Death. Always was something we talked about wasn't it Sebastian?
I remember a long time ago, I think we may have been about 15, it was a few months after our parents married. Anyway, my father died and I was upset and you kept asking what was wrong and I wouldn't tell you. You'd never seen me cry before and you were pestering me every chance you had – I finally snapped. I broke down in your arms and sobbed, do you remember? I told you everything about my father and how close he and I used to be. You stroked my hair and let me sleep in your bed that night.
That is probably one of the best memories I have of you now.
After that I swore to myself never to cry in front of you again, I never did, no matter how much things upset me. That's why you started to call me 'Ice Princess', you thought my heart was as cold as ice, you were probably right. I wasn't always like that you know? I used to be a happy child, my father would take me sailing a lot, we'd go out for hours and hours and when I came home my mother would be waiting with freshly baked cookies.
My mother would bake all kinds of sweets for my father and I, I bet you never knew that. She used to love to cook, we didn't even have a maid and it wasn't that we couldn't afford one, we could, but my mother loved to cook. She wasn't always the bitch you and I hated all those years.
Then my mother and father simply stopped loving each other. I could tell, they never fought before and all of a sudden they would bicker and yell all kinds of profanities towards each other.
Eventually my father moved away, to Barcelona I think. He never said goodbye to me, he left an envelope with a crucifix inside; my father was religious. It was the same crucifix I later had hollowed out and turned into a coke dispenser.
Once my father moved away my mother stopped caring, she stopped cooking and never let me eat any kinds of sweets or anything too fatty. She sold my father's boat and the house and we moved to New York, where she had numerous amounts of boyfriends before she met your father and you know how the story goes from here.
You left the story a little early didn't you?
Aren't stories supposed to have happy endings? Our story doesn't have one, Seb. I think it was doomed to have a sad ending to begin with.
I was never one to believe in god, I think you know this, but after you died I all of a sudden found myself praying to god that it wasn't true and if he brought you back then I would stop all my bad habits and really be the good girl everyone thought I was. It's funny the lengths I would go to have you back now, but before all I wanted to do was hurt you. Well, I succeeded. Really, it was me who hurt the first person I ever loved, not you.
It's ironic the weather right now isn't it? Dark grey clouds forming over head. I didn't bring an umbrella, I never thought I'd need one. I'm going to get soaked.
Remember the hick? After my fall from grace she left town with her dad, they moved back to Kansas. Oh and Cecile Caldwell, she became a legend at Manchester. Never would have thought hey?
Cecile ended up perfecting my act and manipulated everyone as I did, only she learnt from my mistakes and never left any evidence of the cruel shit she did. I only know this because after she fucked my reputation she payed me $50,000 to teach her my tricks, so I did. She even made some of her own up along the way. Of course she'd never be as notorious as I, hell six years on and I'm still being talked about there.
They have a memorial of you there. I was there when they built it. It's the Sebastian Valmont library. Inside there's a picture of you on the wall, one of your old school photos, it's enlarged so big that you look like a god. There's inscriptions beside the photo on a large gold plate, written by everyone who knew you (mostly the girls you fucked). I even wrote something there.
'Sebastian Valmont, brother, lover, notorious playboy, always, Kathryn'
Of course, they weren't exactly the words I would have liked to put there, but I had to make do with what I was allowed to write. Afterwards, my mother read it and waited until we got home and then she slapped me. I just smiled and walked off, how much more damage could I do? Your journal told the truth and everyone knew, there was no point in hiding it.
I even think Annette wrote something there, it was pathetically sappy of course, hers was the first to be written.
'Sebastian, you left us too early. To my first love, I love you. Annette Hargrove'
I almost vomited when reading it, she gave me a dirty look and pranced off to her father who scowled at what I had written afterwards.
After that, life began it's downward spiral. My mother institutionalised me until just before my 21st birthday. I spent 4 years in a dreaded psych ward of a hospital, I was in therapy and on so much medication. I even lost weight, I was so skinny you could see every bone I had on my body.
I returned to New York three days after my 21st, want to know the first thing I did? I visited you. It was dark and I had a limo drop me off at your grave, there was thunder and lightening and it was pouring rain, but all I wanted to do was talk to you. I did. I sat in the rain for hours, telling you everything I'd done over the passed 4 years.
Since then life hasn't been much better nothing appeals to me anymore, I can barely look at men when I have sex with them, it disgusts me to unbearable lengths. I even lost contact with Blaine. He blamed me for your death and stopped talking to me right up until I went into the psych ward. He told me to rot in hell.
I smiled at him in return and kissed his cheek. He never smiled or showed emotion. I didn't expect him to. I killed his best friend, I deserved his coldness, it somehow empowered me though.
You know, since you died, Seb a lot has changed. I moved out of the townhouse and told my mother to fuck off. I told Edward to divorce my bitch of a mother and I told the society papers that my mother constantly cheated on Edward with playboys in Italy. She had a fit when she read it and her and your father fled to Greece for a few months.
And not that I would admit this to you in person, but I did try killing myself two times, unsuccessfully obviously.
The first time I tried suicide I took a bunch of pills, which never really affected me, probably because I was so used to drugs by then. The second time I tried alcohol. I shot everything I could find in my bar at home, using the technique you taught me when we were on holidays in Paris.
I remember those few months well.
We were 16, you'd just gotten home from scoring with a girl and you were bragging to me about how hot she was and how good she was in bed, even though I knew you were lying about how good she was in bed. I told you to shut up and kiss me and you did.
Eventually we got into the alcohol in our hotel room whilst Edward and my mother were out on the town. We played a card game, I can't remember the name of it, but whatever number of card you turned over, that was how many shots you had to drink. Your first card was a 7 and you had to shot 7 shots of bourbon.
When it was my turn, I turned over a 3, I'd never really shot drinks before then, so I wasn't as experienced as you. You poured my shots and showed me how to shot like you and those 3 shots went down easier then anything I've ever drank before.
We got quite drunk within an hour and I started kissing you. I was sitting on your lap, rubbing against you. You were moaning my name and fiddling with my top, but I never allowed you to get it off. Instead I took down your pants.
You smiled at me and forced my head onto your cock. I laughed once you let go and started giving you head. You were probably the biggest cock I'd sucked back then, but I still found it easy to perform my magic. My hands suddenly moved to your balls and you growled, it was a deep lovely sound that I know I'll never forget no matter how long you're gone.
After a few more minutes of me doing what I was best at you came in my mouth for the first time, moaning my name like a mantra. When I swallowed all your cum your face gave a look of surprise and all I did was lick my lips and tell you, you tasted good. You almost came again when I said that.
You wanted to return the favour after that but I wouldn't let you. Instead I ordered you to put everything away and I went to bed.
We got back to New York and you were absolutely furious with me because I'd fucked some hot rich guy on the plane, even though you never told me why, I knew that was the reason. I only did it to make you jealous.
Do you want to know how I feel right now, Seb? Because I've lost the only person other than my father that I cared about and even loved.
I go through three emotions every day. When I wake anger hits me. Anger because you left me for that hick then came crawling back because I threatened your reputation. Anger because I know you left this world telling Annette Hargrove you fucking loved her and not me. Anger because I was the one who killed you and I criticise myself for it everyday.
The second emotion happens just before lunch. Disgust. I can't look at myself, I can barely eat or talk in fear of throwing up what little food I eat. Disgust because I killed you, because I'm just that cruel hearted that I needed to kill you in order to win out twisted game. Disgust for my body, the one you rejected for the virgin.
My last emotion is depression. Usually it hits me two hours before I go to bed. At first I start of a little angry at you and then I just get upset and I can't stop thinking about you and the water works start and all I want to do is cry and never stop. That's when I drink and snort my precious powder and do anything I can to numb the pain you've caused to stir within me.
Those three emotions are all I feel now, Sebastian. You've killed me inside and that's all I know.
Although your last words as you left the world were 'I love you Annette' I know you don't mean it. As conceited as this may sound Sebastian, I know it's me you cherish and love and forever would like to be with if you had the chance. True, you may have been infatuated by the boring virgin, but I guarantee you after the first few months you had of dated her, you would come crawling back to me.
The thing is, as much as I tried to deny it, I loved you. I still do.
No matter how far our worlds are apart, or if you're dead and I'm not. The feeling will always be there, Sebastian. I think it always has, I just was so used to hiding it that I even fooled myself most days.
We're not going to be apart for much longer, dear brother. I've come up with a plan. It may sound crazy, but my heart aches for you Valmont, it hurts so much sometimes I consider calling an ambulance so they can give me some sort of pain killer to numb the feeling.
This is why I'm here tonight. It's late now, I've been talking to you for hours and hours now. I'm drenched from the rain that recently fell and I'm shivering from the cold wind that howls through the cemetery. Oddly, I am not scared. I'm content in standing here, I know you'd keep me safe.
This is probably why I've decided to kill myself to be with you.
Yes, you heard me right Sebastian. I'm taking my own life right here tonight, to be with you forever, in the clouds in heaven or the fiery pits of hell, whichever I end up in. I can't bear being alone of this god forsaken planet for one more day. You don't get the stares from people wandering by, all the whispers from all the school kids who've heard of the notorious Kathryn Merteuil.
I even bought a gun.
See? It's new, I had a 'friend' buy it for me for a few grand. He accepted, afterwards I fucked him, thinking of you instead of him. Am I perverted for thinking that?
My fingers feel numb against the cold metal, it's like I'm already dead.
Where should I shoot myself?
The head would be cliché don't you think? It's also the quickest way to die.
I suppose the heart would be like a twisted romance novel. 'She shot herself in her heart because it's what ached the most' I can hear the talk now.
There's also the slow painful ways of a limb, I could bleed to death. I deserve that much.
Which do you prefer? Head, heart or limb?
You wouldn't want me to suffer, so there goes the limb idea. My head would be quick and painless almost, but my heart would be ironic and almost poetic. Heart it is.
Am I scared? No, I'm not. I'm not afraid of death Sebastian because I know you're there waiting for me. Waiting for me to land in your arms and kiss you. How I've missed kissing those lips of yours brother dear.
The gun is now flush against my chest on the outside of my dress. There's material between my skin and the gun but I can feel the cold, hard metal. One shot. One flick of the trigger and my life is gone.
I can already feel my body go limp. Can you see me? Am I still as beautiful as ever? It's painful, I can feel tears starting to fall from my eyes, wipe them away Sebastian. I can feel the blood slowly seeping through my dress, I can taste it in my mouth. The sweet taste of blood.
The gun is still in my hands, although I can't really feel it anymore, my right side has gone completely numb. I can't even see anymore, everything is dark now, I see no light, I can hear the thunder and I can faintly hear the rain. I'm not dead yet.
I love you Sebastian. Can you hear me?
I've fallen gracefully onto your grave, my head is by your tombstone. Somehow it reassures me that I'm going to see you again.
My whole body is numb. I feel no pain. No sound. No sight. Am I dead? I can see your face, faintly. It's getting clearer as seconds pass. There you are, I can see you. Your body, god I've missed you. You're smiling at me. Can you see me Sebastian?
You're nodding. Can you hear my thoughts?
Pain. I feel pain. Why is this all of a sudden painful again?
Your arms. They're around me. I've missed your touch. I can smell you now, oh god. Your kissing my wound, although as soon as you kiss it, it fixes itself. There's no wound. I can feel, I can see, I can hear. I'm dead.
Death. What a wonderful thing.
A/N: I was so bored. A Kathryn Tale was getting hard to write. I think I just needed a break. Anyway, this is a little different but I hope you guys like it.