A/N:Every so often I get the urge to write something really twisted and angsty and dark; usually when I'm sleep deprived. I don't always actually write the ideas, but I blame this on the remnants of migraine medication and the slight fog I'm left in for the rest of the day after I have a migraine. Please note that I'm not one to swear in conversations, but sometimes literary context calls for it. Also know that this is some dark stuff. I love Kairi, and I love Axel, but the Kaixel pairing lends itself to the opportunity for this kind of twisted scenario.

Warnings: Language, mentions of rape. AU Twisted AxelKairi.

All weird formatting and uncapitalized words are intentional.


she's finally gone quiet.

She just lays there, staring (or so you assume, her back is turned to you) at the wall, shaking hands still clutching the sheet to the bleeding burn above her right breast; the one you gave her to make her take her shirt off.

Her screams empowered you. Her sobs annoyed you. But her silence almost unnerves you.

What happened to all that fight? All that fire? You grin. You knew you'd break her one day.

Maybe she's just finally given up, choosing to play dead in hopes that maybe now that you're finally done with her you'll leave her alone and let her go home.

Although…it's slightly anticlimactic. It's a bit wrong, to see her just lay there, crimson hair splayed across the pillow, wrists turning black and blue, burns beginning to blister and bleed.

You watch her for a minute, fascinated, as you've always been, by this creature who seemed to be made of nothing but purity and friendliness and trust. And look where that got you, Princess. You think. Granted, she knew something was amiss when you brought her to your apartment, empty of all the friends you were going to introduce her to.

You get up and get dressed, still watching her from your peripheral vision. You light a cigarette, grinning as you see her body tense at the click of the lighter, then relax as she realizes it isn't coming near her again. You walk toward her, climbing back on the bed and resting a hand on her shoulder as you lean over her to get a look at the side of her face.

She clutches the sheets a little closer around her body, trying to salvage the remnants of her stolen honor. Her face contorts to the ghost of the look of horror that overcame it earlier that evening when she'd realized your intentions, her eyes going wide as she frantically shook her head, backing away from you. And as you look into her empty eyes you can hear the echoes of her screams in your head; pleading you, begging you, just let me go, please, don't do this, just let me go even as you held the lighter to the small of her back, smoking her out of the hall, into your room, out of her clothes, into your bed.

"What's wrong, Princess? You don't look happy to see me," you sneer, listening to her whimper as you extinguish the cigarette against her shoulder. You were expecting her to start screaming again, to start fighting you again. At the very least you thought she'd have grabbed her clothes and made a break for the door. "You sure get boring quick, Princess."

You let go of her shoulder, leaning back up and crawling off the bed when you hear her brokenly whisper,

"what did I ever do to you?"

And you're back down, mouth pressed to her ear; hand in a vice-grip around her shoulder as you answer. "nothing. not to me or anyone else. no one is supposed to be that damn perfect." You let her go, hopping off the bed and walking out of the room. You glance back when you hear her whimper; watch her curl into herself as the sobs start again, burnt hands clutching bruised shoulders.

But as you walk into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge, and then through into the living room, you don't hear her crawl out of bed and put on her singed clothes. You don't hear her as she slips into the kitchen, pausing at the corner of the counter beside the stove. You do hear her as she enters the living room, walking past you toward the door. She's limping funny; courtesy, you imagine, of the burn against the inside of her left thigh. That's what she gets for trying to keep her legs closed.

You rise from your armchair and grab her arm, squeezing tightly on her purple wrist.

"Where do you think you're going, Princess? Did I say I was done with you?"

You spin her around to face you, but you don't hear her pull the knife from her cardigan pocket.

You just hear the squelch as she plunges it into your chest.

Your wide eyes stare into the emptiness in hers as she jerks the knife sideways, twisting it, carving it deeper into your ribcage. She releases the knife only when you release her arm, as you fall backwards and gush blood all over the carpet, the crimson spreading out from the wound and staining your shirt red as her hair.

She backs away from you, towards the door, and she keeps her dead blue eyes on you as she shakily opens it and backs out.

"Murderous bitch!" You choke out, glaring at her.

"Self-defense," she mutters, and you curse her again, because you know she'll get away with it. It'll be a thousand injuries as well as an apartment full of evidence and her word against yours, and dead men tell no tales.

As she turns and limp-runs out the door and down the hall towards the stairs, you watch the scarlet start to close in from the corners of your eyes, and everything blurs.

You smirk as it all gets dark, her vibrant crimson hair the last thing you'll ever see.

You smirk because you realize that if this is what you've turned her into, then---

---you win.

A/N: Got this idea one morning when I was about half-awake after getting threeish hours of sleep and finding myself awake and unable to go back to sleep. That's usually the state I'm in when I get the ideas for really twisted angsty dark fics. This was also vaguely inspired, I suppose by 'becoming a monster' by silver moon droplet.

It's 2:30 in the morning. I need to sleep now.

after reading this, aren't you glad I don't own KH?