This is a oneshot simply because I was going to put it (or something like it) into my other Inglourious Basterds fanfic, but then I changed the plotline and a whole load of other stuff. But then I thought, 'Well this is actually a really good idea and could be a really good piece of writing,' so I wrote it anyway.
The girl has, I think, some sort of mental illness. I tried to portray her that way in any case. I tried to show Dieter as a lover rather than a Gestapo Major, and I hope that you still get the feel of his being one even though he is more romanticised in this.
Disclaimer: I own my OC and basically everything I've written. Dieter isn't mine (but God, if he was!), so yeah...
A little bit of sex, but I'm sure you can deal with that. There'll probably be another chapter coming, but I'm going on holiday so it might take a while.
Enjoy my story!
His moans.
Cold metal between my fingers, burning like wasps' stings.
My shiver of pleasure, the fluttering of my heart.
And it would be over.
I couldn't wait for that moment of satisfaction. It confused me. It made me feel safe. It was like the one star you see in the sky, shining brighter than the others. That second when you wake up and you remember your dream, and the aching loneliness – the longing – in your chest that sparks like fire and waves and flickers and fills your ears with the rush of rain and pleasure that curls through your fingers and toes and the pain of leaving that one person behind and it all comes down to that one second... that one second when you hold limitless power clutched in your fist. That one second when you are God. When you hold sway over the elements, the wind and the water, life and death. And the sea roars in your veins and you could live forever.
That is the second when you kill the man who has haunted your nightmares for so long. That is the one second that you will remember, over all the others, when you die. It is the one second that will stay with you until your bones crumble and the moon pulls you into her fiery embrace, and you are sleeping beneath the earth. It is the second that consumes your soul and burns your dry hair and evaporates oceans and could swallow the sky.
It was the second I was hoping for. And I would no longer have to breathe, because killing him was all I lived for.
And I couldn't believe I was so lucky as to have been offered this chance, the one chance in the whole world, the whole universe. It was the moment I became God.
Major Dieter Hellstrom was his name. He was twenty-nine. He had an interesting face: a high brow, wide-set eyes, a nose that seemed a little too small for his face, a beautiful mouth. It was a perfect mouth, really, the lips delicately curved and clearly outlined.
I could remember how he smiled when he killed them all. When he blinked those eyes and gazed at them. When the splatters of their blood trickled down his chin, onto that uniform that he so deeply craved to wear like a drowning man craves a saviour; he hated the uniform yet loved it, more than anything since he had been but a young boy and his father had given him a tin car for his sixth birthday. My lips twitch as I imagine his joy, his eyes lighting up with excitement and pride. It was the last time he smiled, I think.
You could say that it was not his fault, the way he turned out. You could say that, like so many other people, he was only seeking vengeance for the wrongs done to him. I expect that the death of his parents – their hideous deaths – sparked something that had been hidden in him a long, long time. Ever since he first saw his mother beaten by his father, that something inside of him had festered in the dark depths of his heart, moulding his future before he even knew of it's existence. I smile again as I imagine his horror, that cold knife of pain that sneaks throughout your body, numbing you inch by inch; the involuntary paralysis that can consume like a fire and yet chills your skin to ice before it has dissipated.
Was it wrong of me to love him? Or did I not truly love him, just the idea of what him and I could come too; I had anticipated that final night since the first. Every time I saw him, the love inside of me grew and grew until I could no longer hold it in and I had to touch him just to see if he was real or that dream that was just past my reach would fall and fade and I would be left in the dark with nothing but a betrayal of my own soul. And I would live, fuelled by my own hatred of myself and my reluctance and my cowardly hands that could not bear to do the deed, those hands that would condemn me to a life of flesh and blood. I could be a God. I could soar on the wings of the wind. I could fly like the air itself. I could be his murderer.
My bones shivered at the thought of his blood on my hands. I laughed. It would be like waking up after a dream so vivid and so musical that it seemed real. It would be surreal, like when you're exhausted and you look at the stars and they seem to blur into each other but you can still see them individually and you wonder what it would be like to look down on the earth from space, to see all those people lying to each other, living with each other, loving each other.
It was late spring, 1944. The Basterds held their reign over the Chantilly Forest just west of Crépy-en-Valois. I was intrigued by their exploits. It seemed the one thing I did not understand. How they could stand for so long, fighting for their religion and for their – and others' – humanity. I had only one battle to win, and it wasn't even that. It was not such a big event as to be named a battle. No, it was simply the combined effort of my savage determination and God's will that would culminate in the loss of at least one life.
Even thinking about it launched me into a state of near frenzy. I would curl my fingers in to fists and turn my back on sanity for one crazed moment. I was calm and rough, versatile like the sea. One moment I could be the twenty-year-old lover of Major Dieter Hellstrom of the Gestapo, and the next I would descend into a shivering spasm of anticipation. I could tell my condition was worsening. I was once able to control my lust for his blood, to conceal it away from his prying fingers. But now, the angry fire of ice-cold eagerness could not be stopped. And even Dieter's calming words would only enrage me further. He would stroke my hair and hold me as I shook uncontrollably and whispered half-formed sentences. I loved him so much. He was the one thing that kept me chained to the salty rock that was sanity. It would not be long.
Dieter and I were staying in a large flat in the centre of Paris – a gift from Colonel Hans Landa. The Colonel had, upon hearing of Dieter's recent prowess as a Jew-finder, employed him temporarily in the finding of thirteen important Jews whom Hitler wanted to question and deal with personally. It had taken Dieter three days to find them, and Hans had been so impressed with his work, he had gifted Dieter our Paris flat.
I, of course, cared little for what Dieter did in his occupation as a Gestapo Major. It was not in my interests; his friends, his employer, whatever his business was outside of our relationship – it was none of my concern. I was just waiting for the right time to... to end it. I asked myself often why I had not killed him earlier. I believe I had held on so long because I had nothing else. Dieter was my world. I knew I would kill him – it was almost like a predictable ending to an Agatha Christie novel. But I didn't know what I would have without him. I didn't know if I even could survive.
On the morning of April 18th, I woke up screaming. I had dreamed of Dieter's death. We had made love, and he was asleep. I was watching him, studying every last detail of his face. My hand was on his chest, his arm slung over my shoulder. I felt safe, and quiet like the early morning mist over the river where my parents had lived. It was a solace to know I could remember them.
He had been snoring gently, so gently you could barely hear in the one-in-the-morning silence that crept under our bedroom door. I had tucked my head beneath his chin and felt his heart beating irregularly under my fingertips. I felt a flurry of pride and love surge through my lungs, and I wanted to scream it out and give it all up to him, to tell him the truth. But instead I kissed him and fell asleep as his arms tightened around me and his fingers unconsciously caressed my back.
And we didn't wake up. We died together in that bed, close enough so I could count his eyelashes and see the fine hair that covered his every inch of body and my breath disturbed the strands of hair that lay so boyishly over his forehead and I couldn't stand it and I realised that I couldn't kill him like that because it was so dreadfully unfair and to die like that, peacefully, would be the most terrible thing I could ever do to him. He was a violent man; he was broken inside. And suddenly I knew that I couldn't fix him, and that was why I had been holding onto him so tightly, because I was trying to mend his heart with my love. But no-one can fix something that has been smashed repeatedly until the shards are so small you can no longer see them.
I screamed and cried as my aching heart threatened to burst and split in two, and Dieter woke and held me close, stroked my skin and cradled me in his warm arms, my breasts pressed against his chest. And in my ears I could hear his heart beating under his naked skin, intermittently silent and banging so hard it felt like my brain might explode like the cutting of a knife that sliced and carved through my flesh, releasing the blood from my blue veins.
And as Dieter soothed away my pain, I remembered my dream; the one I had forgotten when I was lost in the folds of his skin. I breathed in and out like a bellows, calming my own quivering skin. Dieter and I fitted together perfectly, our naked bodies curled together, his arms at the small of my back, mine around his neck, holding on for dear life like the drowning child I was. And as my breathing evened out, I felt a flare of passion and a tremor inside like the earth when she shakes and rips down buildings in her fury at the humans which have poisoned her and spread out over her surface like rats.
And I traced Dieter's nose with my fingertip and he kissed my hair, and I lovingly caressed his lips and then my mouth replace my fingers and as I kissed him and he kissed me it was like the world stopped turning and I was completely and utterly helpless. He made me love having skin, and all the places he could touch and invoke such darting shoots of bliss. I would explore his slender arms and his muscled chest and his thighs with my lips and he would slip into me like water and we would move together and there would be no end to the wonderment and the glowing heat and then we would be apart and breathless, and I would gaze at him and his eyes would fill with such ecstasy and longing that it pained me to see so I would kiss him again and again and he would touch my breasts and the closeness seemed like it would never end.
And I would be overwhelmed with the joy I could instil in him, this gift I had that could never truly be given away. But I would give it all to him if I could. I would give him everything I had, if only he would love me in return. But I knew I already had his love, and that pure unexpected rush of pride would take me off-balance and I would be proud of myself that he chose to give me his love.
And the beauty was marred with the sorrowful tune that my own heart sang; the lament that burrowed into the back of my mind and reminded me what I was here for, what I had promised myself and God. And it couldn't be long now. For we had exhausted our time on this Earth, and I knew our ends were coming.
But in those few seconds I simply desired his body against mine and the flaring bone-crushing pleasure that erupted in my toes and swept up my body and that pleasure was increased tenfold because I knew Dieter was experiencing the same thing. I lived to make him happy, as he did for me.
If you liked it or if you didn't, please PLEASE review. I really need to know what you think of my stuff. Thank you so much for reading my story!