Free at last
I'd had enough of being the one that everyone worries about, the one that everyone wanted to save; the martyr Elena.
I'd save myself this time. Not because I care about dying (martyr remember), but because I am tired of everyone taking that choice away from me. Why do they get to choose who lives and who dies? Why do they get to choose if I live or die?
It was so easy to become like Katherine. The second doppelganger that existed (that I know of). The one that ran away from Klaus and Elijah, only to kill herself, only to get herself turned (well Katherine is a martyr too then-except she chose her own death).
Katherine's a survivor. How many times had Katherine said this to me and to others? "Watch out for yourself Elena"; "You are your number one priority"; "I'm the safest psychotic bitch in town"; "Love is a vampire's greatest weakness". The last hadn't been directed at me of course, but then again, maybe Katherine could tell the future. Maybe she knew what would become of me. Maybe she knew I'd end up as a vampire. Because love is a vampires greatness weakness, my current predicament a testament of that (Why Meredith? Why Stefan? Why Damon? Why, why why?)
I had wanted to die in peace. That is one of the reasons I wanted Matt to be saved from the wreck, and not myself. I'd realized in those last moments of my life, that it had come full circle. I die in a car wreck, drowning, just like my parents did. Just like I should have all those years ago. If not for love being a vampire's greatest weakness, I'm guessing Stefan would have left me there to drown.
All I need to do is not straighten my hair; it's always been naturally wavy. I can already walk the walk. That seemingly effortless prowl, that grace, that sultry movement of swaying my hips from side to side. One foot/leg in front of the other, like a model walking down a run-way. Easy. The worst is being able to talk the talk. I'm not Katherine. I'm not my own number one priority. My compassion and empathy for others would give me away immediately. So I become a survivor. Little by little, I teach myself not to care so much, and learn how to get whatever I want with just an easy smile and a bat of my eyelashes. Even though I am a vampire now, I will not compel anyone. That is one thing I cannot emulate.
After I have learned how to control my vampiric urges, after I have taught myself everything I need to know to become like Katherine, without resorting to violence or killing or draining people dry; I'm ready. I am ready to be the safest psychotic bitch in town. Or at least the safest bitch in town.
I leave Mystic Falls one night, only to come back a week later; full of confidence that I can pull this off. I walk the walk and talk the talk. I fool everyone. Even Stefan, even Damon. I let Damon (the most vulnerable-the tin man) "capture" me. I explain that I had come for Elena and that Elena had went away with me. I explain that one of Klaus's hybrids had mistaken Elena for me one night (after all, I am Katherine now) and killed her. I am only back to let them know.
He breaks down. I have that feeling of sympathy and compassion swirling in my mind and body, but I can't, I won't let it get to me. I am not that girl anymore. I will not break down and hug him tight, tell him everything will be okay.
Everyone wants to know where Elena's body is (MY body). I tell them I burned her, set her aflame, ashes to ashes and dust to dust, because it's what she (I) wanted.
They are all beyond grief, beyond loss. They have become shells of themselves and numb in only a matter of days. Damon and Stefan of course want revenge. But I tell them it's useless, I (Elena/Katherine) already got revenge. I killed that Hybrid, grabbing its heart from its ribcage and squeezing until every last drop of blood had hit the ground. I don't grieve with them; of course, as Katherine, I'm not expected to.
I have noticed that all of the Originals have fled town. All except for Klaus. The only one that truly and will probably forever frighten me. This is an easy game to play though, because Katherine was terrified of him as well, running to the ends of the earth to escape him. He doesn't seem so interested in killing me (Katherine) anymore though. Doesn't say it in so many words, but he doesn't come after me; doesn't even threaten me. Pretends to grieve over the loss of blood that bore and fueled his hybrids; he can no longer make an army.
It isn't until I'm knocked out and tied to a chair, with needles and tubes coming out of every vein, my blood slowly leaving my body; that I realize he's known all along. He knows I'm not Katherine, never was Katherine. He taunts me, tells me I'm the stupidest bitch there ever was, to think "I could ever FOOL him". I don't even try to deny it; He had chased Katherine for centuries, how could he not tell the difference. How could he not know who was really Katherine, and who was just a paper-cut copy, a mere shadow of the second doppelganger.
In the short time I've learned to become like Katherine, I've also realized that he is the only true enemy I have left.
I become woozy and my eyes start to un-focus. I start to plead with him, as I realize this is it. He will drain me dry until I am nothing left but a husk. He knows I'm a vampire, "what could my blood do for him now?" He laughs that terribly cruel laugh and says it doesn't matter. He just wants revenge on Katherine still, and I'm the perfect replica, the perfect candidate. If he can't kill her, he will take his years of torment (that bloody curse-he calls it) out on me, even if I'm not her. He doesn't care anymore. After-all, aren't I blood of her blood? I'm perfect for this, the perfect copy. The perfect crime too; because no one will come after him for killing "Katherine"; no one cares anymore for her.
When I'm drained of every last drop, my vampiric-essence, if you will, continues to hang on. I feel like a weak maniac starved for blood in this chair. I cannot get free; even if I could, all I would manage is maybe crawling on the floor, maybe not even that.
Klaus kisses me goodbye, bruising my mouth if he could, but there is no blood left to form a bruise. He slowly pushes his hand into my chest, feels my heart barely beating (I feel barely anything at all) and slowly pulls it from my chest. He holds it up for me to see. And in those last few moments I can smile at him, and thank him, for at last setting me free.