DISCLAIMER: I don't own TVD. And oh, the title is taken from Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda. THIS DISCLAIMER APPLIES TO ALL CHAPTERS.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
(Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda)
RUNAWAYS
The clock strikes midnight.
If she were in a fairytale, she should be alighting her magical carriage. She should be taken away beneath the moonlight as her prince lovingly runs after her, longing for her stay.
Yet tonight, the clock's digits only glow red in mockery.
She watches as the last ride departs on the distance. The remaining traffic of men grows thinner as a voice from the speaker announces the station's closing. Beside her, a homeless man begins to settle in his makeshift bed of cardboards.
A rush of sorrow and denial hit her along with the realization that even she has nowhere to go.
Her prince never came and she has never boarded her carriage.
Before her very eyes, the perfect fairytale she has created for herself is in ruins.
It started as a classic romance plot: Everyone believed they were made for each other. Ahead of them, their whole life has already been planned out—to marry, to live in New York and have kids. To live happily ever after. Her whole life she held on to that dream. She held on to everything that was them. To everything that was him.
And now, she has nothing. Not even the audacity to come back home.
A typical tale ending in a typical tragedy.
And for the first time this day, she lets a single tear escape her eye. She promptly wipes it away though, as she senses a pair of eyes studying her curiously from behind. Really, even in this night she cannot be allowed mourn without being under someone else's intense scrutiny. She turns to give her watcher her piece of mind but, before she can even return the stare, she finds the seat empty. Empty but for a piece of paper.
She catches a lone mop of sandy hair walking farther away and, without another thought, she runs, paper in hand.
"Excuse me."
No answer.
"Mister?"
No answer.
"HEY!" She yells, frustrated.
That did it.
The man turns and she wastes no time in telling him. "You left this."
The same greenish-blue eyes from before gaze back at her but now, with mild amusement. His face, perfectly framed by short curly locks, twists into a dimpled grin as he takes the paper in her hand and flips it over.
It turns out to be a sketch. Of her. Waiting for the train over six hours ago, as indicated on the clock drawn on the side, when her eyes were still full of light. Still full of hope.
On the corner, a handwritten message reads:
To the girl with the sun in her hair
The road may be long
Yet the sky stretches longer, broader, farther
Always trust the stars to carry you home
She eyes him questioningly before shoving a hand in her pocket. "I don't have much but…"
"It's yours, sweetheart." He says, his accent slightly catching her off guard.
"Uhm well… Thanks, I guess." She tells him. "This is really beautiful."
He nods at her, taking in the small smile gracing her face.
"So, you're... an artist?" She asks as her eyes fall on the pad clutched in his arm.
"Maybe." He follows her line of sight and then holds up his sketchbook to her. "Wanna see?"
They sit over stale hotdogs and cheap coffee from a 24-hour store. Internally, she knows she should start contemplating where the hell she'll go from this dead end but really... For a moment, she doesn't mind hanging out with a total stranger who has no idea of how much crap she has gone through.
"You're not from around here." He observes, breaking the silence.
"I'm from Mystic Falls."
He frowns.
"In Virginia." She explains to him. "You aren't from here either."
"Brighton."
"England? Explains the accent."
He grins at her. "So, what brings you to New York then?"
"What brings you to New York?"
"It's my turn to ask, love."
"Well, now I'm asking." And she's being evasive. Right.
"You're quite a stubborn one, aren't you?" He chuckles slightly but then sighs in defeat. "Okay, well... I'm actually here on a trip."
"Like a tourist trip? So it's your first time being here?"
"No, not like that. I've been here five years ago. Boarding school." He tells her as he drifts into his memory lane. "Really funny story, though. So my first day here, I went to see a close friend and then we decided to hit the road to California. I ended up missing a whole semester of school and bloody hell, my father..." He tips his head to the sketchbook in her hands and she realizes it's been open to a sketch of a family having a lavish dinner. She sees a little girl, the youngest sister, nibbling on her vegetables while three young boys, her older brothers, were chatting lively over their meal. Hopelessly trying to calm down her tikes, the mother stands on one end of the table. On the other, end however, quietly sits the father—his father, she surmises. She doesn't know why but the way the man was drawn looking directly at you—to the artist, first and foremost—sends chills down her spine.
"... was livid. You cannot imagine the yelling and the beating I got the moment he got a hold of me." He continues lightheartedly as he shakes his head. "Then I was sent back to England and I've barely set my foot down to the land when they immediately shipped me off to France."
She finds herself gaping at him. "Whoa."
"I know, I'm a rather impulsive kid but... Those were the best days." He says, smiling thoughtfully. "Now, I'm here to see an old mate. We're going retrace our journey from five years ago and head back to California."
"Your friend from before? That's awesome."
"Yes." He replies as he downs the last of his drink. "And he's getting married, by the way."
"So this is going to be like his bachelor getaway? Nice." She rolls her eyes bitterly. Do not get her started on the woes of this awful pre-nuptial tradition. DO. NOT.
"Supposed to be, yes. But alas, I think he has been reduced into a chap on a leash."
"His fiancée's gonna play chaperone?" She questions amusedly.
"Unfortunately." He groans, exasperated. "Anyway, we are meaning to pick up some old friends along the way. My mate's car is decent. A fairly large thing but with great mileage. Plenty of rooms for anyone who wants to tag along..."
At his inquiring gaze, she shakes her head.
"I'm not a psycho killer, if that's what you think."
She giggles. "No, I don't think..." She takes a deep breath. "I think I'm gonna stay here in New York for a little while."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why don't you want to leave? What's holding you back?" He asks her earnestly. "I've watched you—"
"Creepy." Her neurotic self blurts out before she can even suppress.
"I've been told." He sniggers at her, unfazed by her jab. "But perhaps it's an artist thing that I've learned to observe people. And you've caught my eye the moment you arrived. At first I was simply sketching a beautiful sight—you, all hopeful and bright, while you wait for your ride. But then you never boarded the train. And the next one, and next... I got a little frustrated and terribly curious as to what got you all confused and lost yet you still try hard to seem strong. And finally, I felt your last resolve crumble when that last train left. You broke down." He smiles at her tenderly. "And that's about one of the most genuine moment I've seen in a while."
What the... Saying that she is stunned is an understatement. She cannot, in her life, believe how this man—this mere stranger—have had thoroughly read her. As if every damn effort she made putting up this wall—this facade of bravado—had been futile and worthless. No, no, no. This won't do, no. She—formidable cheer captain and two-time Ms. Mystic Falls—is always in control.
No matter how many times her boyfriend cheated on her.
No matter how many times her parents and friends pressure her into keeping faux sense of perfection.
No matter how many times she lies to herself about the happy ending she knows she will never have.
No matter what, she will not slip away. But oh, she is.
"You can't just do that." She snaps, standing abruptly. "Is this what this is about?" She holds out the sketch he gave her. "I'm not some 'case study' you can use for your little art project, mister. You know nothing about me."
"I never said I did." He tells her grimly. "And I'm not assuming that I do. But from what can I see from here, I know you can do better."
She glares at him. "How dare you."
"Small town life doesn't suit you. Yet even the lights of New York don't do you justice." He says, standing next to her. "There's a bigger world out there than all of this. You just have to take it." He leans down and whispers to her, his breath hot against her cheeks. "It's a matter of choice, love."
She turns her head away from him. "And this is my choice."
"No." He sighs and before she walks away, she hears him. "This is their choice."
She comes back to the station and she finds her prince waiting for her.
Here it is. The ending she thinks she has always wanted. She can run up in her prince's arms, say their sorry's to each other and everything will be okay again. Of course, she's not certain he will not screw this up again but at least... He'll settle down eventually, as her mother told her.
She tells this to herself, too, yet his words constantly ring in her ears. The earthy pensiveness he possess comes to mind and she wonders how the world looks like in his eyes. She remembers his sketches and she knows it must be a marvelous sight. There is something entirely pure and innocent on how he portrays the world—way different on how the world has been to her. Deceitful. Corrupting.
Indeed, she can always choose the happily ever after.
Or she can choose. As in really choose. For herself. No pressures, no inhibitions. A choice only by her and for her.
She knows the answer before her prince can even turn to look at her because she's already running away.
"Brighton!" She yells because she doesn't really know what else to call him.
He is still there, sitting where she had left him. At the sight of her, he grins sweetly.
"Does your invitation still stand? She asks breathlessly, feeling the thrill of an impending adventure.
"Of course, love." He tells her. "And It's Klaus."
She nods her head at him and he looks at her funny.
"What?"
He chuckles. "I don't suppose you want me calling you 'Mystic Falls' right? Or 'Virginia', for that matter."
She smiles at him. "It's Caroline."
"Caroline..." He says, her name rolling of his lips. "Let's go."
He holds out his hand and she takes it.
So her fairytale aspirations are practically ruined. And it might me a stupid idea following a total stranger but hey, she can still dream of Alice in Wonderland.
A spur of the moment recklessness that's very un-Caroline and now, she's down the rabbit hole.
.
.
.
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A/N: UGH. OKAY. Kill me now. I know I should be updating Off Limits and even the damn shall love and be loved but I just need to get this all out of my head. I have too many oneshot ideas in mind and thus... this sweet little baby.
Re Off Limits: Actually I have already written like 2+ upcoming chapters but then in the end I decided to scrap all of those. I realize I didn't like the direction where the story's heading and so I have to take a step back and rethink some things. So I'm sorry, I think it's gonna take a while before I'll update it. I'm really sorry.
Re this: This is exactly as I imagined it. Some kind of a prelude to an On the Road ish story. Is it too OOC? Any guesses who the 'prince' is? What about Klaus's mate and the fiancée? R&R!
Thank you very much for those who have reviewed my previous fic, Amaranthine. And wait, can I just shout out to recyclings? You're super awesome and from day 1, your reviews have always kept me alive. :D