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Dear Sebastian,
I'm writing this letter to you because I think that it will be easier doing this than to just write everything that's happened straight out, like a diary. I've never been good at keeping those trivial things the way that you were, but then, I'm not a fag.
I'm sorry. My therapist (not the same bitch you had, of course) says that displaying my anger towards you is a sign of backward development. Please. The only thing backwards is her and her cheap handbag. I swear, she bought it for about eight dollars at the nearest JC Penny.
Yes, I'm in therapy. Completely against my will, of course, but your bastard of a father and my "alcoholic whore of a mother," as you so endearingly referred to her, insist. I'm also in detox--the classiest in the city, of course, but still just a place for winos and junkies. They tore my room apart looking for more coke, even when I swore I had none. I guess I just don't have their trust anymore. I wonder why.
I'm also not at Manchester anymore. Like I could ever go back there after your sweetheart published your quaint biography. I read it a billion times over, you know. I didn't know it was possible for someone to love and hate a person to such extremes all at one time, but you somehow managed to feel that about me.
What was the part I loved? Oh, yes. 'She is as beautiful as she is manipulative, as destructive as she is elegant. She reminds me of a black widow--so beautiful, and so venomous. A dark shadow on my wall. She is my obsession as well as my poison. Kathryn, that deceitful bitch. Kathryn, my fixation.'
You detailed very well all the fantasies you had about me. Annette must have cried her eyes out to read those carefully planned out adventures, so at least something good must have come out of all this.
Well, anyway, you got your wish, your special little fantasy. You've totally fucked me. And believe me, you've put it just about everywhere you can.
I'm hated by the school, my "friends," our parents, and all of New York upper society in general. I'm a nobody now, less than a nobody. I don't even want to consider how far I'll have to move to regain my reputation.
This is all your fault. You had to give your little virgin your journal, didn't you? I didn't give a fuck that you wrote it, and it was certainly interesting to finally read about all of your little sexual exploits, but the fact that you gave it to Annette...that was a fucking betrayal. You knew about all the hard work I did to keep myself on top of everything, and you did it anyway.
When Cecile, the little twit, handed it to me, and I saw exactly what it was that everyone was so very interested in, I cried. You made me cry, you asshole. I haven't cried since I was nine years old and my father busted me into a wall. He was drunk that time, and it was right before my mother left him.
Regardless of what you may think, I did love you. I'm not completely heartless. You're the only person I found who was completely like me, who understood the importance of reputation. True, we had different visions of what a reputation should be, but the quality of our personalities was the same. We had a lot of fun together, didn't we? Playing with the lives of the people who fucked with us.
You should have anticipated it, me fucking with your life. It's what I do. Besides, was I just supposed to stand aside as you fell in love with Little Miss Purity '98? She wasn't your type. You were playing with her just like I was playing with you.
People don't change overnight, Sebastian. As much as you may have tried to convince yourself that you had finally found true love, and it was good and sweet and pure, it was all bullshit. You've never loved anyone but me, and I'll never love anyone but you.
God, I'm crying again. I just hate this.
No one gives a damn how I feel about all this. Annette gets hugs and best wishes, and I get dirty looks as I walk down the street or into my favorite stores. I even had to make a public apology to the school for how "completely inappropriate" my leadership has been. You have no idea how humiliating it was. All those faces staring up at me and judging me, just like they used to love me.
The only one who's given me any sympathy at all is Blaine. That's right, your little queer friend is now one of my best pals.
I don't actually mind that he's gay. It's less pressure on me to please him. I don't feel like I have to blow him every hour just to get him to listen to me.
He's stayed over with me, something that our parents actually agreed to, to my surprise. They never let me do anything alone anymore, and I'm certainly never allowed to be alone with someone of the opposite sex. Or the same sex, either. I really regret telling you about my little kissing lesson with Cecile.
Blaine is almost as estranged from high society as I am. Greg, that football player, too, although for entirely different reasons. The gay thing really screwed up his reputation, and you know it's all about reputation.
Blaine has been getting a lot of shit because of how he helped you, getting information and addresses for you. He's been brushing it off in his usual way. Be assured that there is a lot of scoffing and eye rolling on his part whenever anyone but me talks to him.
He's been really great to me, asking if I need help and getting tea and just talking me through everything. And believe me, I've been through everything that can possibly happen to a person.
I meant it when I said that I wanted to kill myself. I know, you probably thought that I was being dramatic when I said that, but it's especially true now. Last week I locked myself in the bathroom for three hours and just cried. Some of Mom's pills were in there, and it was such a temptation to just swallow about thirty of them.
So what did I ultimately decide? Fuck that. I'm not going down like some loser. I'm not Cecile, fumbling my way around everything. It's going to be a lot classier than that. I have a reputation to uphold.
Believe me, I've been trying as hard as possible to maintain as much of a reputation as I can. I've been sweet, and cooperative, and kept my head high for almost everything I've been put through. After all, for all they know your journal is mostly a hoax, a carefully crafted series of lies. I mean, all those entries about me fucking you weren't true. And it just seems like something that you would do.
They do think that I did, though. Fuck you, that is. It's only when Annette stepped forward in her I'm-the-good-little-Christian way and told them that I never slept with you that they stopped berating me for something that was "practically incest!" in their outraged minds. And they still glare at me sometimes, when they think I'm not looking.
I didn't bother lying about the cocaine. I figured, I might as well come clean about that since there was no way around it. Annette saw me taking some in the bathroom, and besides, they've already confiscated every cross I own, even though only that one was hollow. But just about every rich kid in New York takes coke, or some other drug, and with all my responsibilities? Well, just think of all the stress I was under. I'm smiling now, by the way. I was under a lot of stress, living up to everyone's expectations. Trying to please everyone and please myself at the same time. Marsha fucking Brady.
Both Blaine and my therapist (her name is Theresa, by the way) say that that's exactly my problem. I don't know how to satisfy myself and everyone else at the same time. I'm always sweet little Kathryn, elegant and helpful when they want me to be. They think I need everyone to love me, which is completely and entirely true.
Speaking of which, I just thought I should tell you. Cecile's mom had a fit after she realized how much we've been corrupting her daughter. When she confronted me, I just couldn't help it. I laughed, right in her face. It was so funny, watching her get so pissed about something as trivial as sex.
Ronald won't even talk to me. He blames himself, and me, for what happened to you, and he's especially upset about how I encouraged you to take care of Cecile for me. Thank you for that, by the way. I know you did it for completely selfish reasons, but you still did it. Although, if you hadn't, you'd still be here.
Ronald blames me, and I don't know why. I didn't tell him to chase you into traffic! I got the...vague idea that maybe he might do something to you, but I certainly didn't know that it involved you getting hit by a car.
Who am I kidding? I blame myself. Although you, and Ronald, and even that idiot Cecile are all partially to blame as well, it was me who started the bet, me who had my hands in everything at once. You were falling for that paradigm of chastity and virtue, and I hated it. I wanted to punish you for turning away from me.
Annette has been, of course, completely wonderful and giving when it comes to our family. Since I'm writing this, I should point out that if I were speaking, there would be a solid edge of mockery to my voice. She's here all the time, narrowing her pretty little eyes at me and coming off like the martyr as she sticks up for me, speaking all the time on the tone she used in the bathroom. "I know it sounds trite, but when there's a problem in my life, I turn to God and he helps me through it." I swear, next thing I know I'm going to find her crucified in the back yard.
I just can't believe her! That little tramp ruined me, and not only that, she published your private journal, so she ruined you too. Not to mention your only friends. If you were here right now, I?m sure you?d be pissed. I know that you certainly meant for her to read it, but did you really leave instructions for you to photocopy it like it was the school newspaper? She betrayed you too, Sebastian, just like you betrayed me.
She got your car, too. That car should have been mine, but instead the sweet little princess is riding around in it, and carrying your journal with her wherever she goes. Geez, why doesn't she just carry your corpse around? Freak.
So, she was in love with you. Hmm. She knows how alike you and I were. I wonder how she'd react if I told her that being in love with you is like being in love with me. That'd be interesting to see.
Not much else has been going on. Blaine tells me that I've been whimpering your name in my sleep. I'll believe that. After all, right after our parents were first married, you were the one who would sneak into my bedroom in the middle of the night.
God, were we always like this? We were, weren't we. Always so bored with everything, always trying to seduce each other. We were only thirteen then, and we were still playing games with everyone, with each other.
No, wait. You know what? I'm not going to get all what-have-I-done and sappy about this. This is who I am. Can I help it that I exude confidence and enjoy sex? Can I help it that I loved you, still love you? And not the pussy-whipped idiot who fumbled around this house like a madman the last few days of his life, but the guy who chose sweet little Annette to corrupt, and succeded. That's who I love.
You know, I find it interesting that no one hates you anymore. And it's not just because you're dead, either. They all hate me, and Blaine, and even Greg for helping you in your little plots, but they love you, the person who seduced and hurt and fucked over. No, it's because you redeemed yourself. You fell in love, and you were all heroic and noble and brave.
Sure you were.
Look, I know you better than anyone, and I alone know that, all the way 'til the end, you were playing a part. You were fucking with them. I'll admit it, you loved her. But you were still you. And that's just who you are.
Were, actually. I can't really say "dead" yet, although, reading back, I realize that I wrote it two paragraphs ago. Good for me. Theresa will be so proud.
She's who I'm writing this for, of course. I don't really want to give it to her, now that I've actually written all these things on paper, but I guess I have to. I'll be sure to drop a copy by your grave though. I know you won't be able to read it, but it'll make me feel better.
So, here I go, ready to bare my soul to my dear therapist. I feel so cured. Oh, look. The sarcasm is back. Although, you know me so well, I don't think I actually have to note whether I'm being sarcastic. I love you, Sebastian. At least I know that you loved me, you told me so many times. I never told you when you were alive.
No, that's not true. I told you once, when we were fifteen. You had snuck into my bedroom again, and I woke up to find you spooned around me. I was surprised to find how comforting that was, and I told you that I loved you. There. Now you know.
So I guess this is goodbye, Sebastian. Don't worry. As long as I live, there will always be part of you alive. After all, we were always so very like. And don't worry about the other part of you, either, the weak part.
I will never change.
All my love,
Kathryn
Disclaimer: The title is from a Hole song, I don't own any of the Cruel Intentions characters.
