AN: Inspired by the story without you by Del James which is in the book the Language of Fear. JFC that short story was intense. I rewrote it for klaroline, though the end, I didn't because Del just wrote it so beautifully that I couldn't recreate it. This is pretty dark, there is suicide in this, so if you are offended by this don't read it. No beta

The smoke filtered through the bar slowly. The sound of the band playing filled the room as she swayed along to the music. He saw her dancing, her lilt body calling out to him. He was mesmerized by her and he hadn't even said a word to yet. She spun around, her arms in the air, her hips moving slowly. Her eyes met his and a seductive smile appeared on her lips. Her hand reached out to him. He walked towards her and reaching for her. The music got louder. The crowd grew thicker, and in the sea of bodies he could only see her. And just as his fingertips touched hers there was a loud bang. Her body fell to the floor, covered in blood. He reached out to her, only to realize that she was gone.

Klaus's eyes shot open as his body jerked itself awake. He sat up and looked around. He was still in the bed at the expensive hotel his record company had put him up at. He reached over to the half filled bottle of whiskey on the table next to him. He saw the pills the doctors and shrinks had prescribed him. None of it worked. No anti depresssant, no sleeping pill, no anti any pill worked, as the dreams would still come, nightmares would haunt him, and sleep evaded him. He could see the empty cans of beer scattered on the floor along with bottles of liquor. He saw the thin layer of white powder on various flat surfaces around the room. He took a swig of the whiskey and it cleared his mind. It warmed his body from the inside. He got out of bed only to discover he was naked. He wasn't sure how or why he was, just that he had survived the night again somehow. Fate wanted him to live another day, suffer another day without her.

He could see there were messages for him on his phone. Probably from the record company again. He had already laid down the vocals for his latest song "Alone" He had played his guitar tracks and the only thing left to do was to mix it. They really didn't need him for that, not even his approval. He'd become too much of a liability these days. He had torched his mansion in the hills, after the police had stormed through the door, while he was in a drug induced haze. The record company wanted him to complete the record and didn't care how it was done. He could go to rehab after everything was done.

There was a message from Elijah, his brother and manager. He ignored it as always. There wasn't much left to say between him and Elijah. He was a better manager than brother.

There was a message from Marcel. Apparently Klaus owed him $300 for last night for all the extras he brought. Klaus didn't care and went to find his jeans. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a henley. He searched his necklaces, finding them under the bed. He placed them back around his neck and played with them. One in particular he played with. It was a small ring, made of cheap metal wire, braided together with a dented heart on it. His finger rubbed it and he sat down on the couch. His collection of guitars were placed neatly and orderly near the wall. All of them in their stands, waiting for him. The grand piano was covered in white powder as well and its white keys screamed at him. He got up and shook his head.

His phone began to ring. He walked over to it. His foot kicked something and stopped to see what it was. He looked down and there it was. He bent down to pick it up. What he held in his hands was all he had left of her. He opened the photo album to the second page. Always the second page. It was a picture of her in Las Vegas. She was standing near the Bellagio water fountains. Her blonde hair was flowing freely in the wind, her smile reached her eyes, and she was truly happy. Her dress almost blew up but her hands reached down to stop it. Her eyes sparkled and she was as beautiful as he remembered her. Caroline. Las Vegas was when everything was easier and simpler. He had loved her so much that he didn't think it was possible. They spent every waking minute together. After Klaus had played the show with the band, he spent the rest of his time with her in their hotel room.

Her body was curled against his. His arm held her close. And she was so damn beautiful and she was his.

"What do you want to do today?" Caroline asked

"It's our last day before we have to go overseas love"

"So you better make it count. You can tell me you love me and we continue to have sex or we could get married instead"

"Are you proposing to me Miss Forbes? Without a ring? I'll have you know I'm not that type of man"

"Guess we'll have to go with option 1 then" Caroline said as she got on top of him

"I knew you just wanted me for my body"

"I do have a ring for you, you're just too proud to wear it. I'd be marking you"

"By all means, mark away"

Caroline pulled the ring off her finger and placed it halfway down on his pinky.

"This isn't going to work" Caroline started to laugh

"Let's go with option 1 first, then I'll get you a proper ring"

Klaus shakes his head at the memory. He flips through the photo album, but always stops before the last page. Never the last page. Instead he chooses to drown himself in more alcohol. His phone beeps. He picks it up and sees his sister has left him another message, checking to see if he's still alive. Not that she really cares, she's been too busy with her newest flavor of the week. Klaus wants to pick up one of his guitars. He wants to play. He wants to make music again. But without her it seems all empty. He made music, he made damn good music. Even when they were playing in shitty clubs and bars and he was nobody. His last album stayed on the charts for months. The song "Without You" stayed at number one for weeks. His record company extended his world tour. He offered to fly her from wherever she was to any city on tour. Sometimes she came, sometimes she didn't. She didn't want to be a groupie. But she wasn't. She was the absolute love of his life. She was everything to him. He didn't even know what he did to deserve her. He knew he didn't deserve her.

Things changed once they left the states and went overseas on tour. The band got bigger and bigger and exploded. With that came more fame, more drugs, more booze, more women. He couldn't help himself. It wasn't that he didn't love her. He did. It was more that he was a selfish bastard. He wanted his cake and to eat it too. He wanted it all. He couldn't stay faithful to her. He strayed. Sex was an addiction to him, much like everything else. Sex to him was similar to what he felt on stage. Different audiences like different partners were more challenging and made him work harder for the applause. And cheer they did for him. He was addicted to the rush. He had everything, money, fame, fans, but money wouldn't buy him happiness, nor peace of mind and it wouldn't buy him Caroline.

The frames of platinum records were against the wall stacked neatly. The song Without You, was hers. He had been so inspired by her, consumed by her that he wrote it while on tour. He offered her royalties to it, claiming half of it was hers. She declined. She didn't understand what she had done for him. How she was his muse. She didn't understand that he owed everything to her. But she saw it differently. She always knew he was talented and that he was meant to do great things. She loved him, she waited for him, she was everything to him. And in his usual manner he just pissed it away.

He was still reeling for the electric energy of the show they had just finished. It was the last night of their tour. There was something special about it. It meant he could finally go home to her. She was waiting for him in Mystic Falls, a shitty little town in the middle of nowhere, it held no significance except she was there.

Still high off the energy and a cocktail of drugs, he found himself in his hotel room with 2 groupies. He wasn't sure where he had found them from or what their names where. He felt the needle leave his arm and the heroin take place. A few minutes later they were all naked and scrambling around in the massive bed.

Damon, the drummer to the band walked in. This kind of behavior didn't shock Damon at all.

"Oops, wrong room" Damon said

"Here have one" Klaus said

"No thanks, I don't want your sloppy seconds. I can find my own girl!"

"Suit yourself!"

Damon left. Klaus felt high, every touch on his skin sent him flying. There was a knock at the door. Klaus thought it was Damon again, coming to get a girl.

"Get the fuck in here already!" Klaus yelled

The door opened and there stood Caroline holding an overnight bag. She had accepted his plane ticket to see him. The sight before her, Klaus jumping out of the bed trying to explain to her. She hit him with her overnight bag, then punched him in the face, then punched a few other things. Klaus couldn't remember considering the state he was in. Things were thrown, broken, there was screaming, kicking, fighting, and tears. And in that moment, things spiraled out of control. Caroline walked out of his life, and it would be the last time he'd see her again. He knew it was selfish of him. He knew he was a bastard, but he loved her. And he couldn't let go. He wanted to explain to her that because he strayed in the bedroom it didn't mean he didn't love her. He never forced her to be monogamous, but in truth he knew if she fucked someone else, it hurt him, a lot. He'd go blind with rage at the thought of someone else having her. But he couldn't stop himself.

When he returned to the states, he tried to win her back. She ignored his calls, returned all his presents. She didn't want anything to do with him. Without her he seemed lost. The band became concerned. He was drinking too much, he was high too often. He didn't make appearances anymore. He didn't show up to the studio.

He finally went to Mystic Falls, only to be mobbed. He made it to her house only to find that she was gone. Her friend Elena had told him she moved, leaving the house to her.

"Where did she go?" Klaus asked

"She doesn't want to see you. She doesn't want to be found. She doesn't want anything to do with you"

"I need to talk to her"

"You can't, she's done with you. Leave her alone, let her live her life"

"I need her"

"Well she needs to start over. Doesn't her happiness mean anything to you?"

"I'm selfish"

"I noticed"

He hired a private investigator to find her. He found her in the city of angels ironically. He sent her exotic gifts. He promised to show her the world. He promised her so many things. And he wouldn't give up until she gave him the chance. She sent all his gifts back. She wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

Klaus was at a loss at what to do. And then he wrote Alone. The lyrics came easily to him. Everything he felt, everything he'd lost, it was there. He needed her to know. He didn't care that she wanted to start over, he needed her back. She was everything to him. She was his muse. She was his.

It was the night of a music award show. Klaus had sent her 5 tickets, passes to get backstage and a limo. She ignored it. After the band had won almost every award, they performed. Without You. Klaus dedicated it to her before he sang. After they finished Klaus got into the limo and headed over to her apartment. He sat outside her apartment. He called her and it went to voicemail.

"Caroline, I know, I mean I hope you're up there. I don't know what I'm doing. I know I fucked up. I'm sorry. And I'll do anything to fix this. I'll break down the door, you can call the cops, but I need to fucking see you. I love you. There I said it. You know I'm a screw up. You know I'll always screw up, I don't deserve you, but I love you, and I can't let you go"

Klaus wondered maybe if he had said differently maybe things would have been different. He went upstairs to her apartment. He could hear the music, his music getting louder and louder as he walked towards her door. He wanted to see her and this was one of the few times he was actually sober. He wanted to be remember this, seeing her again. His world began to spin uncontrollably when he heard the gunshot echo through the hallway.

He kicked through the door. He rammed his body through the door, not caring that he probably wouldn't be able to play after this. He found her, his Caroline, laying on the couch, blood oozing out of her head, with the blood splatter on the wall behind her. In front of her was her phone, a pen and crumpled up pieces of paper.

He stood destroyed over her body. All he did was love her. Love her as best he could, however damaged he was. He walked over to the stereo that was blasting "Without You" and turned it off. He wondered how many times she had listened to it. Been reminded that he loved her that much, been tormented by the fact that he loved her so much and would never stop.

He looked over at her blood splattered phone. She had listened to his voicemail. And there was a note speckled in red blood. Number one with a bullet it read.

Klaus wasn't sure what was happening at that point. He began convulsing and screaming. It was like someone unleashed a wild animal. His shrieks would have shattered the windows. His head was pounding, threatening to explode. His body was numb, he wasn't sure where the screaming was coming from just that it had stopped. Was this really happening? Was this even real? Did she just kill herself because they had failed or because he wouldn't leave her alone? Was it the song, the things he said to her, the gifts, that had driven her to this? Had he done this to her? Did he destroy the one thing he truly loved? He reached down to the gun in her hand. He pushed the barrel against his temple. He would join her.

It was empty. Caroline knew she only needed one bullet. She was always the perfectionist.

Klaus was snapped out of that memory and thrown into another one. They were standing in the chapel and had gotten married. Klaus found an extravagant ring for her, a huge diamond in size. He slipped it on her finger and kissed her. He already knew she was his, but now he was hers.

"No" Klaus pulled himself out of that memory. He looked over at the coffee table. Everything he needed was there. More drugs, but at least these drugs numbed the pain, the emotions, the feelings he was tired of having. He heated up the spoon and waited for the mixture to melt. He added some cocaine. And like many times before, he injected himself in the arm. He could feel the mixture enter his blood. He fell back onto the couch. The drug hit him in powerful waves, he was numb, he was happy, he was floating, he wasn't anything. He realized his arm was hitting something. He looked over and saw it was the photo album which was opened to the last page.

It was Caroline's obituary and sympathy card. A constant reminder that she was in fact dead and gone. No longer part of this world. Klaus touched his cheeks and they felt wet. Was he crying again? He wasn't sure. This wasn't what he wanted to feel. He got up to get more whiskey. The image of Caroline laying in the coffin haunted him. She laid there perfectly beautiful. The funeral home and placed a mirror to hide the trauma to her head. In her hands were a bouquet of flowers. When Klaus had found her that night, she was still wearing her wedding band with the huge diamond on it. In a way she knew she'd never escape her fate. She was destined to love him, whether she wanted to or not. And so Klaus buried her with it, it was hers. Everything was hers, even his heart.

He went back into the living room. He needed whiskey.

Why?

He loved her so much.

Why?

He'd offered her half the royalties. Half. That was a financial empire, but she'd refused.

Why?

He'd tried to make amends. He'd tried being good according to society's standards. He wanted to understand everything that had happened to them. He wanted her to love him but no matter how hard he tried, he fucked it up.

Why?

He wanted to be normal again but that wasn't possible.

Why?

He wanted to feel closer to Caroline but she was dead. That tormented his fragile soul but for a split second of insane logic, Klaus concluded that his body should not be spared either.

Fists went flying, nothing in the room was spared. Glass shattered, furniture overturned and destroyed. Blood spurted from his hands and still he kept going. During his entire time on tour, he had destroyed hotel rooms, but he had never harmed any of his guitars. They were sacred, they were like children to him. They contained a small part of happiness for him. Each one told a story, how each song was made, how his music was created. They were always protected and loved until now. Because right now, all Klaus wanted to feel was pain, pain brought him closer to reality, it brought him closer to her.

He gave the world music, very good music, and asked for little in return. A little space to create, some kicks thrown in, and how about peace of mind? Instead, he had more material goods than he could ever use, more money than he could count, and nothing worth fighting for. There was a time not too long ago when he'd fought like hell for all of this. Now that he owned a piece of the rock he wished he could give it back. The view from the top wasn't as picturesque as he'd imagined. What he did as his artistic expression, the record company sold for capital. He'd quickly grown disillusioned with the system but what else could he do? Without the industry he couldn't share his music. No matter how hard anyone tried explaining it to him, musical notes would never equal dollar signs. He made music because since his early childhood, he truly loved rock 'n' roll. It was the people, his people, he wrote music for after he finished writing for himself. So then, why couldn't he sleep at night? He stared at the answer.

He was going to kill his guitars. If it wasn't for these guitars, he wouldn't have the problems he did. And he'd save the goddamn '57 Sunburst for last. He guzzled the beer, raising it away from his greedy mouth. Budweiser rained down the side of his face. When the can was almost empty, he crushed and spiked it like a football. Enraged, he grabbed a Les Paul Black Beauty and dealt it a quick but savage death against a wall. He raised a rare Telecaster over his head and clubbed the coffee table, breaking both. Then he picked up another Les Paul and, swinging it like a baseball bat, clobbered a lamp and several other objects before the guitar's neck snapped off.

He heard something, banging along with him. Was it Damon? Why was he thinking of Damon now? He realized it was one of the people staying in the hotel room next to him. He went and picked up another guitar, holding it by it's neck. He swung it at the wall.

"Loud enough for you?!" Klaus yelled

He kept smashing it into the wall until it broke and then he stopped. He turned to find a cigarette. He lit it and inhaled deeply.

He could have easily joined her, but the truth was, he was a coward. A little shit, a worthless shit that would never amount to anything, or so his stepfather told him.

He picked up another guitar and walked outside to his balcony. He looked down and saw that fans had gathered around his luxury car.

"Anyone want an autograph!?" Klaus yelled as he threw the guitar down

He watched as it shattered upon impact. Fans ran towards it, grabbing up whatever pieces they could.

"Don't say I never gave you anything!" Klaus yelled

Klaus returned to the the bedroom looking at his phone. More texts, more messages from people. He threw his cigarette onto the carpet and walked back to the last guitar.

He stared at the '57, marveling at the beautiful colors. It was appropriately called a Sunburst. Reds, oranges, and yellows swirled in the wooden body. This one had gold trim as well as golden pickups. The Sunburst was his preference of all guitars. He had another two dozen in storage but this guitar was the first thing he bought after his band was signed to a recording contract. It was how he'd rewarded himself for having "made it." This was also the guitar he'd written the music to "Without You" on. He approached it with caution and respect and gently picked it up. He sat down on the floor Indian style. Deep down, he was glad he hadn't destroyed this ax. His picking hand hurt badly, but he wanted to play. Blood dripped off his hand and dripped down the guitar's body. Enthralled, Klaus watched it run. No matter how intoxicated he was, his fingers never betrayed him, and this particular guitar always responded to his call. He began picking something that sounded like Hendrix. He paused abruptly. Something about that last guitar run shook him up and he couldn't continue. In a vague way, it reminded him of a part in "Without You." After taking a deep breath, Klaus partially regained his composure. Multimillionaires like Klaus Mikaelson aren't supposed to cry. They're beyond tears or at least that's what society wants to believe. The band was just Klaus, a talented kid who could run his nimble fingers along a piece of stringed wood. He began to strum one of his favorite riffs, Thin Lizzy's "Don't Believe a Word." Even though the guitar wasn't amplified, he could hear it as if it was. He let the last note ring out as he stopped and reflected. He used to love the feel of this instrument in his hands. He used to love making the strings come to life. He used to love just holding this guitar. Then his mind viciously reminded him that he'd also loved the way Caroline felt. He quickly rose off the floor and tossed the guitar aside. It landed with a loud DWWWAANNNGGGG. He stared blankly at the guitar and thought of her. Both had given him so much pleasure, but he'd never been able to properly express his gratitude. He never told her the truth about how she made him feel, about how much he loved her, and when he did, the song reaffirmed that he should've kept his mouth shut. At least she'd still be alive. But the song was pure and he wanted to play it for her. Even if her physical body wasn't present, he could still sing to her in heaven. He wanted to jam but was afraid to touch the guitar.

And then he thought of an alternative.

He scooped up the almost-dead whiskey bottle and finished what little was left. It slipped silently from his hand. Very drunk, very drugged out, he staggered over to the piano. The smoldering cigarette on the bedroom rug had burned its way over to the goose-down comforter. The cover caught and flames quickly spread throughout the bedroom. Discarded clothing acted as kindling and soon the bedroom was on fire. Until several hazy hours ago, Klaus's life, no matter how miserable, had been something most people could only dream about. It was all an illusion, and he was one of rock 'n' roll's elite, a hero. Now, he'd been reduced to his basic self and nothing really mattered. He felt the thorns wrapped around his heart and for the first time in far too long, felt human again. He'd smothered his spirituality in drug abuse. He'd stunted his health and personal growth with vice. He'd blinded himself because he was afraid to see that his purpose, his gift in life, was to be true to himself. And the only time he was able to find that inner truth was when he played his music. He softly tapped the ivory keys, making melodies come to life through his fingers. No matter how badly his hand hurt, he persisted in making music. He was determined to play for Caroline and all the other angels. With every fluid run, every harmony, every musical accent, his inner pain subsided a little. With each passing musical note, he became one with the music.

Sweating profusely, Klaus felt something stirring behind him. He tried ignoring it for as long as possible. Finally, he turned and saw large flames billowing out of his bedroom. At first he thought it was a hallucination but the fire was scorchingly real and heading his way. His favorite guitar was already engulfed and dying. He wanted to save it but couldn't. He refused to let his jamming be interrupted. Caroline was listening. Every time his fingers pressed the Steinway's keys, crimson stained the ivory and smeared. He ignored the small red spots, sliding his long fingers through them. Scarred-up veins bulged from his forearms a sweat ran down his face. All he'd ever wanted to do with his life was play his music and now he was. For the moment, he felt free from his demons. He built up the courage and began singing "Without You" in his natural gruff voice. The thick carpeting quickly became a wall-to-wall inferno as a giant wave of fire rose up and spread around the piano. He couldn't have cared less. As flames swallowed the room, Klaus never screamed and never missed a note.

I know this was dark. if you can go read the short story. Also wtf was up with the last episode of Dexter? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! WHY?! Anyways, thanks for reading.