I don't own the characters. That's pretty much established.

Thoughts from the Grave

Chapter 1: Broken

"There's a moment of fear in the returning to sleep. A hesitation: there are darknesses beyond the curtain of waking, and the shadow-plays clutch at my heart... Too late. I'm gone."

-Neil Gaiman

So this is what death feels like.

Yeah, I know I haven't really been the most religious and moral person to have lived, but I had been expecting something along the clichéd lines of seeing a brilliant white light descend down upon me… To send me straight to a place Kathryn and I had always known we would end up in. But strangely enough, I'm still here. I still see my house; I still feel that excruciating pain on my right hip from where that cab slammed into me.

You've heard of my death, about how noble and heroic I've been, shoving my girlfriend out of the way and getting hit by that fucking cab in the process. Truth be told, I hadn't expected to actually die doing the first and last good deed I'd ever get to do. It figures. I guess that had been the reason why I've never actually done a single good thing in my life until that day. The story has been greatly exaggerated as it traveled from one person to another, and pretty soon, there were even tales of me asking Annette for her hand in marriage seconds before I died, giving her a ring and supposedly weeping like a little kid.

Imagine. Me. Sebastian Valmont, reduced to tears. It would probably be easier for you to imagine the concept of who built the Stonehedge or even the existence of UFOs. It was farfetched and certainly not true, and I, even in this peculiar state of being, would adamantly attest to that. I never cry. The last time I cried, I was eight years old and my mother died. Since then, I've been pretty much an asshole.

Would you like me to describe what it feels like from this point of view? If only the dead could talk… Well, I'm talking right now and the problem is no one really hears me. My death has revealed the people who truly gave a damn about me, which totaled to very few. It wouldn't really surprise me if my father would go back to screwing his fiftieth blond secretary as if his only son hadn't been run over by a fucking car after my funeral.

"Annette… I love you."

God, the look of sadness on Annette's angelic face near damn made the pain worse. Let me tell you, it was really just a split second before I saw my battered body lying still in her arms. I suppose it would have been quite romantic if my initial thought was about Annette, but really, it was more of a 'What the fuck have I gotten myself into?' So you see, there's really no point in making me look heroic, because I'm far from it. I'm as fucked up as they go, and I don't think the way I died could ever change that. Annette's large doe eyes filled with tears as she held my corpse, her soft blond hair shaking, brushing across her back as her body shuddered with sobs. Everything else seemed to move so fast after that, and pretty soon, she was quietly being led by a horrified looking Ronald to her house after the ambulance took whatever was left of me away.

As soon as I closed my eyes, I was filled with an unimaginable amount of anger towards the fucking bitch that had caused all of this. I really was in no mood to watch Annette cry anymore so I went to my house. Or, rather, my former house, seeing as how I would never really be able to live in it anymore.

Obviously, they still had no idea that I've died. Making my way into Kathryn's bedroom, (where the wicked witch herself was probably finding ways to amuse her twisted self by doing what she loved best: fucking) I paced myself, trying to build up the rage I'd felt towards her. As I went through the door, I stopped in surprise as soon as I saw her seated quietly, facing the window. Her beautiful face looked dazed and alone, and before I could help it, I instinctively reached out to her, to touch her somehow. She didn't move an inch, her sharp green eyes just looking out the busy streets of New York as if she would find whatever she had been looking for there.

"Hey, Katie." I spoke, wincing as I sat down beside her on the floor. I waited for her to turn around and snap at me not to use that name, but she didn't move. Her ears were deaf to my voice now, and the fucked up side of me realized how unfair it was, given that I could call her every horrible name under the sun and she wouldn't even be able to know. The unfinished bottle of Cristal I had brought earlier stood unnoticed, which was odd since she loved the stuff.

"You know, I've always loved this view." I cleared my throat, but again, she didn't respond. I initially had gone over here to scare the living daylights out of the uptight two faced bitch, but apparently, I didn't have that ability. Instead, I opted to stay and watch her for while, just to see what she really did during the moments when she was completely alone. It had been one of the mysteries I had pondered about in my journal, and I guess now I'm going to get the answers. I stared at her, once again marveling at how someone so beautiful could be so dangerous. Her lithe, tiny body sat nestled against the antique chair as her brown hair spilled across her smooth, porcelain colored back. Kathryn's pink lips were slightly parted, obviously lost in her thoughts. I momentarily wondered what the bitch was thinking about… Perhaps new ways to fuck up people? I wouldn't really put it past her.

There was a gentle yet urgent knock on her door and she jumped in surprise. "Who is it?" she called out, craning her neck.

"It's Ronald."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'm not in the mood right now, Ronald. Just go away."

The door opened and he walked in, much to Kathryn's annoyance. "What part of go away didn't you understand?" she said cattily.

Ronald's dark face bore a somber look as he approached Kathryn, "There's been an accident…"

I watched in sick fascination as the story of my death was being retold, my gaze alternating from his pained expression to her impassive demeanor. As Ronald spoke, Kathryn stared at him as if he were only telling her a story about his day, which infuriated me more. God, I hate her so much. I would donate all my organs just for a chance to strangle her pretty little neck. Really, did she have no conscience at all? Her almond shaped eyes didn't even register a miniscule amount of guilt or sadness and I could tell Ronald was a bit taken aback by this, judging from the surprised look on his face after he finished his story.

That's right, sis, be numb. You were never capable of feeling anything anyway.

"Are you sure he's gone?" she asked calmly, her chin tilted up.

I started imagining all the ways I would kill her, what kind of sick fuck wouldn't even feel bad after getting someone killed?

Ronald nodded sadly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "They're going to transfer him to the morgue in a while… I can go with you if you want to…"

"No." she cut him off, once again startling poor Ronald. "I'd rather stay here. You can leave now."

"But—"

"Go." She snapped, a mean smile flickering over her features. "Thanks for the update, Ronald."

I expected her to pick up the phone and call another one of her insipid moron bedmates, and I didn't really want to stick around to watch her waste her time with the unworthy cretin of the day. Kathryn stood still once again, her face as expressionless as it was during her moments of pretending. Maybe this was what she really was, and it greatly disappointed me. After realizing that she probably was going to stuff her nostrils with her precious coke, I turned to leave.

"Damn you, Sebastian." She whispered and I froze, the hairs on the back of my head rising as she finally addressed me. Did she see me? Was there some sort of screwed up connection between us that somehow transcended even death?

I slowly turned around; half hoping and half fearing that she would be looking straight at me. My body tingled with anticipation and anxiety; once again, she has somehow succeeded in making me feel two completely different and opposing emotions at the same time.

The walls my stepsister built around herself collapsed before my unbelieving eyes as the tears ran down her face, her stiff posture now slumping.

"Nice to see you, too." I muttered, still unable to believe she was shedding actual tears. Now, I wish I could tell you that she did see me, but as these things go, both life and death truly have a way of sucking.

Kathryn grabbed the nearest vase and hurled it against the wall, making me recoil at the sight of a hundred shards scattering across the room. Fury seemed to overtake her now former indifferent self as she proceeded to thrash, shatter, and mess everything in sight up, and I could only watch with my jaw dropped open. This was the most emotional I've ever seen her, and ironically enough, it seemed to be for me.

"I HATE YOU!" she screamed, her sobbing, shaking form lay in the middle of the shattered and broken objects she'd knocked over. Her legs were awkwardly positioned across the floor and her usually perfect brown hair now stuck in sweaty clumps.

"Payback's a bitch." I said, not even realizing how stupid and useless talking back to her was. Now seated in front of her, I eagerly watched as the ice queen herself acted human. Kathryn and I had always taken pleasure in watching other people suffer, and looking at her the way I was now; I took more pleasure in watching her actually feel something real as opposed to the pleasure I would have felt at the sight of her feeling miserarable.

Her palms pressed against the floor and she gave out a cry of pain as the sharp pieces of glass pierced her skin.

"Fuck." I cursed, once again impulsively reaching out to hold her wounded hands, but I slipped right through her.

Her tears subsided as she examined the dark, crimson liquid trailing down her arm in perverse wonder. "I love you, but you didn't love me anymore." She finally murmured quietly, her eyes red rimmed from the tears.

What? My heartbeat (or something that strangely felt like one) sped up as the comprehension of her words hit me. Kathryn continued talking in her trancelike state, as if she had been aware that I was there with her.

Not bothering to clean her wounds after she plucked out each piece of her mother's prized vase from her hands, this eternally complex woman crawled to her bed, her delicate body curling up in a fetal position like she wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. She strangely resembled a little girl who had tried to face the monsters in her nightmares and lost, yet… My God… Was it even possible that even though she was physically and emotionally messed up, she could still be so damn perfect?

"Come back to me." She whispered pitifully, her tone causing a gentle stirring somewhere within me. "Please?"

I lay down beside her, almost screaming in frustration because I couldn't even feel her skin on mine anymore. "I'm here." I said, my voice breaking. If I had been alive, her head would be nestled against my neck, and I would be able to feel her breathing next to me. The pitfalls of death have never pained me more than it's doing now, but that's something that will once again be unheard of. I could almost smell her lustrous dark hair, the aphrodisiac that never failed to arouse and intrigue me. I placed my hand next to hers instead, so our fingers were almost touching, but not enough for her to go through me again the way she did earlier. "See the great lengths I go through to get to you?" I tried smiling, but I was too distracted by her forlorn face and the sight of her bloodied hands.

"Remember when you said that you would get me somehow?" she immediately spoke, continuing as if I didn't talk.

I didn't reply, although I remembered quite well.

Frowning at my apparent lack of interest and disappointment, I felt her tight ass on my lap as she sat down, sweetly smiling that seductive smile of hers. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pouting slightly.

"What's wrong?" she'd asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

"You're such a cocktease." I said bitterly, "I don't understand it, Kathryn. You just waste yourself on all these useless men who never satisfy you."

"And you will?" Her eyebrow raised, a smirk appearing on her face.

"Tease and taunt all you want," I kissed her before she could resist, and I once again tasted her exquisite mouth. Her lips were soft as she responded for a few minutes, obviously liking the attention. Her hands slowly made its way on my chest and she used it to push me away, a slow smile on her flushed face.

"Trust me…" she purred, placing her forehead on mind until our noses almost touched. "I'll be worth the wait."

"I promise you, Kathryn. I'll have you someday, and you're going to regret putting me off for so long."

"Such carefree banters in our younger days." I sighed as the memory ended and I once again found myself watching my stepsister.

"You already have me." She said quietly, tears once again filling her sad eyes. "You just didn't know it."

I ran a hand through my messed up hair, now shaking as bad as she was. My hatred for her, for what she's caused to happen, was melting as fast as her façade. At the end of the day, wasn't it what happened between her and me? During certain moments in our lives, Kathryn and I loved each other with something stronger than love itself, and it was during these moments that the lines which had separated us dissipated into nothing. These particular instances never lasted, but they were every bit as intense despite the short amount of time. My hatred for her would dissolve along with those lines, but just as quickly and arbitrary these windows opened, they would quickly slam shut. I used to think this happened because the passion we'd felt for each other would burn us alive if we let it get the best of us, so we played with the fire, little by little, the warmth sustaining and paining us at the same time. What an exquisite way to burn…

Now… However… The lines had gone and died. Now, in this beautiful hollow paradise of wanting, I was now free to long for her. I didn't have to satisfy this loneliness and impatience with nameless, faceless nobodies who presented a minor challenge for me. I loved her; I still do despite what she's done. It only hurts me because I know that no matter how many drugs she takes or how many guys she brings to her bed, she'll never really get rid of the knowledge that she had played a large part in my death.

"I have a secret to tell you, too."

I leaned closer, my voice quivering from the great and hollow feeling of losing her, I know I will never get to touch her once again; even just the simplest contact would never be possible. The window was opened, and it would stay like that between us from now on. To love her, to hate her and to ache for her touch was hell for me since the latter was a craving I'd never get to fill. Maybe this what my version of hell was like, maybe that was why I was here instead of toasting marshmallows and laughing along with Satan in the fiery bonfire below.

"Annette and I would have never lasted. She's not you, and I'll never be contented with anybody else." I had to be pleased with this, with being able to see her the way I did that day… If what they say is true, if time really is irrelevant when you have eternity to spare, then that's the only memory I will ever want to know. Annette would move on, I'm sure of it. She might have loved me but I know that years from now she'll have that family she's always longed for. Annette Hargrove would marry a man who was pure and kind, all the things I never was and never would become.

Despite the sudden turn of events, I will cherish my time with Annette as well. She's taught me a lot, she was the first person to help me see that feeling something was a concept not to be feared and avoided the way Kathryn would have done. She was beautiful, pure and every bit of the girl I loved and I had loved her indeed. I loved Annette the way a petulant boy starved for attention would love the first person to stop and make him feel that he existed.

Now I understand… It would take death for me to finally make sense of things, but I finally know. I suppose I should go to her now, but something held me back. This particular tragedy would never cut into her the way it did to Kathryn and I knew it. Kathryn needed me more, she wanted me more, and looking at her tears and the way she broke down, she loved me more as well. I was where I belonged… Funny how I realized it only now.

Mine. She was, is mine, as I am to her. The word tasted foreign in my mouth and became incomprehensible in my mind as I had never really associated her with that word in the past. The battle wounds have been cut too deep to heal and she would spend the rest of her life finding ways to numb to pain just as I would keep finding ways to feel her breath on my neck, her hand on my own, or even her discerning gaze pierce through me once again.

Kathryn and I laid there for hours, and even as her sobs turned into the sounds of sleep, I still stayed as long as I dared, hoped, and wanted to. This was the Kathryn people never saw, this was the one I loved and valued among anything and anyone else. I felt something wet trickle down my cheek, and at first I thought it was the blood from the cut I had sustained from the accident but I surprisingly found out that my wounds have all healed, to be replaced by a light feeling that had been shadowed by the thought of leaving Kathryn.

I touched the moisture on my skin and inspected my finger, realizing I was crying.

Sebastian Valmont, asshole extraordinaire, the jerk who ruined countless lives and broke half of the female population's hearts with so much as a bored look on his handsome face was crying.

"Bitch." I muttered, wiping my crystal blue eyes slowly.

A soft sigh escaped her full lips, as if she was giving an acknowledgement to me. I love her, I hate her, and I want to be with her.

What is my version death really like? Do you really want to know? This is such a sad story that even I, with all my indifference, am affected in ways I would have never let it affect me had I been given a chance. Death is realizing the secrets that, if only they had been revealed to me in time, would have probably changed my life. Death is regretting, finally cursing whoever it was out there for everything I should have done but never did. It was ironic, the twisted end to a fucked up tale. I started to cry for the first time in a decade, my arms automatically holding Kathryn and orienting my body to fit hers, just like I knew it would. Her sheets were covered in blood, and while I knew it would heal in a few days, Kathryn would permanently be scarred. The wounds would never heal.

How do I know this? Because that's how I am right now, that's how much it fucking hurts. I know because I'm undergoing the exact same thing on a different plane of living, I know because years from now, as I would watch her walk down the aisle with a smile that never reached her perfect green eyes, her body adorned in an elegant white dress that made her look like a vision, I'll come up with the realization that I would never stop wanting her, just as her nightmares of me with disturbing flashes of red and yellow would never stop as well.

During these nights of frightening circumstances, I go to her and tell her stories. I speak of what I've learned from wallowing in eternity, from the trivial realizations to the profound knowledge I had acquired. I tell her I love her each time and I confess that I have no plans of breaking my promise; I have no plans to stop wanting her.

Somehow this act soothes her, and her tears are reduced to quiet whimpers. I can only hope against hope that my words are interlaced in those awful dreams I want so badly to erase from her subconscious. Sometimes, I succeed, and I am able to give her a memory I love… Sometimes she sees herself the way I see her… Broken, but still very much beautiful and adored.