(a/n: Not my usual. First thing, it's a songfic, which caused most of my friends to scream in horror. Secondly, it's very angsty, filled with sexual situations, violence, swearing...there may be more, but, eh. In addition, any historical references from this story are NOT TRUE! I made 'em up in my refusal to spend time on research.)
Stupid
Opening her eyes, the stinging blaze of sunshine greeted her. A hand reached up to shield her from the light, to give her a moment to get used to the morning. It took a second before she realized that she sun would never leave, and in irritation, she viciously threw the covers off of herself and strode to the window where she closed the curtains.
Instant darkness.
She stood there for a while, hand clasped on the fabric as if clutching a form of hope. Her eyes were downcast, staring at the floor and the occasional addition of tear droplets. Why had she thought that morning would never come? The world wouldn't have stopped for her, although she had set her mind on abandoning it.
hang on...
Slowly, her hands slid down the curtain and her knees bent against her will. Her legs hit the floor hard. It would leave a bruise later, she knew. Her head moved forward, opting to rest against the wall, right below the window. She told herself to stop crying. She couldn't. Her heart felt as if it would burst; her mind was a vortex of despair. Crying seemed like the only option to rid herself of these deprecating emotions, but she didn't feel better. When the tears failed to come, she was left to confront everything that had occurred and wonder.Why him?
Even now she wanted him to hold her, to enter her bedroom and tell her that everything that had happened was a lie. That in fact, their love was so much more. That it was their love. Not hers. Theirs.
stupid...
She drew her knees up and rested her forehead against them.
Crushed idealism, which came too late.
Her life had been arranged perfectly; there was nothing that could cast her into the realm of failure. She was a perfect student, a beautiful girl, and adored by anyone who met her. She shyly turned down men who expressed interest in her, and for that, earned a special place in her family's heart. There was nothing more respectable than a girl who knew where her life was going and what her priorities were.
And then it happened.
It was quick; she barely comprehended the situation, but from what little she knew, she loved every moment of it. She really had, hadn't she? She had loved it.
"No," she whispered, as if to convince herself. She shook her head, repeating, "No!" more forcefully. Her nails attempted to dig into the glossy floor but she only succeeded in breaking the keratin. They began to sting from the exposure to air and bleed, but she hardly noticed.
It disgusted her now that she understood she had allowed him to take advantage of her. She should have fought him like any other sane woman, but instead she had embraced him, allowed him to do what he pleased. There was a twisted part of her, a blind hope that he was doing this to her because he loved her. She had imagined he wouldn't want anyone else, only her. It was the way he held her wrists, possessively. The way he looked at her, as if she belonged solely to him. Admiration, in a sense.
But if only then she had realized why. And it amazed her that she had been deluded for so long.
She had been hired as a tutor for Mokuba Kaiba, a high school boy who had a kind demeanor but no particular love for academics. The name was vaguely familiar to her upon stumbling on the job offer. She associated Kaiba with the famous gaming company; nothing more or less. When she had first met with Mokuba, she wouldn't have recognized him even if she had remembered Battle City. He was seventeen at the time and had matured into a handsome boy, who caused Serenity to blush occasionally from mere comments.
Mokuba wasn't what she would call reluctant to learn; he was passive. He would listen to her, do all of the questions correctly, but fail exams repeatedly. His strength went into his art, which he had shown her only once.
"It's because I trust you," he had said. "Not even Seto knows about this."
Despite his melancholic appearance and deportment, his art pieces reflected the vibrancy of life through the style of charcoal. Certain aspects of the art pieces struck out more than others; an elderly man's delicate hands, a plump woman's vibrant eyes. Mokuba's subjects were always transformed into beautiful people -perhaps they always were. He had even drawn one of his brother, who Serenity hadn't met at the time.
The man was sitting in an armchair, one leg draped over the other, elbow propped on the arm of the chair and head resting on his fist. He was fixated on several papers in his hand, eyes deep in contemplation. His hands emanated strength, each muscle finely defined through the delicate shadings. He had a slender body, dark hair and a slender face with sharply defined features.
He was beautiful.
She had picked up the rough paper off the aisle, unable to understand the fierce pounding of her heart and blood rushing to her face. Her fingers were trembling.
"That's my older brother," Mokuba commented, coming up behind Serenity. "I presume you haven't met him yet?"
"No," she had whispered.
Mokuba reacted with a twisted smile. "Good."
The tutoring continued on following that incident; she never asked about the older brother. Her life continued unaltered.
One night, however, she had fallen asleep while waiting for Mokuba to finish an exam she had given him. When she awoke, she noticed he had used the back of the exam to draw a picture of her slumbering. She was about to pick it up when a figure got to it before her.
"Who drew this?" he asked, his voice deep and commanding. She turned around to see the man from the portrait, and instantly she remembered him from seven years ago. His hair had grown longer and he was taller; however, he maintained his condescending aura and air of superiority.
"Your brother," she responded quietly.
"Mokuba…?" He stared at the picture for another moment before tossing the exam back onto the table and fixating his eyes on her. "And who are you?"
"Serenity Wheeler," she responded, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "I'm Mokuba's tutor."
She bowed deeply. Kaiba gave no response.
"I ought to leave. It's late."
He didn't protest. Meanwhile, she wondered whether he was the same man from the picture.
After her first encounter, many more followed. He would come home right before she left and watch her silently. She could feel his stare on her back. She wished she could tell what he was thinking, but his thoughts seemed like an impenetrable fortress. She had attempted to speak with him, desiring to see the side of Kaiba that Mokuba admired.
Once, while she was passing by his office, she asked permission to enter. He seemed surprised but waved her in.
"What do you want?" he asked, eyes focused on the computer screen. It cast a bluish tint onto his face, making him seem unearthly.
"I just wanted to talk. You're Mokuba's older brother, after all."
"So?"
"He seems to admire you," she continued, trying not to be affected by his coldness. The blue suddenly suited him perfectly. "I want to know the man who he looks up to in life."
No reply.
"It can't hurt to talk. I hate seeing you around and having a dead silence between us."
"You want to establish a relationship with me?" he asked, suddenly looking up from his computer screen. His eyes seized hers and her breath hastened.
"Well, some form. I understand if you don't want to but-"
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he remarked almost darkly.
"I'm not afraid," she found herself saying.
"Really?"
He got up from his desk. Serenity was about to stand up as well but he roughly pushed her down with one hand. She wanted to say something in protest; no words came out. Instead, she watched in intrigued silence as he traced a finger along the side of her face, over her lips, down her neck, and further.
He leaned down and his lips lightly brushed against hers; at the same time, his hands fells onto her shoulders and his fingers dug into her skin.
She flinched. He smirked.
"The door is behind you," he said, laughing slightly.
She wasn't sure how she had gotten home that night, or even whether everything that had occurred was reality. A part of her knew that it would happen again, however, and thus she wasn't surprised to find herself back in the mansion a week later.
She had been leaving the study when Kaiba emerged from the floor above. His face was expressionless, but she was certain that his eyes flashed upon sighting her. As she crossed the floor, she knew he was following her. On the second floor, he took the initiative to grab her wrist and pull her against him. His lips sought out hers while she attempted to push away, words of protest forming. He had smirked, quite like the other night.
"I've had a rough day," he whispered, pushing Serenity into the nearest room. Her heart was pounding fiercely and as much as she wanted to escape, she desired to see where this was going, although a part of her knew.
The room was massive, in her opinion, decorated with three white couches facing one another and a fireplace across from the door. It seemed rarely entered, not the least bit useful.
Coarsely, he seized her by the shoulders and pushed her against the wall hard enough to knock out her breath for a few moments. He didn't give her time to recover before he was hungrily kissing her again.
Serenity had attempted to push him off once more, and to her shock, he seemed to enjoy the challenge. He had successfully pinned her against the wall, limiting her movement, and moved his lips to her neck. Her fingers unconsciously weaved through his hair and he resumed possession of her mouth. Their bodies pressed close to one another, controlled by a similar animalistic need. She could feel his fingers on the hem of her skirt, edging the fabric upward.
He failed to issue a warning; he wasn't gentle in the slightest aspect. In one thrust she was torn, having been forced to take the length of him within her. Tears swelled in her eyes and poured in slender falls down her cheeks; she clutched tightly onto him. She could feel the warm blood trail down her thighs and she was in excruciating pain, too much to even acknowledge the act as lovemaking.
Therefore, it surprised her that she allowed him to repeat the process on certain nights. It was never gentle, although a part of her believed that it should have been. He always caught her unaware, pushed her into the nearest room and had his way. After a while, she noticed he enjoyed it when she became completely under his control, emitting the occasional cry or gasp of pain.
Once she overcame the blinding sear of passion long enough to observe Kaiba's countenance while he was making love to her. His power seemed to have intensified, veins in his neck pulsating, muscles in his arms bulging almost sickeningly. What captivated her the most were his eyes, which had become a deep blue, a shade which belonged to the depths of the ocean that instilled fear when thought of by anyone.
From then on, she found herself drawn to him as if possessed by a demon. Her bridge had been burned, cinders left floating in the fog tinted air, and they only path left for her was to go on further and stop resisting.
unable to speak
Her fallacy was remarkable. What she needed was for the phone to ring and for her brother to be on the other end. He would tell her that he was sorry and everything would be all right. That he would be there for her forever; that she didn't need him.
Her ears suddenly became aware of the low hum of her fridge, the mellifluous sound of the leaves outside, her deep harmonic breathing.
The phone was silent.
She closed her eyes and then got up, deciding a shower would be apt. After stripping her clothes off, she stepped into the tub, turned on the faucet and waited until steaming water emerged. But it wasn't the same. She desired pain solely from him.
Yet hadn't he caused her enough?
burning...
"You love me, don't you?"She had looked up from marking Mokuba's essay to see him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. There was a malicious smile on his face.
In response, she lowered her eyes and returned to the paper, but started when it was swept from her.
"I…"
"Any normal woman wouldn't have endured what I've put you through," he hissed, clutching her upper arm and violently pulling her to her feet. When she failed to respond, he pressed down on familiar spots on her neck and arms while she cried out, old pain returning to her.
"Well?" he demanded.
"If I do-"
"You're an idiot!"
In a sudden rage, he threw her to the floor, where he then clasped both of her wrists. For the first time, silent tears began to flow down Serenity's cheeks and Kaiba released her.
"This isn't love," he said in a low voice, gritting his teeth.
Serenity closed her eyes.
"You're an object to me, nothing more. And it was interesting to dominate a Wheeler while it lasted."
Joey…
She had ran to him afterwards, hadn't she? The pieces of her heart were exposed to her loving older brother, who shook with ire and disbelief upon noticing the bruises on his sister's arms and neck.
"Why…?" he had asked.
"I love him."
"He was using you."
"I know."
Silence. Then, an angry burst. "I can't believe this… how stupid could you have been?"
"Joey, please…"
"Seren, not right now. I need time alone… just the thought of him using you. It sickens me."
Her brother had been trembling in rage, his brown eyes darkened to the point that they had become black. She shouldn't have told him.
"Joey, please don't go…"
But this was irreparable, wasn't it?
She stepped out of the shower and dried herself off. After, she pulled on a pearl white satin robe and left the bathroom.
She made a few circles around the house, trying not to think in fear that her mind would repeat her idiocy, her regret, and most of all, her undying love. Even if she made it through today, there would still be tomorrow, and the day after. She couldn't face it. If she ever had to see him again, she was afraid of what she would do.
She paused in front of a picture of her and Joey on the mantle above the television. It was taken last summer, when they had visited Kyoto. It was in celebration of her passing her entrance exams for college, and Joey refused her nothing. Not that she had asked; the only thing she had really wanted was a strawberry parfait, which he had bought her nearly every day of the trip. In the picture, they were standing closely together, one of Joey's arms draped around her shoulders and his free hand giving the peace sign. His trademark grin was visible, while she smiled lightly, her hands clasped together.
Reaching up, she grabbed the framed picture and stared at it for an unknown amount of time. She was about to put it back when she noticed what had been beside it.
"It's beautiful," she said, tentatively reaching up; however, she drew her hand back quickly, her eyes drifting worriedly to his. In one fluent motion, he swept the sword from the mantle and held it with both hands.
"It's an Imperial Dragon Katana," he said, his thumb grazing the golden dragon crafted on the base of the handle. "It used to belong to the Emperor during the Meiji Era."
"Was it used to … kill people?" she asked, blushing slightly when he looked down at her.
"Of course," was his stoic reply. They continued to stare at one another until he grabbed the handle of the sword and pulled it out, the fine sound of metal against metal resonating. The blade was flat and immaculate, appearing like a fine jewel. He held it up and she could see the reflection of the left side of her face in it. She imagined he could see his as well.
"Not many people appreciate such beauty," he said, his eyes fixated on the blade. She looked at him inquisitively, slightly afraid. "If I were to die, it would be an honor to be killed with such magnificence."
"Seto…"
A sharp gasp escaped her when the flat side of the blade was swiftly brought down against the side of her neck. The cool sensation of the sword was both frightening and thrilling and she was torn between wanting to close her eyes or screaming.
"It doesn't hurt," he whispered, leaning close to her until their faces were a mere inch apart. Roughly, he kissed her and at the same time, tilted the blade until it grazed her flesh, causing it to split. She hadn't noticed until he pulled the blade away and she could see the bright red liquid clinging to it. Her eyes had widened and she took a step back, her fingers gently touching the cut on her neck.
He placed the sword back in its hilt and smirked at her frightened expression.
"It didn't hurt, did it?" he asked. She bit her bottom lip and looked down at her fingers.
Blood.
The sword was suddenly thrust at her and her eyes rose. "Here."
"What?"
"It's yours."
"I can't accept this…"
"It's stained with your blood."
Her fingers unconsciously enclosed around the dark case. Comprehending her acceptance of the gift, he leaned down again to kiss the wound on her neck. This time, it did hurt.
Even now, she was still stricken by the sword's immense beauty. The handle was pure gold with the magnificent tail of a dragon crafted onto it, and the tip was a sea blue shade. A tiny dragon was perched on the top of the sheath, its claws digging into the dark case and tints of blue highlighted the golden scales.
When she had taken it home, she had immediately
washed her blood off the blade, which had become encrusted on it.
Sliding the blade out of its sheath, she observed that it was still as
pure as when she had first seen it, despite being touched by her blood
But you're the only one I see "It doesn't hurt."
What did it matter, anyway?
"I can't believe this… how stupid could you have been?"
Her hands moved down to the middle of the blade.
"Was it used to … kill people?"
"Of course."
The flesh on her palms broke upon impact with the steel, spreading down a torrent of red. She closed her eyes. Then, she plunged the sword into her chest, pushing with all of her strength. Tendons were severed and arteries burst. With what little strength remained, she pulled the sword out and let it fall onto the floor. Then, she fell onto her knees beside it.
the only one
The pain that spread through her nerves reached such an extent that she could barely comprehend it. Blood gushed out of her in a crimson waterfall, quickly transforming her immaculate robe into passionate red. There was so much blood… so much… Spots began to appear before her eyes and she clutched onto the wound, falling forward with her other hand propping her up.
The shrill ring of the phone was vaguely heard in the distance and a moment later, the answering machine turned on.
"Serenity, it's me," the voice said. "Look, I didn't mean anything I said yesterday; I was just mad, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, Sis, you know you mean the world to me. I'm just glad that you're all right, y'know?" A pause. "I know you can hear me, Seren. Pick up the phone. Please, just pick it up. God… I've been awake all night thinking that you might have done something stupid -you didn't seem all that okay yesterday. Pick up the phone, Serenity. I'm going crazy here! Serenity? Serenity, pick up the phone."
Click.
Dial tone.
End