Characters: Anastas
Setting: His home over spring break. After Sunny's drunk dial.
Rating: NSFWish. Language. Drug use.
Summary: Stasi does a bad thing.


Anastas had been drinking, drugging and fucking his way across campus since Sunny had unceremoniously dumped him. Some days were not as hard to get through as others, but every day served as some kind of struggle.

What he didn't understand was how she had managed to get such a stranglehold on his heart. How had she wriggled in and taken up residence in that place which had laid dormant for so many years?

He hated her for it.

He resented that she had come into his life and forced him to change. He detested her sunshine smile and cheerful moods and how she'd always just look at him, like a goddamn puppy that wanted you to pet it. And as soon as his hand got close she'd bite.

More like a cat then, he decided. She'd sit close and kiss him and roil him up and then as soon as he started to move she'd turn into something else. She'd hiss and spit and push him away. At first that had been part of the fun, but as they moved forward it became the deep, dark secret between them.

And fuck her, he thought. Why was he the only one in the relationship who had to change? Why hadn't she tried harder? Why couldn't she give up some of the things she loved?

Her drunk dial had his head struggling to reconcile with his heart. How disgusting, he thought. So pitiful.

Well no more of that. She was out of his life and he wasn't going to fight to win her back anymore. He was reverting to his old self and fuck anyone who wanted to comment on it.

Unfortunately his old self wasn't entirely prepared for his return. Too much booze, all scotch of course. Too much coke, which he'd stopped taking months ago. He didn't know his limits anymore; he couldn't tell where the line for enough was.

He writhed on the floor for a few painful moments, spittle congealing at the side of his mouth, nose bleeding. He could taste it in the back of his throat and groaned. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

His vision was fading around the edges, getting brown before it turned black. He imagined it would just go out in a moment and he supposed for some people it did. No warning, no slow descent through light and sound into nothingness.

Even his hearing was playing tricks, muffling noises. He thought he heard a panicked cry for help. He thought he felt someone lifting his shoulders to sit him up, big strong arms wrapping around him to carry him off.

Maybe it was death. Maybe it had finally come for him too. Maybe he'd see his mother again. He could tell her how much she'd fucked up his life. "You are the worst," he mumbled against fabric. Someone had picked him up; his head was lolling on their shoulder.

Valentin de Kooning closed his eyes. "Yeah," he replied quietly. "But so are you."

After that there was silence, a heavy weightless silence that floated over him. Or perhaps he was floating and the silence was like water lapping at him, trying to pull him down. His vision finally failed him and he closed his eyes rather than struggle against it. The fight had left his body and whatever happened next was up to his brother.

Tags: !complete