Summary: She looked real, and if he didn't know any better, he'd probably think she was. (Dark oneshot.)
Disclaimer: Don't own Life With Derek. 'Nuff said.
Author's Note: Okay, so I've had this idea in my head for ages, but it seemed only fitting to write it out, type it up and post it TODAY. Consider it my Halloween present to you guys. However, the content may be disturbing to some readers. There -- I warned you.
Happy Halloween!
X
Everlasting
Hell
By:
Lady Azura
X
He awoke with a start and sat up abruptly, gasping for breath as he stared, wide-eyed, at the wall across from him. Layers of cold sweat coated his entire body, making his clothes stick to his skin uncomfortably while his heart pounded so rapidly that he almost feared that it would literally burst out of his chest. After about a minute or so, however, he managed to get his breathing under control and closed his eyes, falling back against the headboard behind him with a sigh.
He'd had the dream again.
No.
That wasn't right.
It wasn't a dream he'd had. Hell, it wasn't even a nightmare, although he wished it was. But dreams and nightmares were nothing more than unreal things that manifested themselves into deeper meanings.
What he'd had was a memory. A horrible, haunting memory that he wanted nothing more than to forget, but never could, because every time he closed his eyes, he remembered how he had walked into his room and found her there, dangling lifelessly from his ceiling in nothing but a silk nightgown. It wasn't any better when he was awake and consciously aware of his memories, either. If anything, it was worse because he was able to recall vividly their last fight -- their last conversation -- in which, after she'd confessed her undying love for him, he'd told her not to confuse their late night excursions in the Games Closet with familial love.
HA! What an excuse! Two step-siblings fondling and touching and fucking in secret while the rest of their family slept was the farthest thing from 'familial' love, he knew, and he laughed bitterly as he remembered how tears had welled up in her cerulean eyes, and how she'd proclaimed her hate for him before burying her face in her hands and racing out of the closet and into her own room, slamming the door behind her as harshly as she could. Then he remembered his feeble attempt to apologize the day after, but by then, the damage had already been done and a week later, she'd hung herself -- in his attic, no less. It was only after her death that he'd found her diary (her real one and not the one she'd tricked him with when they were in middle school) and read the second last entry (the one before her suicide note, dated the day she admitted she was in love with him) and discovered that she'd been three weeks pregnant… with his child.
A gentle but eerie humming jarred him from his thoughts, alerting him of another presence, and it was then that he remembered that there was still one last thing keeping him from ever forgetting.
Her.
The pale figure that stood in the very center of his bedroom, only a few feet from where he rested, half concealed by the shadows that engulfed most of the surrounding area, and half revealed by the moonlight, which crept in through the cracks in the ceiling and illuminated off her petite form. Her face was placid and expressionless as she glided over to him and came to a halt at the edge of his bed, gazing down at him with dark eyes so empty and void, but at the same time, so penetrating… which didn't seem to make sense to him, but then again, nothing ever did. Not anymore.
She looked almost real, and if he didn't know any better, he'd probably think she was. But he did know better, and he could scarcely make out the reddish ring around her neck from the makeshift noose she'd made out of his sheets the night she ended her life. Her final act of revenge -- but she wasn't done yet. She'd never be done. Not while she still had 'unfinished business' to take care of -- to break the boy who'd broke her. That would be her ultimate revenge, and only then would she be able to move on.
"Leave. You're not real." He didn't know who he was trying to convince -- her, or himself. All he knew was that those particular words usually made her go away.
Usually.
Unfortunately, when she failed to do just that, he knew something was wrong. The temperature dropping significantly only solidified that theory.
Instead, her lips curved upward into a grim smile. Then she reached behind her and before he knew it, her white gown had pooled to the floor, leaving her completely naked. Against his will, his body reacted instantly and he tried to cover it up, but found he was unable to move. It was like some invisible force was keeping him still, and he watched in horror as she slowly reached over and drew back his bedspread even more. She eyed his obvious arousal momentarily before she suddenly appeared at the foot of the bed.
"Lie down." She commanded, her voice harsh and cold, and his body obeyed.
Then she was on top of him, weightless but strong, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand while the other traveled south and rubbed him through his boxers before dipping inside. A sharp gasp left his lips when he felt her fingers -- cold as ice -- wrap around his length.
"You like that, don't you?" She sneered, before squeezing tightly and causing him to bite back a strangled moan. "How does it feel? Getting a hand-job from a dead girl, I mean? Better than when I was alive?"
She released him before he could answer and shifted. He thought it was over -- thought she was going to disappear and leave him be.
He was wrong.
Before he could even comprehend what was happening, his boxers had been ripped clean off and thrown elsewhere -- but she hadn't touched them. Not physically, anyway. Then she leaned forward, her icy breath sending shivers through his body, and whispered hatefully, "I'm going to take you like you took me that first time." before impaling herself on him.
An involuntary moan left the back of his throat as she began to rock her hips against his frantically, trying to develop some kind of rhythm. It wasn't long before she found one -- one that rendered him weak with pleasure -- and raked her nails down his chest hard enough to draw blood as she rode him. He gripped his sheets tightly, trying desperately to ignore the pleasure coursing through his veins as her walls clenched around him. He wasn't quiet; he moaned again and again, until she silenced him with her lips, swallowing the noises that left him. His eyes snapped open as they moved sluggishly against his, cold in comparison to how they used to feel, but still soft. He found himself giving in, his lips parting instinctively and she quickly used that to her advantage by slipping her serpent-like tongue into his mouth to 'play' with his while her cold hands slid around his neck.
That's when he realized that something was horribly wrong.
He couldn't breathe.
In addition to her hands strangling him, her tongue was halfway down his throat, suffocating him.
He started to panic, thrashing beneath her violently while trying desperately to push her off, but he was still buried deep inside of her and her grip -- both around his member and his neck -- only tightened.
He didn't know what was going to kill him first -- pleasure or pain -- but as his life quickly drained from him, his muscles weakened and his sight became blurry. Right before he lost consciousness, however, she pulled back, her eyes gleaming wickedly and her mouth twisted upward into a frightening macabre smile.
"Goodbye, Edwin." She said cryptically, "See you in Hell."
And then everything went black.
-
"LIZZIE!"
Edwin Venturi shot up in bed, practically choking on air as he gulped for breath.
"Edwin, are you okay?"
He turned his head, eyes widening when he saw Lizzie -- dressed in normal, Lizzie-like clothes -- sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling warmly at him.
"L-Lizzie?" He croaked unsurely, reaching up to massage his sore throat. "Is that you?"
She nodded.
"What happened?"
"You fainted. During class. Apparently you caught a virus or something, but your fever is down now so you should be okay." She told him, placing a cold hand on his forehead before cupping his face with it.
He leaned into her touch and was about to close his eyes when his bedroom door swung open and his brother and older step-sister burst in unannounced.
"Edwin, are you okay?" Casey asked, concerned.
"We heard you scream." Derek added.
"I'm… fine." Edwin furrowed his brow suspiciously, wondering why his brother suddenly gave a damn about his health.
"Do you need anything?" Casey persisted.
The dark-haired Venturi shook his head.
"No, I'm fine… thanks to Liz." He said, remembering how her soft hand had cradled his face just seconds before.
Suddenly, Derek and Casey exchanged worried looks.
"Edwin…" Casey started slowly, covering her mouth.
He could see the tears welling up in her blue eyes, but his brother's voice brought his attention back to him.
"Ed… Lizzie's been dead for five months. Remember?"
'What? Then who…?' Edwin glanced over at Lizzie, who was still sitting on the edge of his bed.
"But…" he protested weakly, "she's here. She's right here."
He heard Casey sigh in exasperation.
"He's hallucinating again, Derek. Give him the shot."
"Shot?" Edwin repeated fearfully, watching as his brother pulled out a syringe and a bottle of… something.
He inched away as Derek came closer with the syringe, trying to fight his brother off. He glanced over at Lizzie, who was now on the other side of the room, watching with a blank expression etched across her face and adorned in the same white gown she'd worn in his dream.
"Lizzie!" He cried, "Lizzie, help me!"
But she didn't move. She just watched intently as Derek gave him the shot, and she continued to watch until he lost consciousness once more.
Right before he blacked out, however, her eyes met his and she smirked.
"Welcome to our Hell, Edwin. Our everlasting Hell."
Then… nothing.
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FIN
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Okay, so… apart from the very end, I enjoyed it. But hopefully you guys did too.
Please REVIEW and tell me what you think!
-Lady Azura-
