Home / Fan Fiction / V(cough) C(cough) fic / The Chosen of God Part 6

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are all non-profit, amateur efforts not intended to infringe on the rights of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, David Geffen, Warner Brothers, Geffen Pictures, Knopf, Randomhouse, the city of New Orleans, the U.S. Constitution, any copyright holders that I might not have thought of or even a certain author who shall remain nameless but who has a set of initials which are, coincidentally enough, just one letter off from spelling "B.S."

Part Six
by: The Brat Queen

Winner: Best Lestat '98-'99!

Characters: Lestat, Armand
Spoilers: Up to TotBT
Description: In response to Jester of God, Lestat tells his life story.

Rated R for upsetting adult content

Warning: CoG contains triggering elements. If you know what "triggering" means you may wish to not read this. If you don't then just be warned that it and Jester of God are very similar.

Reaction to my little affair was a mixed thing. That anyone knew of it at all was something never spoken, never brought to light. That I know others knew is merely my own conjecture.

But I'm fairly certain of it.

Augustin said nothing. However, as I've indicated before, he was always pleased for any thing which got me out of the family's hair. And it was one of my very few affairs that I bothered to be discreet about, and for that he could approve.

The wife of my lover kept her lips especially sealed. It has been many a guess by others - Louis in particular - that she must have known exactly what was going on. Although no one, to this day, can understand why she didn't stop it.

I've never asked her, which you know. I'm not sure I shall ever posses the desire to, or even the feeling of wishing that I had asked her at the time. Which is not to say that I am not curious, but rather that I am so tired of that aspect of it all the less I know and must deal with the better off I feel myself to be.

Whether or not my little affair improved or interfered with her marriage I could not say. I hazard a guess that it probably did both.

Only my other brother ever showed his knowledge of things. And even then he was quiet. It was a look. Given once, as we passed one another on the stairs. He stood on the landing, arms at his sides, his dark brown eyes staring at me as I climbed by. How he knew I could not say, but I know that he did.

The second born child is one never to be trusted, Armand. In the de Lioncourt family this was a lesson to take to heart.

How the information came to be known by anyone I could not say. Most likely it was guessed, based upon who was where at any given time. Most of our meetings came at night, which is to be expected, although sometimes I found my company was required in the day as well.

To begin the affair was not my choice. It never was. Blame for the affair has been placed upon me, of course, but starting this was never something that I wanted. Neither was ending it. In truth it never really ended. He simply died.

He told me that it was my fault. Which is not to say that he ever worded it like that, only that that was the real meaning behind his words. My fault that I attracted his eye, my fault that I distracted him.

But, on the other hand, he also felt he loved me.

This was something I found hard to understand when he hit me.

My mind proved to be a powerful tool. To dismiss that which bothered me became a talent I was most adept at. Anything I did not like, anything which hurt me was something I just would not think about. Ever. How easy is it to take your mind away from something that is troubling you with a minor distraction? Minor distractions became my life. My daily life, the world of hunger and beatings and poverty, was a distraction. Something that took my mind away from what happened at night.

My nighttime life, and my occasional daytime appointments, were something separate. And I didn't think about them.

By the time I became a teenager the worlds had separated for me. I had gone past not caring to not even knowing anymore. To forget was an act of will so ingrained I did not even know it happened. Ideas simply slipped past my mind and into my memories, never to be retrieved again.

At least, never to be retrieved until they were needed. Until I felt myself touched and called upon to act. Then and only then did the memories come and the instincts arise. Then I could do as I needed.

Otherwise I did not know. I could not know. Otherwise my screams would not end.

L.