For Sam, Katie, Nicole and wicked vamp-- The people who make me want to stay at home and finish this story. ;-)
Chapter 4: How Villains Are Formed
"Don't let us make imaginary evils, when you know we have so many real ones to encounter."
-Oliver Goldsmith
How are villains formed, exactly? Are they born with contempt and hatred for everybody that they spend their days living with a sneer upon their lips and a look of utmost loathing hidden in their eyes? Do they, as children, prey on those younger and unsuspecting? Do they instantly exist or are they molded very carefully under the tutelage of people who may or may not even be sinister? If so, if they're brought into this world as such, how can we ever tell them apart? Evil manifests itself in different ways, but in this case, evil had chosen to imprint itself into one particular person who had indeed been born into a life of luxury and breathtaking beauty.
Parents damage their children. One way or another, they do. Regardless of whether they were born out in the streets or with silver spoons in their precious little mouths, the purity of these younger people are tainted slowly as they grow older. It is because of this very same reason that a tall, svelte woman by the name of Belinda Van Ryan had been on her own since she was thirteen. Not a lot is known of this twenty three year old woman except the fact that her beauty is the kind of haunting type that would send shivers down your spine if you caught her gaze.
Belinda. Even her name sounded off one's lips as though one was sipping fine wine, yet, if ingested too much, your thoughts go disarray, and you do things you soon regret the day after. A lovely poison of all sorts… That was her. She was the daughter of a social butterfly who would really rather die than to admit that her family had a problem, and an alcoholic fuck of a father who'd molested her when she was eight.
"Belinda, honey? We're ready when you are." A harassed looking photographer came up to her nervously as she stared into the mirror while contemplating her thoughts. The face that stared back at her was both angelic and poignant, with dark blond hair that hung in loose curls around her heart shaped face. Her mouth pouted a bit as she focused her gray eyes (the lightest gray one could possibly have) on the short, balding man carrying a camera in his hand.
"Coming." She said, her voice indifferent and cold.
The little mouse scampered off, not really wanting to be involved in one of Belinda's famous hissy fits. With her almost too perfect bone structure and those mysterious, sad eyes, she had graced various magazine covers most models would kill for. At the young age of eighteen, Belinda Van Ryan could already buy fifteen vacation houses and not bat an eyelash. Her fame into the modeling industry had caused a lot of stir, and as expected, there had been a lot of digging about her past.
No one came up with any matches in reference to the Van Ryan family, who never seemed to exist. Belinda had the poise of an aristocratic family, yet she never mentioned any of her relatives in any interviews for that matter. In fact, the only thing known about her, besides her multi-million dollar self-made fortune, was her ill temper. There had been whispers of the blond model thrashing a five star hotel room in Milan just because her food was five minutes late, even more stories of her promiscuous nature and fondness for drugs, although none of it had ever been proven true. Belinda Van Ryan was an enigma people envied and pondered about, and it remained that way.
"Ohmigod, she just passed by. Do you know who that is? That's Belinda."
Her eyes flickered over to the bulimic bag of bones who gabbed on her cell phone, and instantly, the airhead model's eyes widened and she hastily moved somewhere else. Belinda had her mood swings, and today was most definitely one of the worst.
Her mother had called. Belinda's mother never called, not since she divorced her molesting asshole of a father and marched out of their Paris mansion while ten-year old Belinda was still in school. While the mysterious beauty stared into the lens of the camera, as if using her gaze to pierce into the photographer's soul, the man nearly jumped back in shock at the look of utter coldness in those beautiful light colored eyes. What, you may ask, was the reason behind her mother's phone call? To invite her daughter to her house for some bullshit party, no doubt to show her off. Her fame had indeed exceeded anybody else's expectations, especially since people were so convinced that she would never be able to fend for herself. It truly didn't surprise her at all, it was just the kind of woman that evil bitch was. She wouldn't even look at her after Belinda's father had touched her, yet here she was now, chatting like they were old friends, insisting they leave the past where it was. As if she didn't leave her to rot with her lascivious father, as if she hadn't all but forced Belinda to petition for emancipation at the tender and impressionable age of thirteen… She hated her mother so much.
Belinda Van Ryan was born under a different name, yet she still chose to bury that wretched past along until the proper moment comes… She would cultivate her hatred to pass time, she was in no hurry at all.
"And that's it!" Tito the photographer's smarmy voice made her cringe slightly. "Thank you, ladies! Thank you, Ms. Van Ryan!"
Belinda stood up, calmly walking back to her private dressing room when a handsome man wearing a tight muscle shirt blocked her way. "Hey, babe, wanna do something later?"
It was Antoine, the hottest and dumbest male model in the industry. With his charming smile, an impressive six pack, and cocky attitude, he had gotten into ninety percent of the women's panties in the past year. Except hers. As goodlooking as he was, Antoine was a waste of her time. She managed a smile, her face looking regretful. "I can't… I have to go visit my father today. It's his birthday."
"Oh." The stupid asshole scurried off, obviously looking for some other woman to hit on.
Belinda pulled on her white leather trenchcoat, absentmindedly fluffing up her blow-dried locks. As she drove to the cemetery, she noticed she wasn't the only one standing in front of his prominent crypt. Putting on her sunglasses, she turned off the engine to the Porsche and got out cautiously, the cold breeze and the soft crunching of the green but neglected grass making her feel at home. Even as the woman's back was turned, it was her long brown hair and the way she stood that Belinda realized who it was.
"Kathryn." She greeted, smiling slightly as two unflinching emerald green eyes met her gaze. It had to be her; she was the only one who had the guts to look at Belinda in the eyes without backing off.
"We need to talk, Belinda. I'm coming back to New York in a few days." She said, her own beautiful face wincing at the mention of returning to the place of the infamous betrayal Belinda had heard so much about.
"Just a minute, it's his birthday today, remember?" And with that, Belinda Van Ryan turned to the grave, cocked her head, and spat on his name. "Happy birthday, you sick fuck. I hope you're rotting in hell."
Kathryn watched her without the slightest bit of emotion, and as the two walked off, there was another drip of saliva that ran down where Belinda herself had spat… Right smack in the middle of the inscription: VICTOR JULIAN MERTEUIL, BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER.
----
"So…?" Belinda asked, taking a seat in an exclusive café that reserved a table everyday for her. "What brought on this sudden move?"
"I'm sick of everybody else thinking that I've scampered off in fear of being exposed by that fucking Dorothy."
Still, the unsaid name of the person Belinda knew Kathryn was the most concerned about went silently from her sister's lips.
Oh, God. Sister. She sighed, it would definitely take some getting used to, even after all these years. Still remembering the day when five year old Kathryn had been snatched by Tiffany Merteuil as 'collateral', it seemed so long ago when it had happened. Belinda recalled how Kathryn had made a surprise visit during one of her photo shoots.
"You look gorgeous!"
Belinda tried to keep herself from screaming at this insipid woman who made it a point to tell her not to move a single inch even though she had been standing in the same fucking position for the entire fucking hour. She gritted her even white teeth, comforting herself with the delicious thought of pushing this incessant blathering moron off a very high cliff when a cold, collected voice that sounded eerily like hers interrupted them.
"Here's the little black sheep of the family." A seventeen year old woman had sneered, the air of superiority about her even matching up to the temperamental Belinda herself. Even she had been surprised at Kathryn's patronizing lilt, and even more taken aback at how beautiful she had grown up to be. The last time she'd seen her, Kathryn was hanging on to her every word as though she were God, with her pleading green eyes and doll like features. Now, though… Now was an entirely different picture. While she still kept her petite frame, her doll-like features had grown and sharpened, giving her the aura of a child's perfect little porcelain doll with pouty pink lips, gorgeous brown hair, and perfect, dainty manicured hands that could easily slit your throat while you slept.
Recovering her shock at the sight of her sister all grown up and standing in front of her wearing the same fierce look of hatred Belinda herself wore as she went though her life, she announced that she was taking a break. This wasn't met with any protests, seeing as how her reputation for being ill-tempered made people bend to her will easily.
"What are you doing here?" she'd asked coldly.
"Is my big sister not happy to see me?" Kathryn smirked as soon as the two were alone.
"Fuck you, Katie. The last time I heard, the mere mention of my name was equivalent to cursing. What do you want?"
"It's Kathryn." She hissed, a look of venom passing through her eyes.
"Belinda, here's your drink—"
Kathryn turned around and glared at him, causing the poor boy to almost drop the coffee.
The intimidating look she had given poor Joe almost made Belinda laugh out loud if the circumstances weren't so peculiar. She knew that she had never been mentioned as Tiffany's daughter in the New York society, especially after he'd married some rich billionaire named Edward Valmont. Shame, perhaps? Tiffany knew what her first husband had done and had done her best to erase it… Which included leaving her in that hell hole until Belinda finally decided to take matters into her own hands and had gotten her father killed.
She had been fourteen then. Fourteen and her conscience were like a growing up child's realization of Santa: he was a myth designed to keep children from doing bad things. The 'inner voice' that was supposed to keep her on the good path had long disappeared the moment Julian Merteuil slipped inside her room while she was eight. Kathryn, for that one unfortunate night, had also had the same experience, but both siblings wouldn't really rather talk about it. The rule of the elite. Never talk about what happens behind the curtains.
So Kathryn told her the entire story, her face darkening as she came to the betrayal that had happened between her and her stepbrother Sebastian. The uncomfortable look in her eyes had been so miniscule that no one else would have caught it, but Belinda, by blood, was a Merteuil. She knew well enough of the knowledge that no matter how many times she wrote 'Belinda Van Ryan' down, she was still and always will be Belinda Merteuil. First born of Julian and Tiffany Merteuil, the former pride and joy of the family until the rumors leaked out that Julian had been doing more than enough of his fatherly duties to the young girl. As these things were, she saw the tiniest crack in people's perfect facades. Her blood demanded it, her birthright gave her the ability to exploit the weaknesses she saw. It was essential for not only the survival, but for a chance to reign in their social circle. She could only guess what the magnanimity of the mysterious and apparently pussy whipped Sebastian Valmont's real effect on her sister. Up until to what extent it was, she didn't really know. But this Sebastian fellow must be one hell of an asshole to get to Kathryn like that.
Immediately disliking Annette Hargrove, Belinda had snarled at the mere picture of a holier than thou Mary Sunshine who had had a religious, moral childhood… The same image both disgusting her and making her envy Annette for having such a thing.
Kathryn Merteuil continued her schooling in Paris, still playing the paradigm of perfection and good social upbringing… But at times, and most often at night, the two would get together and meticulously plot their revenge on those who had wronged them… Belinda against Tiffany Merteuil and Kathryn against the only person whom she'd loved and the only person who had ever been able to stab her in the back so deeply she still winced just thinking about it. Sebastian.
Annette Hargrove, Cecile Caldwell and Court Reynolds were only the unfortunate bystanders stupid enough to have toed the line. They would truly get their comeuppance, but these were going to be the small merits of victory Kathryn really couldn't care less about. In her mind, there was only one target, only one person to inflict pain upon.
Kathryn had been keeping touch with Blaine Tuttle, easily
getting the fairy to attend to some matters that had been integral
for her plan. It was easy. All she had had to do was dangle the
pretense of getting rid of the Kansas hick in his face, and the ever
predictable faggot, who still held on to the hope that Sebastian
would someday see that he was playing for the wrong team, easily
bended over. She supposed it was also because Blaine disliked Dorothy almost as much as she did.
"What about Mathieu?"
At the sound of his name, Kathryn sighed. "What about him?"
"Well, aren't you—"
"Excuse me, Ms. Van Ryan… Can I have your autograph? My nephew is a very big fan of yours…" a shy looking man with a pair of horrendous thick black rimmed eyeglasses held the latest issue of Vogue with Belinda's picture on it for her to sign.
Kathryn was trying very hard not to smile at the way Belinda was obviously struggling very hard to remain pleasant. She watched as Belinda smiled graciously at the man while signing her name with a quick flourish.
"No problem." She smiled modestly, brushing her long blond hair away from her face.
As the man left, the brunette snickered. "You do know his nephew's just going to either sell that on eBay or pin it up in his room for something new to jack off to, right?"
"Oh you mean like the little boys in Manchester Prep didn't jack off to the thought of their cocktease perfect class president?"
Kathryn considered the thought, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Good point."
"Kathryn, I don't think you're ready yet."
"May I ask why?" she asked haughtily, staring daggers at Belinda.
"You know why."
"Well, fuck you, Belinda. I don't care what you think. Are you in or not?"
An amused smile crept over her lips as the model studied her sister. There was a look of unshakeable determination on her face, which was exactly what Belinda was looking for. Now, there was no one to stop Kathryn's plan from happening… Along with a few twists Belinda had planned by herself.
How are villains formed? How had Belinda Van Ryan and Kathryn Merteuil been formed? How would you answer that very simple question about two very complex characters?
Simple. You can't. If you tried explaining the reasons behind their actions, you'd go insane.
A/N: I know I'm prolonging her return but doesn't it add to the anxiety of everybody else? Hahaha, plus, I'm kind of making this up as I go along! So… Wahoo. Don't worry, in the next installment, I promise the Merteuil siblings will have arrived by then. Oh yeah... And it might be a while before I update again, because now I really have to fix their plans. Hahaha ;-D
Once again, thanks for the reviews, guys! ;-)