Chapter 1: Dead

A/N: So, this would be my counterpart to Delusion, as you will all soon see. I hope you love it, because I adore this AND Delusion so much! Review please!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Class of the Titans.

// Oh How Could Anyone Not Love Your Cold Black Heart? //

I think it's a strange way to die, killed by the one thing you knew you shouldn't have trusted, but you did anyway. I had never believed I could be killed before these few weeks, but my time with him had opened my eyes.

Death was everywhere. From the trunk of a car, to a hotel room, to dreams, to reality. Hell, death even danced in his eyes.

My best friend had always told me I was too bold, too brave and altogether too fearless. I suppose this had killed me as well. But it wasn't the only reason I was dead.

I had been murdered.

However, could you call it murder when you would have died even if they hadn't killed you?

My killer is a man. Almost a boy -he is so young-, but older than me, making him a man in my eyes. I guess that made me the stupid, naïve girl. I can accept that now in death, as I never could in life.

Death suited me. I wouldn't have believed that earlier; I suppose no one would believe that, as dead was dead. Death was believed to be cold and lonely and calm and quiet. I was –or had been- fiery, temperamental, passionate and loud. I knew it, and perhaps those qualities alone were what had drawn him to me.

I digress; Death is not cold, lonely, calm or quiet. It is beautiful and passionate and lovely and you finally, finally understand everything.

Sometimes it hurts… understanding everything, I mean. I would have known that he wasn't lying, at least to me. I would have known that he was telling the truth when he had told me he loved me. I would have realized that despite his age, he was very wise. I could have told him I loved him back. He could have let me live, I could have lived, everyone could have lived.

It wasn't his fault. Nor was it mine, I suppose.

I suppose I could share who he is. I don't really like to think his name. It hurts me too much. Whatever else death is, it is painful mostly. But it's a lovely type of pain, all eye-opening and caring and beautiful.

Archie.

There it is again, the tingling, the burning, and the pain. But his name is beautiful, and I long to whisper it again, to let it roll over my cold lips and feel closer to him again.

Archie. Archie. Archie.

The chant of his name triggers another memory, and I feel myself cry out in pain and longing.

The Seeper.

Poison.

Hope.

"Archie!" I feel as if this scream has torn the fabric of my being as I feel his lips press against my cheek.

But I am dead. And screaming is not something we do, and neither is desire.

Despite this, I am full of it. Full of screams and desire and love and pain and wonder. I believe it has something to do with the conditions of my death.

Dying in the presence of the one thing you love more than your life, and the one thing you hated more than anything in your past life can do things to your mind. Terrible, cruel things. I believe that is what originally happened to him. Except… he isn't dead.

Oh gods, he can't be dead. I can feel panic rising, and I know this is another emotion that they told me not to feel. I can't describe who they are; they do not have a name like he does. All I know is they are terrifying, beautiful, ugly and wonderful all at the same time.

I think them to be angels sometimes, and they appear as such, leading me down corridors in my mind I never knew were there. Sometimes they come to me as demons, giants, devils, gods and they are horrible.

Once, they came to me as Archie. It was a wonderful moment of death, thinking he had joined me here, in this oblivion. It was also painful, knowing he had died and come to me, perhaps even died to be with me.

That's just the way death is, you know? It's bittersweet, so full of pain and love and hurt and wonder and hate and life!

Contradictory perhaps, but true. Maybe this is why no one knows what death is like. No one can truly understand it till they have been here. I would invite you, but it is a one way ticket!

My humour is turning as rotten as this coffin full of worms. I can't see my coffin, but I know it's around me. Archie would have buried me; he would have given me that. Although, he had always believed I didn't deserve to be placed in the ground and eaten.

Fire.

Cremation.

The thought sat surprisingly well with me. My body was gone, and maybe Archie had some of the ashes. I prayed that he was well, and I wonder if perhaps that was redundant because I suppose I could just ask them if I could go see God and give my request to him personally.

But God probably doesn't look kindly upon murderers, and I wouldn't want to draw unnecessary holy attention upon Archie. After all, despite what he had done to me, I did want him in heaven!

Was I in heaven? Even now, as I am dead, I don't really know. It's a wonderful place –did I already tell you this? - But dead is dead, and it's not that great.

It wasn't Elysian Fields and that concerned me. Archie… would he go there?

Why in the world wasn't I there!? He promised me I would be! Tears would flow at this moment if my eyes weren't a pile of ashes. Understanding wasn't this great if I couldn't even figure things out!

I know I am getting ahead of myself. I should start at the beginning of my story, of our story, and explain the curious situation of my demise.

However that would take much too long. It was a lifetime, forever, immortal, and burned into my mind. But I suppose I could highlight the details.

Had it only been a few weeks ago that I had been at home, safe, in my house?

Now I must be too far behind. Alright, let me explain a few things first.

I am dead. Unbelievably, forever, irreversibly dead. I am also much too young to be so. I am twenty one years old, and smart and friendly. Or… I was. I don't really know how long I have been dead. Could be minutes, or I guess it could be… millennium. But if it had been so long, wouldn't Archie be with me now?

Red hair, hazel eyes, tanned skin, athletic body and a vicious right hook. This would have described me in life, and now in death I had no desire to see myself and change it. These things were what Archie had loved, and I wouldn't want him not to recognize me. I hoped I still looked like I had in life.

I was killed, by Archie, by my murderer, by a knife. A butcher knife to be exact; and it entered and exited my body thirty eight times. It's amazing that I can't recall how it felt, to be stabbed and dying. I can remember being cold, and being hit and crying. I can also remember being warm, being loved and smiling. Reality escapes me sometimes, and I think that is also a cause of staying around Archie too much.

Archie was a twenty three year old mental hospital escapee. He has a known violent streak, a horrible addiction to cocaine, gambling, drinking and stealing. However, he does not smoke. Archie believes cigarettes to be evil and says they are too unhealthy to even attempt to be addicted to.

I never understood him in life; I didn't even try to in death. He was beautiful and cruel and kind and loving and full of hate. Archie was pale, unbelievably so, due to the length of time he had spent in jail and hospital. He had steel grey eyes that had the unbelievable capacity to be cruel as ice or warm as molten magma at the same time. His lips were stern and talented, his nose crooked but manly.

He had calloused hands, and a deadly grip. His hair was purple. Crazy, unusual purple. I loved it about him.

I loved everything about him in fact, and I had since the moment he had kissed me. I know it is silly and probably insane or sick of me to still dream of the man that killed me, and wish for nothing more than his arms around me, but I cannot help it.

Because while Archie killed me, he also saved me, also loved me. And it was worth it.

I suppose in the end, that love killed me.

But back to the start of this love story. I was in a gas station, dreaming of adventures, and wondering how my best friend was doing at work. I was wearing a tight red top that rode too high and showed off my midriff. I had a black belt with a large batman belt buckle on, mostly to hold up the loose denim short shorts I was wearing. I remember this part clearly, because it was the moment everything changed.

I had picked up a bag of Tostitos and the bell signalling someone entering the store had gone off. The man who ran the till was fixing the cigarette rack, and whoever had come in apparently wasn't there for gas. He turned into the aisle to the right of where I stood, and all I saw was purple hair bend down.

I paid for my Tostitos, and turned to walk out; turned to leave my future, my death, my love and the life I wanted.

But something stopped me. I have never truly figured out what it was that held me immobile. I turned, slowly, to see the man staring at me.

At first, it was just eyes. Silver, beautiful eyes. Then a face so masculine, it made me hot. His nose was crooked, but it was meant to be so, because without it, it would be wrong. His hand was frozen on its way to some car magazine, and I wondered if he was staring at me.

It wasn't unusual for this to happen, however I had never felt such a pull from a man before. I was stared at a lot, due to my brash attitude and confident dress code. My best friend often told me that men flocked to my side like birds to a worm. I didn't truly believe her; after all, I wasn't beautiful like she was.

I was loud and obnoxious and temperamental. Boys wondered if I was crazy, men wondered if I could be conquered.

Which, by the way, I couldn't. Not by most men anyway.

But Archie? He conquered me. He consumed me, loved me and left me burning for nothing but his touch. I died by him, for him, with him.

Either way, he was staring at me. I was staring at him. I walked up to him, because that is the way I behave.

"I'm Atlanta." I stuck my hand out. He shook it silently, eyeing me.

"Archie. Archie Jeremy Killes." He informed me.

I remember now that I laughed at his formality. I shouldn't have, but I suppose I was lucky he took it the right way. If he hadn't, I would have been dead a lot earlier.

"Alright Arch." I smiled, "Hopefully I will see you around."

I left then. I went to my car, turned it on. As fate would have it, I had left my Tostitos on the counter.

So, for all that I have, for all that I loved, and for my death, I owe a measly bag of chips.

I entered the store again, and Archie was no where to be found. I grabbed the chips, exited once more and looked around for my car. It was no where to be seen, and I had known that it had just been there. I also knew that I had left the keys in it, unlocked and running.

My last thoughts in that moment were that my car had been stolen, most likely by Archie Jeremy Killes. I was not laughing at his name any longer.

In fact, I never laughed at him again after the cloth went over my mouth and I tasted copper pennies. I knew enough self defence to throw an elbow out and catch my attacker's stomach, but it wasn't enough.

I was gone, unconscious, and no one even knew. My car was gone, my chips were crushed, and I had been kidnapped by someone. Most likely a purple haired freak.

And all over a stupid bag of chips.

// I Looked At You And Knew You Were The Only Thing That Mattered There Was No One For Me But You //