I Hate Everything About You

Unlike Me

{Sebastian's P.O.V.}

I can understand why this information was worth concealing, and while I did not predict my master's reaction to be so harsh, it makes sense why he responded the way he did.

The idea that a sister was present in the shadows all along was unbelievable. Anyone in his position would think she was lying, but I know now; I know better.

She isn't, wasn't lying. She told the truth. I'm forced to follow her as she runs, unsure of where she'll go. I have no idea where she was before, where she'd hidden herself, nor why the men who took and traded my master, and now, as I see clearly, her brother, left her alone. She evaded the same fate, and somehow she did that without any help, as far as I can tell.

Perhaps she was cleverer than I thought. Still, it doesn't matter. She can't outsmart me. No one can.

It started to rain as she left. She's gotten far already, taking cover under the greying skies, heading for the nearby forest instead of town. She did not wait for me to escort her- instead she bolted. I could hear her choke back sobs the entire time. I'm gaining ground. I push forward, water pelting the earth beneath my feet, soaking my clothes, which I'll have to mend and clean twice over after this is through and done with. It plasters my hair to my head, and as I pursue another weak, insolent child, I'm reminded of why I can't stop doing things like this, why I've chosen the same path before, and won't go back to my old ways. Humans are truly interesting creatures.

I finally spot her, and though she's swifter and quieter than most nobles would be should they find themselves where she is, she immediately gives herself away when she hears me. She freezes, and her eyes widen as though she were a doe caught in the eye of a rifle.

I've got you know. You've got nowhere to run anymore, girl.

"Go away!" She shouts through the downpour. "I won't be coming back! You don't have to ensure anything! Please don't make this any harder for me! He already said so..." she turns away, gripping her hair in her hands, and from behind, again, I am astounded as to how much she resembles my master. How he could outright deny any similarities must stem from a deliberate self-will: one subconsciously imposed amidst denial to prevent any further harm. It's not unlike him, to deny what he wants, or feels. He has to.

This girl on the other hand, she seems to be otherwise driven. She seems forthright. Unfettered, raw. Perhaps it's how she was raised. If she was self-taught, which seems most likely, it would be true. She would know nothing of the life she left behind.

In that way, she would be entirely unlike my master.

"I can't simply abandon you in the middle of a thunderstorm, out here in the woods. You might very well die."

"Let me!" I can see her shaking, and I know it cannot be from the cold alone. She's losing her composure entirely (not that she had much true equanimity to begin with), and her conviction, her prior strength, begins to fade. "I want to! I've always...wanted...to..."

"You've always wanted to die?" I step forward, yet she doesn't advance. She's still facing away from me. Excellent. I can use this to my advantage. "That's not very productive." She doesn't say anything else, and I take another chance to move closer to her, calling her by name. "Victoria."

"Don't say-" she veers around, and notices how little distance there is between us, and she shakes her head, backing up. "Don't say my name! You have no right. No power over me, do you understand? You're evil! I hate you! You did this to us!" I did not. Humans made this mess for her family. I saved her brother.

"No! I did no such thing." She keeps away, refusing to let her guard down, never averting her attention, locking eyes with me, before she trips, stumbling backwards, landing in the muck and mire of the sodden ground. I walk forward, leaning down, watching her tremble with what I recognise instantly as fear. Now that she's lost the benefit of having the upper hand, she's afraid of me, and what I truly could do to her, far away from anyone to hear hear scream. Alas, I can't -won't- do that. She must live. My master may have ordered me to keep her away, but he still remains stubbornly unaware of the fact she wasn't lying to him after all. His mind will change once he understands she was acting earnestly, and how her decision to reveal herself will benefit him. My orders are clear, and only can be properly executed if Victoria Phantomhive lives to bear witness to that fulfilment. "In fact, if it weren't for me, your brother would be dead."

"My brother..." she stammers. "You...you believe me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I smile, without much effort to appear innocent. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Of course it is! Why would I make something like that up?" Her hair is dripping, the moisture from the dirty rain mixes with the saline droplets of her tears. The carnelian blue of her eyes makes the glow of her sadness seem fathomless, ephemeral, and for a narrow moment, I perceive desire. On the wind and rain, a strange new perfume blows, and I realise what it is.

The colour of her soul, the radiant smell of misery, hatred, despair, wrath, and something more powerful, unique and rare flow together to form a scent so intoxicating it nearly overpowers me. I could lose it all, forsake my carefully developed aesthetics to revel in tearing her apart right here, but I've learned not to commit such a crime anymore. She is like my master in some ways, but there's something else to her, entirely unlike anyone I've encountered, and it hasn't become clear to me exactly what that is.

I must come to know. The humid breezes die, and the novelty of her essence dissipates; I again have to convince her to listen to me.

"You wouldn't. As I said, I do not believe you are a liar. Not that you'll believe me, but one of my master's orders when we formed our contract was to never lie to him. I plan on keeping that oath, and while it was never stated outright that I be truthful with anyone else, I think it would be counterintuitive for me to lie to you."

"Why? Why would you help me at all?" She still laces each word with disgust, but she's listening at least. What other choice does she have?

"My master has one wish: to achieve his ends, find out who killed his family, and obtain his revenge, punishing them immeasurably for what they did."

"So do I." She sneers.

"Well then, can you see why I have no present reason to harm you, nor to be untrustworthy?"

She shakes her head, digging her nails into the flesh on her scalp. I smell blood, steeling myself over, resisting the unexpected temptation I experienced before. I can tell this sister of my master is a different kind of self-destructive than he, but still, they are not so different. Alike in some ways, unlike in others, they are cut from the same cloth. I recognise that the more I'm around her. It takes her several minutes to regain any sense of sanity. I begin to consider where she was before she found us. She never revealed exactly what sort of place she'd been sent to, but I can't imagine it was pleasant, or fully stocked with lucid figures. The way she tries to stabilise herself after every outburst, relying on engaging all her senses, radiating manic energy, paranoia, and panicked ambition, it's indicative of madness. There are only so many places to usher away such a special type of family disgrace.

One more clue strengthens my theory, and also sheds light on why other men and women, humans like her, 'normal' so they'd call themselves, would call her mad. She knew what I was. Ironically, as religiously devoted as many of them are, humans have an incredible capacity to confuse the scientific and the supernatural, and condemn the innocent while commending the guilty. Victoria Jane Phantomhive may have been institutionalised by her loved ones for her own protection- no less the protection of their pride- deliberately made to believe herself a lunatic, and hidden away, all because she was more right about what her family dealt with than anyone else, let alone someone so young.

It would be a dire waste to underestimate her usefulness, to cast her aside prematurely. I still am ignorant about much of her past, but I can- and will- benefit from her presence. She can't deny it either. Eventually she stops crying, and a short time later, stops shaking before nodding, subtly, begrudgingly, but a confirmation nonetheless. She whispers quietly, but I have no problem hearing her.

"Someone like you should never have saved him."

"It's too late to worry about what might have been. He asked for help, and I came for him. Now, I've come for you, too. Allow me to help you."

"How?"

"To begin," I extend my hand impulsively. The gesture is rehearsed, typically a fabricated pleasantry, but this time, I did not act with the intention of pretending. I want to help her. She doesn't know the difference; she still thinks of me as a liar, only momentarily honest. It's a delicate distinction, one which truly matters more than she could know, and I am compelled to ensure that she never will. She cannot ever learn of how confusing she is to me. I literally have the upper hand, and I will not forsake my lead in this game to humour pedantic thoughts concerning a daft, fragile, human girl. "I'll find you somewhere comfortable to stay."