Disclaimer: Yup, I'm pretty sure I own jack-squat.

A/N: Ok, I decided to continue since the first chapter did pretty well. This chapter is appalling short however, and I do apologize. I promise the next one should be substantially longer, I'm just a little busy currently. Ok, just so you know, Derek is an ass in this. That is the way he is supposed to be in my story and that is the persona that I created for him. This is dark and if you find that you really can't handle dark-themed stories, then please don't read this.

Cheers and much love!

Danielle

Warning: Take r-rating seriously please. Not for kids.


Cold-hearted

She's there.

Somewhere in the sweat and curses and tears, she's there beneath him, panting, smelling of sex, and radiating a hatred that she could only feel for him.

"Get out." His voice is low and his lips are inches from hers. He can feel her intake of breath at his words and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips before he rolls heavily off her trembling body and points resolutely towards the door.

"You make me sick." Her voice is shaking, and whether it be from rage or shock, he couldn't care less. He grabs her elbow halting her movements and she turns the face him sharply.

"Hey Case, thanks for the sex."

His cheek is suddenly stinging and it takes him a second to notice her hand still raised and the look of shock written clearly across her features. He can feel the trickle of blood running down his cheek from where her manicured fingernails had grazed across his skin. Neither move for a moment, both too shocked to do anything but stare, and then suddenly she is pulled on top of him, his rough fingers holding her chin and his hot breath against her skin.

"You want to know something, Casey? I couldn't give a shit about you. You mean nothing. You are nothing. You're just another way to relieve some tension." He makes sure to punch every word. To make sure that she knows just exactly where she stands. And then his lips are on hers. His kiss is rough, bruising and dominate, and he feels her tears against his own cheeks. He pulls away sharply, admiring the redness of her eyes and the bruising already showing on her swollen lips.

"You really are beautiful, my sister." The look of confusion is evident on her pretty fingers and he lets out a harsh laugh. "Now, get out."

She is out the door in a matter of seconds and she doesn't even take the time to pull on her clothes. He folds his hands behind his head as he watches her leave, a smirk permanently plastered on his lips.

He really does love this.

Not her.

Just the power that he has over her.

He realizes fully just how much he has fucked her up over the past few years, and he relishes in the sight of his handiwork beneath him almost every night, crying as he thrusts into her and helpless to give up the feeling that only he can give to her.

Sometimes he wonders why he doesn't feel shame for what he does. Why he has no problems falling asleep after he fucks her. Why the image of tears streaming down her face does not alight some feeling of guilt. And other times he doesn't even bother wondering, because Derek Venturi has better things to do then worry about guilt and pity.

He doesn't hide himself around her. At school he puts on the façade of the popular guy who, while he dates quite a number of them, actually treats girls with respect. He pays the check on dates. He listens to their endless babble, and even holds the door open for them. Of course, all of this is just to get into their pants, but at least they are treated well in the process. But around her, there's no reason for any of that. He can be the cold-hearted bastard that he truly is, and she'll still come crawling back. Casey Macdonald, women's rights extraordinaire, who doesn't take shit from anybody, is completely tangled up in a web of hypocrisy, and it's all because of him.

He feels quite proud really.

He can hear her sobs through the thin walls of his bedroom and notices that the sound of her cries relaxes him. He slips further beneath the warmth of his covers and his eyes close as he listens to his own personal lullaby seeping into his ears.

If he strains hard enough he can hear the repeated phrase "I hate you" coming from the lips that both curse him and kiss him and he laughs softly to himself before turning over one his side and whispering.

"Don't I know it, Case."