A/N: Yes, I am a sick puppy, but I think that this was called for. I'm amazed that no one else has done it yet, actually.
Title: A Pretty Picture
Rating: M, totally. Language, mentions of mature themes. Anger, depression, violence, incest, rape-y-ness. Necrocest.
Character(s)- Rene, Cindy
Summary- He just can't stand the thought of some blood sucking monster pawing at his beloved baby sister. Based more on the book than the movie. One-sided RenexCindy.
She was standing in front of the mirror; it was a habit of hers, to primp at every opportunity. Cindy knew that she was pretty, and she exploited that fact whenever she had the chance. Her thin fingers pulled and twirled spirals of honey-colored silk around her pale face in intricate curls with the practiced expertise that only a beauty queen can achieve. Little pink containers were scattered throughout the bathroom that she shared with her sibling: mascara, powders, eyeshadow, lipgloss, lipstick, blush, eyeliner. Everything that a girl could ever need to make it in the service industry, she always said with a smile on her full lips.
Rene laughed with her when she said it, although he didn't find the idea amusing in any way. It made him think of whoring, but she wasn't using her sex in the way that automatically came to mind when the word came up. She was using her pretty face, and the unfulfilled promise of what was beneath that tight-fitting uniform to earn extra tips and raises. It never sat easily on his stomach to think of what might cross someone's mind when they looked up into that angelic face.
"That mirror really loves you, doesn't it?" She jumped a little bit, but seeing the dark reflection of her older brother over her shoulder, she offered a grin. He was always amazed at the ease with which that pretty smile crossed her lips, especially for him. Cindy turned back to her make-up. She was always the picture of perfection as she stood there, dressed all in uniform, her mouth open in a slight 'O' as she applied black to her eyelashes. It was his favorite part of the day, watching her get ready to go. "You're getting really jumpy lately, sis," he mentioned thoughtfully, his dark eyes somehow made ominous by the shadow that the hallway offered to his face. Rene always seemed to approach every situation like a panther sizing up his next meal. It never failed to make Cindy uncomfortable to have him leering over her like some sort of boogeyman.
She didn't respond at first, choosing to take a moment to instead apply a thick layer of gloss to her mouth. She didn't have to explain anything to him; it was plain enough what was going on without words. They'd been that way, for as long as either could remember. It was what she called their "special connection," the ability to know exactly what the other was thinking without bothering to ask. It came from spending to much time together, she usually managed to chime in at the last moment, something bitter to sour her sweet words.
That was his Cindy though, a dynamic combination of bad and good. A perfect balance of light and dark, she had the face of an angel and claws that could rip you to shreds while she smiled at you like a velveteen painting. Still, she always managed to set his stomach into tight knots of pleasure when she mentioned their closeness as some supernatural example of destiny. It was as if she were admitting that some higher being had ordained that the threads of their lives were tangled together in a way that most people could never even begin to comprehend. He liked to think that she knew him in the same ways that he knew her; that she would always be there before being asked with some sort of solution to whatever problem he was pondering over.
Now, however, the connection was not serving either of them well. A dark cloud had come over his cheer during the last few weeks, and his cat-like slinking had taken on a terrifying edge. His sister had began to feel that she was walking on eggshells with him, she'd become afraid of Rene. Sometimes he wasn't entirely sure that she wasn't right to be.
She'd become paler and paler over the last few weeks. It had started as a simple date, something initially harmless that had made his insides swim with disgust, and had run over into some sort of one-sided love affair. His baby sister had let herself be won over by the unnatural monstrosities that had come out of their hiding places just a year before. She didn't need to say that she'd let her vampire boyfriend feed on her, he could see it in the colorless cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and the way that sometimes she stumbled in so deficient of some necessary thing that she collapsed on the couch, unable to go any further.
Who cleaned her up when she was like that? He'd never seen the freak bring her home and dump food and vitamins into her until she was strong enough to handle herself again. And yet, it was always that thing that she went back to. He didn't have any need to tell her that he thought that she was a fool, and she didn't need to respond that it wasn't his business. They'd both already played the argument out in their heads one too many times. It had become an endless record of unspoken sentiment that had left them both mentally exhausted before it was even played out loud.
His tan, work-callused hand reached out to rest against her too white face. "Cindy, you got to come right home tonight, you know? You need some sleep." The softness in him was quickly being replaced by an evil and unhealthy rage, and he found that he needed her to agree with him, to set him at ease and appease the monster inside of him. She'd know, the way she always knew, and it would all be okay.
"I've got plans, but I'll come home a bit early, don't worry."
Maybe it was her quick response, or maybe it was just that she'd failed to know what he wanted, but something in that small sentence spilled the blackness over from inside of him. Suddenly the bathroom was a swirling miasma of anger and despair. "Don't worry? I'm right to worry! With you out fucking that thing, what am I supposed to do? I can't stand the thought of that dead thing touching you." The last line was spoken so close to a whisper that it creeped up and down her skin and broke out into shivers along it.
Cindy's face was unreadable, her eyes torn between saying something hard and mean, or putting the evil that lurked inside of her sibling to rest. It was dangerous to push Rene too far, she knew that, but somehow she couldn't help barking out a cruel retort. "Is it that you can't stand a dead man touching me? Or do you just want to be the only one allowed to do it?"
The dark face in front of her went a ghostly shade of white, and she knew that she'd touched on the right nerve this time. She should have just let the impulse die; now she had to take a step back to avoid the swarm of wrongness that radiated from her brother like an inky aura. "Why you want to say things like that, baby sister?" He spoke in a trembling voice, the amount of effort he was exerting to control himself was remarkable, they both knew that.
"You think that I don't know? You think that I don't see the way you look at me? Who's the freak, Rene? The guy with the vampire virus or the sick fuck that wants a shot at his own sister?" Unable to stand to look at the man that she'd just insulted, she said quietly, "Get out of my way, I'm late for work."
Her efforts to get out before he could retaliate were futile; she found his short, hard form blocking the door frame. His dark eyes had taken on a murderous glint, and somehow it was unspoken, even with all between them. She knew that she was going to have to pay the piper for her wrongs, and she knew that her brother was more than ready to collect. "You're going to miss work today, Cindy. Maybe for the next few days. Time to cash in on your sick hours, yeah? Your big brother thinks that you need some time to relax." One hand reached out and cupped her chin, the gesture was slow and easy, but nothing in it was reassuring.
For a moment, it seemed that this was the extent of his anger, to exert some amount of control over the sister that he imagined was headed for a dangerous downward spiral. Then his fist connected with her cheek. There was a blinding moment of pain as black spots exploded in front of her eyes. Her entire jaw was numb, she was sure that it was the shock of being struck, but it was probably a good thing that she couldn't feel anything. His hands were raining down blows, open-palmed and close-fisted, it didn't seem to matter as long as he continued to cause damage to her in some way.
Tiny fires were breaking out all over her body, pain surging from one nerve to another so quickly that she wasn't sure what area to focus her distress on. She was only able to throw up her arms as some weak defense against the dramatic onslaught. The flimsy cover did little to protect her, and nothing to discourage Rene. His face was an impassive mask, and no matter how hard she stared up into it, she could find no trace of humanity in it's features.
Stumbling backward, they were both aware that the girl couldn't keep herself on her feet very much longer. It came as no shock when her fingers gripped the shower curtain, and her feet came out from under her. In a solid, fluid motion she was on the ground, laying helpless, half against the ceramic bathtub. Her arms had fallen limp against her sides, and she wasn't sure that she could even find the strength to raise them up to protect herself again. She didn't think that it was worth it, anyway. Instead, she stayed still, hoping that her attempt would make her brother's anger dissolve into pity and guilt.
Rene's cold eyes stayed on her, alternating between humanity and monstrosity. At last he whispered, "Don't play Opossum with me, girl." Some part of his mind at least appeared to be struggling with what he'd done, for he stopped for just a moment as he stood over her. She looked like a broken Christmas ornament on the tile of the bathroom floor. He was reminded of a time when he'd ran through the house during the holiday season and toppled the angel from the top of the tree. His mother had seemed so sad as she cleaned up the shards of glass. Then he had felt guilty, now, however, he felt a surge of power at breaking something so beautiful, power and something else. Pleasure, in the purest and most natural form. He was knocked backward into the place of an animal, a ferocious jungle creature staring down at the antelope that would become his meal in moments.
He knelt down in front of her, his legs on either side of hers, watching for any sign of motion from her. There was none except for the minute fluttering of butterfly eyelids. His hands were tangled in her uniform in moments, leaving the apron half-done around her waist, he went for the buttons at the collar. Ordinarily this would have been the simplest of tasks, but his hands were shaking so badly that he found it almost impossible to achieve anything. With a final shake of his head and a growl, he yanked at the fabric and felt the same surge of terrible pride as the buttons popped off in a neat line. "Fuck," he whimpered to himself as he reached to undo the apron that had stopped his line of destruction. He couldn't take the time for such trivialities, he knew that he had to finish before he let himself regret starting. Leaving it half-done seemed a much worse idea than the completion.
Rene's fingers were halfway into the knot when his sister's knee came up without warning. She caught him just in the right way, and he had no choice but to abandon his ministering and grab his injured pride in agony. He opened his mouth to call her names, to put her in her place, but only a small gasp of breath escaped him.
Cindy knew that it was the only chance that she would have to get away, and she fully intended to take the opportunity and use it to it's fullest. Her dainty fingers gave her brother a small shove, relishing the feel as his body toppled beside her, and allowed her the freedom to move to her knees. Straightening herself out, she lunged for the door. A wave of dizziness overcame her, and she fell into the doorway, clenching her fingers around the wood frame in a way that promised to leave splinters beneath her fingernails. Her movement out of the tiny bathroom was not going as she'd planned, and she stumbled onto the ground, trying in vain to crawl away from the hands that had attached themselves to her ankle.
Her knees gave out from the impact of her full body weight on them, but panic had given her a strength beyond her imagining and she was able to pull herself a few feet with her palms. Before she reached the living room, however, he was on top of her, rolling her over and shoving her hands to her side, forcing his knees on top of them, pining her to the ground with his weight. Her top had fallen open, and now only a thin layer of cloth was left for him to remove before his eyes could take in sights that he'd only fantasized about previously. Her breasts were small and fit into his palm perfectly, he noted in a way that made his stomach tighten. Her face had taken on a slight green tint and her hips were arching wildly, her feet trying to find traction. She was tossing and turning, attempting to throw him off and having quite the reverse reaction.
Rene tightened the grip his legs had managed to find on her until she was wheezing for breath, and his hands were given free reign as he pinched and pulled and explored. She bucked once more, throwing her head forward and connecting it with his with a sickening crack. His fingers darted up to check the damage, and finding only the makings of a severe headache, returned to connect with her face again. This time, his hands were tangled in her hair. She felt the back of her skull smack against the ground. Once, twice, three times, but she could hardly feel it anymore, her eyes had taken on a hazy sheen, and she was barely able to see that her brother's eyes were full of tears. "Whore, bitch, slut," it was a chant as he bashed her brains into the floor beneath her. He stopped only when her eyes began to roll and he could only see the whites of them, and the blood pouring from between her lips. He slowed to a gradual stop and without another moment to consider his actions, he snatched her apron away and had the buttons off of her dress in a moment.
A soft moaning echoed from her throat as he quickly shoved himself into her, his hands bringing up the apron to tangle around her hands and throat. She was far too weak to get away now, her eyes very nearly closed, her mouth gaping, alternating between guttural moans of pain and half-formed pleas. He didn't let himself think about her pain, he kept his focus inward on a pretty picture that he had of her, her face staring deeply into the mirror as she concentrated on making herself up for him.
And then it was over. Bliss seemed to sneak up on him from behind and connect with his skull in a way that made stars dance around his head, and he had to lean his face against her shoulder until the moment subsided just to keep from fainting. He lay for a long time on top of her, not quite daring to move himself until he'd gathered his thoughts.
When he sat up, his face was dark with shame. "Cindy...Cindy...sorry...I'm so sorry," he could only mumble the stream of words again and again in an unending daisy-chain of black and white, until they made no sense even to him. There was no sudden forgiveness, no hug to assure him that she was alright, instead she lay under him as still as a corpse. When his eyes at last could meet her face, he found the white of paper, and hair that had once been honey-colored had now taken on a red sheen. Her fingers were limp where they lay, her last attempt had been to untangle the apron strings that had cut off her airway in his moments of pleasure, her heart no longer beat like a trapped bird beneath him.
He sat in stunned silence, staring down at the ruined thing that had been his beloved baby sister once. He moved off of her and leaned against the wall, his head buried against his knees as he tried to comfort himself. "Jesus, God, fuck. Help me. Cindy..." He sobbed quietly, knowing that only after he managed to get out his horror and grief could he regain enough mental stability to figure out what he was going to do about the whole thing.
There wasn't much blood to clean up, just a small pool from the back of her head, and a few little streams from her mouth and nose, but even as he thought this it was drying and stopping. There was only the knowledge that he was going to have to live without her now. The black fact that he had ended the life of the only woman that he'd ever cared a thing about, and that was much more difficult to clean up than the congealing blood on the floor.