me so ferociously I would be forced to give her props if it wasn't Annette I was speaking of. I blinked. She took that as an insult and launched into a rant about how she knew you best and how I had no right to even be in the presence of the making of such plans. I couldn't help but point out that you despised fire and had a nice little plot of land that you had personally staked out at age seven- the age you were told you were officially accountable for your actions and therefore the age that made you officially eligible for a place in hell if you were a bad boy. You figured that since an eternal undead existence in flames was inevitable, you wouldn't want your earthly body to be chucked in flames too. I remember how your first choice was a tomb, something akin to the pharaoh burial practices. And how when that proved futile you wanted to be frozen and brought back. This plot was the only place on earth you would agree to after your deep freeze hope was crushed.

Naturally, Annette spluttered and refused to believe me. She knew you best, of course. You should have seen how amazingly angry she was when I won and you were passed over for cremation. She really thought her status as girlfriend of the summer would overrule my long standing position as your right hand... companion? Friend? Sister? I hate labels.

My eyes traveled across your features. Most would say you looked peaceful. I would say you looked dead. I will give you some points for managing to look bored and haughty at your own funeral. It would make me smirk if I wasn't too busy trying not to slam down the ugly wood down upon your fucking body. You rarely do change that expression, even now. That was one thing they couldn't change. They could put blush on your cheeks and surround you with puke worthy wood but they couldn't contort your expression. A blessing, considering Annette did win the battle for choosing your outfit. She thought it made you look 'spiffy'. Her words, my friend. She thought you always looked way too serious in life and she, alone of all people, had seen the real you- the you with a sweet laugh and an easy sense of humour. So she insisted on casual. The official funeral and you had to be stuffed into a t-shirt and faded jeans. I can't remember the last time you suffered yourself to wear a ratty faded pair of jeans. Oh wait, that's right, you never did.

You had to choose a woman who really had no idea who you were. You had to die for that self righteous bitch who knew nothing at all.

I'll have you know that I wanted you looking the way you would want to look in your last public appearance ever. You were going to be buried under a couple layers of dirt and grass and rock- you would not want to be stuck in eternity wearing anything less then your designer clothes, your best and most attractive suit. It wasn't bad enough that they put make up on you and housed you in the worst vessel possible, it wasn't bad enough that they had to say all that crap in your eulogy that would have made you scowl in reality, they had to make you look shabby too. But they couldn't change your expression. And it's that expression that's making me break inside. I was managing to keep stoic until that damn expression.

My fingers are touching you. No. It's not you. You're long gone. This is some shell that you left behind. But it is you. It's your hair, your soft skin, your cheekbones, your lips. It's your Adam's apple, your chest, your freakishly girly eyelashes. You.

"We have to put him under now, miss."



"I said no." I calmly stated. "Ten minutes."

"Miss, you said that twenty minutes ago. I know this is a difficult time-"

"Shut up and walk away and come back in ten minutes." I said. Feeling the reluctance, I finally looked back at the mousy attendant and gave my very best brave-and-suffering smile. "I'm sorry. But he was my brother."

A nod, a pat on the shoulder, and then I'm rid of the vermin.

My attention is back to the casket.

It wasn't my fault.

You were such a fool. You deserved to die. But you didn't have the right to die like that, to die like a gallant hero, I didn't deserve to have my last memory of you to have been what it was.

You probably hated me when you died. True hatred, not feigned hatred hiding real amusement. I did it for you. You wanted her. I just made the choice easier. I just made your guilt lessen. I did it for you.

I made you hate me. In my rarer moments of selflessness, I made you hate me so you could be happy. I knew you wouldn't be with her long, but at least you could come back to me and admit I was right after you got to see that for yourself instead of wondering the rest of senior year and secretly pining for her. I wouldn't have you turn soft and loving. She wouldn't be right for you and you'd see that and come back to me, hardened and lovely.

That's what was supposed to happen.

You were supposed to realize things. See through me like I've been able to see through you. Read me. You never did realize that I needed you, did you? I was too good of an actress. But I did. I didn't need anyone but I needed you. You were supposed to go on being with me, wanting no one more then you wanted me, until I was ready to let you see that I didn't think you were just a toy to me. But then, I thought you already knew that.

You were supposed to be with me and sleep with me and give me the best sex I ever had and vice versa.

Ten years down the line, after being with every other woman and man in the planet, we were supposed to finally settle down and stop playing mind games so viscously and allow ourselves a smidgen of happiness.

I dream, I wish… I've thought ahead. Like all little girls, I thought of my wedding day. We were to be married in a church. I thought it ironic. I was to be in traditional white and you in a suit. And maybe I wouldn't have let you have me until our wedding night. I would have thought it perfectly hilarious.

You were to be my groom. In each and all of my thoughts and wishes and dreams, you were always the man to my wife. I never had one moment of doubt. For all our warped ways of showing it, for all our jibes and cruelty, you were the love of my life. And I always knew we would make it official one day, when we outgrew the need to deny it and tease and pretend.

It wasn't my fault.

I had plans. I had desires.

They're lowering your casket in a minute. I just have time to run my hand over you one last time. I've long since memorized the feel of you. My hands know your face, your body, my eyes can see you when you're not there, my nose can sense you when you're in the room. And I lean down and give a little chaste kiss on your cheek, and then a small one on your lips, your cold, lifeless lips that I will never be able to feel. The lips that will never open up and say something witty and harsh and deceitfully honest. The lips that will never pout and bitch and yell and snarl and threaten. The lips that will never crush against mine with a passion unparalled. The lips that will never say the words that meant so much to everyone else and so little to us- I love you, Kathryn.

"I'm sorry." It wasn't my fault. "I'm sorry." It's a whisper, but it's enough.

My hands feel their way to the edge of the casket. The eyes of the world will never see his face again, and there will pass the most beautiful of humans.

I never did have much store in religion but if I ever did believe in God, I fucking hate him now. No God would do this, would let this happen. And devil, the devil loved him. There is no God. But for his sake I suddenly wish that there were, just so he could have a safe afterlife.

Annette said he'd be her angel for the rest of her life. She's a twit, but I want him near me too, in any form. I'm not selfish enough to wish it, though. He's better off away from this twisted painful place.

It's not my fault.

Then why the hell does it hurt so much?

The wood falls heavily down and I have to lean down against it once more. My forehead presses against the casket and I brush my lips against it. My palms spread themselves against this prison of his and they follow the casket as it lowers. In effect, I am literally driving him into the ground, literally putting him to the grave. It is my right to do so, and fitting in a way.

The dirt is shoveled over him. I want to scream out for them to stop defiling him.

Covered. He is covered. I should be working on putting him out of my mind, but I can't. I won't. I won't forget him. I refuse.

"Good bye, Sebastian." And somewhere, deep in the trenches of my chest, I hear his resonating drawl laugh that it will never, ever be good bye.

I pick myself up, fix my make up, rearrange my stylish mourning clothes. I adjust my face, straighten up my features so that the unreadable indifference is back on the surface. My eyes block up and I make my way back to my car.

I was the last one. I outstayed them all. Even Annette. I stayed sitting, pretending to be writing something in a notebook while they all went up to his casket. I watched subtly and waited until the losers sobbed their way away. I was the last one for him. When there's no one else left in the world that cares, that stays, that thinks of him, I'll be there. Because the little girl is still here and she still waits for the day she gets to stand beside him in her white dress and say I do forever. That day will come someday, Sebastian. It will.

It wasn't my fault. But the refrain is fading from my thoughts. The desperation and emotion are successfully being repressed. Appearances are everything.

You can still hear me, can't you, Sebastian?

That journal wasn't all you thought of me, was it? There were better thoughts, better entries, but Annette just didn't publish it all, correct?

I throw away the thoughts. How sad it is that you are forever gone and I can't even be sure that what we had was actually more then a game. I lied and you lied so many times I don't know how you really felt.

They made a mockery of who you were. Only I know how much of a disgrace this whole day was to you. But everyone hates me now. Where I once was revered and loved I am now shunned and despised. I like it better this way. It was only you I wanted to fool. And I managed that, even to your dying breath.

Before I enter my car, I look back at your newly dug grave and at the plot next to it. I can't help but smile slightly. That spot is reserved for me. It has been for years. You suggested it as a joke and laughed when I took you up on it, but I know that if I hadn't, you would have insisted. When someone kills me like I've killed you (it wasn't my fault), I'll join you. And we really will be together forever. I've made a note to be buried in a beautiful white gown. The bride to your groom.

Don't you love this me? This me who is so superfluously overly sentimental and so deep in denial that I can barely do anything these days?

They'll likely shove me in rehab soon.

They'll likely try to destroy me further. But I can't be destroyed. Only you can destroy me. And you have. At once I am irreparably ruined and granted immortal strength with your departure. You both weakened and solidified who I am. Aren't you proud?

I've been thinking of starting my own journal. I mocked you for yours, but if I had one you would have been just as desperate to read mine as I was to read yours. Maybe I'll have my own version of our lives. It's quite different from your spin, I'm sure.

You will live on.

Good bye Sebastian. Stay with me. Don't leave me like you did before. Stay.

It wasn't my fault.

Forgive me?

Good bye Sebastian.

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

Hate me in ways
Hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you

And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave
Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made

Hate me...

AN: Seriously, freakishly obsessed with CI and with K/S. I have a Sebastian one in the works and am thinking of so many ideas, I'm going to bomb bio for this, haha. At least I'll be happy. CI isn't mine. And neither is Ryan of the pretty lips. This story popped into my head as I listened to the song above, Hate Me by Blue October. Not really a song fic, but I thought the lyrics fitted with Kathryn, even though the song goes on to talk of different things. I'm considering making this into a chapter fic, through Kathryn's journal. The immiediate future and Kathryn and Sebastian's long and off beat past melded into one. Possibly. It's good to be in the CI community :)