Shadows of the Night

1

Speak, speak, for underneath the cover there

The sand is running from the upper glass,

And when the last grain's through, I shall be lost.

- William Butler Yeats

It was an early June morning in New York City.

The streets bustled with pedestrians on their way to work: smartly dressed businesspeople held Starbucks coffees and newspapers, little girls bound for preschool clung to the hands of their mothers, teachers and accountants and lawyers walked along with briefcases in hand. Taxi drivers honked their horns and joggers brushed past; rays of bright sunshine streamed down between the high rise office and apartment buildings, causing the city residents to glance up and make a mental note for a stroll around Central Park during the lunch break. For them, It was just another ordinary day in the Big Apple – but that was because they didn't know any better.

Today, June sixth, was Kathryn Merteuil's eighteenth birthday.

Eighteen. Was that really how young she was? The cold, poised girl with startlingly green eyes who had seen so much, done so much, and, indeed, felt so much was a tortured spirit far more mature than her years indicated. To the world, she was the epitome of a what a well-bred young woman should be: graduate with honors, submissive daughter, compassionate friend. She was sweet, confident, sophisticated – and she was entirely made up.

No one knew the real Kathryn Merteuil. The vengeful, manipulating princess of ice who lived a life of drugs, sex, and utter loneliness. No one saw the smiling eyes hardening into hatred. No one saw the perfect lips curling into a snarl of disdain. No one realized the full extent of her power to conquer and destroy, her twisted sense of pleasure, the fucked up nightmare that was her life.

No one ever knew about the tears that slipped down her beautiful face in the dark of night.

No one felt her pain at his betrayal. That blinding, stabbing, wrenching pain that tore out her soul and melted her ice in a fiery maelstrom, that revealed her weakly sputtering heart – for yes, she did have one – that once beat for one person and one person alone.

She tried in vain to hide her hurt. She felt exposed wherever she went; she was positive that all of New York could see her breaking, could see her losing control, could see her screaming and thrashing if only because she didn't know how she could bring him back.

This, this was her true self. The shattered woman who drenched her troubles in alcohol and gripped her crucifix as if it were the only lifeline she had left. The outside world didn't know this, oh no. She was still Kathryn fucking Merteuil and she had a reputation to uphold. How the hell would it look if the darling of the Upper East Side was publicly wasting away because her stepbrother, the damn bastard, had scorned her?

It was easier now that Manchester Prep had emptied its halls of students for the summer and Kathryn was free to simply lock herself in her ice blue lair in the Valmont townhouse. A year. He had made her suffer like this for an entire year. It wasn't bad enough that he and his little-miss-perfect girlfriend were practically joined at the hip at school. Kathryn was forced to turn away in disgust countless times as they nuzzled each other in the hallway or fed each other food in the lunch room. No, he had to bring her home too, and Kathryn had gotten so sick of pretending she couldn't hear the moans coming from his room – innocent virgin, her ass – that she would drink until she passed out into silent oblivion. Still, she didn't know what was worse: having him around, or having him out of her sight. She hated seeing the look of lovey-dovey happiness on his face, but she hated it more when he didn't come home at night. After living right across the hall from each other for so long, she missed him when she didn't see him. In a way, he was dead to her. Her arrogant asshole of a stepbrother was gone, replaced by someone she knew only by name. Their famous arguments, their mind games and provocative gazes, their entire relationship was a dim memory.

He had left her, plain and simple. He had taken her trust, her secrets, and her heart and trampled them into a bloody mess. And he didn't even seem to care. He, of all people, didn't notice the hurt in her eyes, the way her hands slightly shook when he was in the room, the way her lower lip trembled when she realized that all that was once worth living for in her world was lost.

And yesterday, she'd received the final blow.

Kathryn was sitting at dinner with her parents, Sebastian, Annette, and Mr. Hardgrove. Normally, she wouldn't have attended a happy family dinner like this one, but Tiffany Merteuil had practically threatened her daughter with a painful death if she skipped out on one more. After all, her mother had the family image to worry about. Kathryn had barely touched her plate all night, concentrating instead on fighting back the nausea that was ever-present when the Terrible Twosome were together. As it were, their hands were entwined and both were smiling like little kids on Christmas morning. Finally, the dessert course arrived, and Kathryn was already looking forward to getting home and "powdering her nose," as she called it.

Her thoughts of a night of drug-induced high and maybe some male company were interrupted when Sebastian cleared his throat. Kathryn looked over at him, swallowing again as she saw her stepbrother and Annette exchange a secretive smile. Whatever the bastard was going to say, he'd better make it quick….

"Dad, Tiffany, Mr. Hardgrove, Kathryn," Sebastian began. His bright blue eyes lingered on Kathryn's green ones for a moment, and suddenly, she felt her body go cold. "Annette and I have an announcement to make."

Dear God….

"As you are aware, we have just returned from a post-graduation trip to the French Riviera…."

Yes, Kathryn was aware. It was the longest time in the years she and Sebastian and known each other that they hadn't talked at least once. Not a phone call, not a letter, not anything to show that he even remembered his stepsister existed.

Sebastian was still talking, and Kathryn watched him, wishing that time could be frozen and they would stay like this forever. It was okay that he was holding Annette's hand and they were sitting at dinner with the parents. She just wanted this moment when she just looked at him, at his blond curls and pouty mouth, at his long lashes and intense eyes, at his broad shoulders, dressed in his smart black suit – because she knew that in a moment, her world was going to come crashing down.

"…I've asked her to marry me," Sebastian finished, smiling at his fiancee. "And she's said yes."

Somehow, the words floated into Kathryn's ears and registered with her brain, and somehow she managed to not grasp the fork lying by her hand and gouge out Annette's happy blue eyes with it. She barely heard Annette quickly saying that they didn't want to get married right away; they were going to college, after all…etc. etc. etc. Her head began to spin, her heart started pounding, and it was in that instant that Sebastian turned to look at her.

And there they were. Kathryn and Sebastian, eyes locked for the first time in so long, the world disappearing as smoldering blue met shocking green. She momentarily wondered if he knew the turmoil threatening to burst out of her – but of course he did. He was always the only one who could read her. The connection between them had not faded with time; it had been lost with their isolation in the past year, but now it came roaring back at full force. The air seemed to crackle with the electricity and tension between them, as Kathryn lost herself in the joy, hope, fear, guilt, shame, and desire in Sebastian's eyes.

If she had known what tomorrow would bring, maybe she would have held his gaze longer. Instead, she tore her eyes away and stood up abruptly, making up a bullshit excuse and getting the hell out of that restaurant.

He didn't come after her.

So it was that Kathryn Merteuil sat quietly in her room on her birthday, a glass of champagne clasped between her delicate fingers. The scene was innocent enough, were it not for the empty bottle of pills lying on the table beside her.

She raised the champagne to her lips. "Happy Birthday, Kathryn."

A/N: Hey all, newbie writer, oldbie fan here. I've read most of the CI stories and I must say: wow. You guys are awesome at this. I'm absolutely addicted to the K/S hottness and was inspired to put my own cliche-entirely-unoriginal-but-hopefully-still-interesting ) story out there. I'd appreciate reviews, especially any constructive criticism so I don't feel like I'm wasting your (and my own) time. ) Hope you liked it!

Oh, BTW. I have no idea where I'm going with this.