A/N: Don't ask why I'm posting this now. I've had this saved on my computer for ages but I wasn't happy with it. I recently read over it now and decided to post it. I know it's long, but it seemed silly to split into multiple chapters.
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Originals or any of the characters; I also do not own any quotes/lyrics used in this fic
mine
Smile like you mean it
And let yourself let go
Cos it's all in the hands of a bitter, bitter man
Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in
Mika, Any Other World
He is in front of me when I wake up. For a few seconds I stare at him, unsure whether or not this is a dream. His clothes look as if he's just bought them; his skin is flawlessly smooth; and there is something about his smile that is too out of place for it to be real.
My mind is slow and I mumble, "Where am I?"
His smile is soft, unthreatening. "You're still in your room."
This is meant to be reassuring, but my stomach twists. This looks like my room, with purple walls and stuffed animals dotted on the shelves, my shoes tossed over the floor and books strewn across my desk. Everything should be comforting; everything should be normal. "What's going on?" I ask.
"I need you to come with me. Just pack a few things-"
"What are you talking about?" I sit up, making sure my palms are flat on the mattress in case I need to leap out. He watches with mild interest, but if he's worried he doesn't say. "Where's my mom?"
I see him pause, and his fingers twitch slightly on the covers of the bed. "I'm sorry, you can't be with you mother anymore, love. You're coming with me."
This is the moment I know something is badly wrong.
I scramble out of bed, putting it between me and him. My eyes automatically fly to my bedside table where my phone is normally charging; but now the charger lies empty, and I can't see my phone anywhere. At the realisation that I can't call for help my heartbeat becomes stronger – or maybe I'm just more aware of it. "What are you talking about? Who the hell are you?"
He lets out a laugh, but it doesn't sound like he finds it funny. "I'll tell you what: if you come with me I'll explain it to you."
"I'm not leaving with you." He's still sitting on the bed so I take a chance and charge towards the door. But he manages to beat me. He doesn't block my way but places a hand on my wrist. It's seems large and just a little too tight to be comfortable. "Let go of me," I hiss, though it comes out more of a plea.
"Look at me," he commands. His tone is forceful and I find myself obeying. His dark eyes stare down at me, making me want to shrink away. The full threat of this is beginning to hit me. There is a man in my room. Someone who could easily hurt me. Someone who could do terrible things to me.
"I'm not going to hurt you, little one. But you are coming with me, ideally without a fuss."
I try to pull my arm away from him. I might as well be trying to break stone. "Why would I do that?"
"Why don't you see for yourself?" He finally lets go of me and I duck away from him. "Come back in here when you're done."
I know. I know what's happened without looking in her room, but I still go. The covers of her bed are pushed back as usual, but there's no one there; her bathroom is empty. I'm tempted to check the kitchen but –
She's not here. I call her name even though I know she's not going to answer.
He's still sitting on my bed when I go back, playing with the ends of my quilt. He looks up when I come in. "Where is she?" I demand. My voice comes out squeaky and high, making it ache. My eyes feel itchy too, but I blink quickly. "What have you done to her?"
He doesn't look at me when he speaks, instead choosing to look back at the quilt. "Your mother is fine. But I knew she would cause a problem and I needed her out of the way. Besides," he says, finally looking at me with dark eyes, "a long time ago she hurt me. You could say she had this coming."
"That's why you're doing this? Revenge?"
He doesn't answer this question. "She's not hurt. She'll stay that way provided you do as I ask."
My legs feel weak. I must sway because his hand stretches forward, but I back away before he can grab hold. There's a flash of something in his eyes, but my head is too muzzy to focus on it. There has to be a way out of this, if I can just think hard enough...
He has your mother, a voice in her head says. What do you think he'll do to her if you don't agree?
"What did she do to you?" I whisper. I think of my mom, watching the television with me after school; taking me on long hikes in the woods, laughing every time I complained; giving me extra long hugs when I was upset.
He ignores me again, standing. "Get dressed and pack – just a few things. I'll wait for you downstairs. Five minutes." He touches my shoulder as he passes, light, like a butterfly. I think he means this to be comforting, but I freeze.
I want my mom, I think and my throat closes up.
"What do they call you?"
His hand is on the door handle, ready to close it, but his eyes are on me. Waiting.
I'm trying not to burst into tears, so I don't ask how he doesn't know my name when he's hell-bent on kidnapping me. "Mia. My name's Mia Marshall."
"Mia." He smiles, and I think there might be a genuine trace of humour in his eyes. "Mine. Appropriate, considering the circumstances."
We drive through the night. I watch landmarks pass, count the number of red cars I see. The sky turns grey, then hues of pink start to appear. "We'll stop soon," he tells me, though I'm not looking at him. I don't answer. I haven't spoken since I came downstairs, feeling like a schoolchild getting ready for inspection. He's spoken to me, but only on trivial things: are you hungry? Do you want the radio on? Let me know if you get thirsty.
I don't answer any of them.
I am forced to go to bed as the sun rises. He showers in the next room and I debate about running. But he knows I won't. I know I won't. He has mom. Who needs rope and handcuffs when simple blackmail will do?
He comes out and I avoid looking at him, pretending to be asleep. I see him glancing out the window, moving the drawn curtains. Mom would do that, especially when we moved into a new place.
Mom was running from him. I don't need him to explain to know that. But if that's true, then why is he worried? He has Mom. Who could he be looking for?
He has a bottle of scotch and sits in a chair, sipping it out of a plastic cup. I watch him, pretending to be asleep when he glances my way. It doesn't work though, because he finally says, "I have sleeping pills. Do you want some?"
I shake my head.
He sighs and leans forward. I think he's going to say something, but after a moment he leans back his chair and takes another sip of his drink. I close my eyes.
He kisses me on the forehead when he thinks I'm asleep. Or maybe he knows I'm not. He does it anyway.
He doesn't explain, despite what he said before. Every day – or night – is the same: we get in the car and drive. I don't ask. To be honest, I'm not sure I want to know.
Every time I go to bed I'm sure he's going to do something – hurt me or kill me or rape me – but he doesn't. And each time he doesn't I begin to hate him a little bit more. Because this is killing me: waiting for him to do what he wants with me. The silence that lingers between us, desperate to be broken.
After about a week of this, he finally gets the courage to lie in the bed next to me.
I feel his weight on the mattress and hold my breath. His body moves closer to mine, inch by inch. When I begin to feel his body warmth I roll over, facing away from him. He doesn't touch me, but puts his arm to the top of the pillow, above my head. I can feel his eyes boring into my back, burning two holes.
A tear slips out my eye.
"I'm not going to hurt you Mia. You have my word."
I don't say anything. After a while I feel him move closer to me, until his lips once again press against my head. "Go to sleep, little one."
I don't think I've slept more than an hour since he took me. Now I stay awake deliberately.
"We're here."
I've been lightly dozing against the window, but when he says that I push myself up. The house is huge, with a porch that goes round two sides and a garden with a little pond – at least, I think it is. It's white, and against the darkness it looks like it could be made out of frosting.
He opens the car door for me but I don't take his hand when getting out. I am so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open, but I'm not going to ask for his help.
I want to cry when I see inside the house. The carpet is soft and squishes underneath my shoes, and warmth heats my numb face. It's the kind of house I would imagine a husband and wife with six perfect-but-a-little-quirky kids to live in. The type of house I had always fantasized about. The home I knew I could never have, because Mom and I always lived pay cheque to pay cheque.
I hate him for it, even though he couldn't possibly know.
I am aware of him locking the door behind us. "Why don't you go upstairs and change for bed? I'll come up a few minutes. First door to the left."
I go, though it's more because I want to have some time away from him. The hallway is long, but there are only one or two doors on either side. I'm tempted to explore – maybe look for an escape – but my legs feel like lead and a bed seems like a very good idea.
For a second after I've opened the door I stare, rooted to the spot. I'm not sure if I can believe what I'm looking at.
The room is, quite simply, beautiful. The carpet is the palest pink, and my feet almost bounce as I walk over it. From the door I can see the desk, made out of dark smooth wood. Even from here I can see little carvings in the side – it's handmade. On top is a white and blue laptop, brand new by the looks of it. As I step forward, I catch sight of some doors on the left. One is a walk-in wardrobe, already filled with clothes; the other an immaculately clean bathroom with a small shower. My hand automatically goes to the handle, but there's no lock.
I feel my heart give a beat against my chest, strong. He's taken time planning this.
A scream rises inside my throat, and for the first time since we left my house I feel hysterical. I turn away, reaching out to the bed post for some support. But that's not what stops me. Out the corner of my eye I see a bookshelf, and before I can think I turn towards it. It's filled to the brim with books. New books with smooth covers, neatly ordered along the shelves and pinned between one another. Books that have clearly just come from the store. Best-sellers. Books that made me avoid the shops, because I knew if I saw them I would want them. And new books were always a luxury.
He knows me. Instead of making me scream my insides freeze, thinking it over. He hasn't bribed me with expensive televisions or laptops (while that one is new it's certainly not a Macbook Air or anything) or gorgeous clothes or dazzling jewellery. He's gone straight to my heart and given me books, beautiful new books that I can curl up and fill my mind with.
"Do you like it?"
He's leaning against the doorframe, watching me. I almost jump out of my skin, but I think I hide it well. He's taken off his jacket and wearing a white shirt, thin, and jeans. He must have changed already.
He steps into the room, and if he sees back away he doesn't mention it. "You should go to bed. Try and get into a good sleep cycle." He waits. I haven't said a word to him since I told him my name. I can see it's irritating him.
Hence, he lets out a sigh. "Is there anything I can get you? Some food or water?"
He doesn't expect me to answer. He's half-turning away, and I know he's going to bring me something anyway, even though I haven't asked. I'm not even sure of what I'll say myself until the words are out of my mouth. "I want Mom."
He pauses, more out of surprise. "I've told you-"
"Let me talk to her."
"Why?" he bites out.
"Because – how do I even know you're telling the truth? I'm only doing what you say because you say that you have Mom."
"I do."
"Prove it."
His eyes flash and I think he's going to snap at me. But it goes and he sighs again. "Ho – honey, I don't think it's a good idea. You've barely had any sleep in the past week, you're exhausted. Talking to your mother is only going to upset you."
"I want to talk to her. I need-" I need to make sure she's alive.
Perhaps there's something in my expression because he caves. "Shower, change into your pyjamas and brush your hair and teeth, and only when you're done then we'll call her. Okay?"
I nod, maybe a little too eagerly. But I don't dare speak because his mouth is in a thin line and something is telling me to be very careful. He backs away, knocking against the set of drawers. "Pyjamas are in the top drawer," he says pointedly before leaving.
I do what he wants. The shower is one of those that makes you feel like you're standing underneath a waterfall. I stay in longer than I should, turning the heat of the water all the way up until my skin goes red. I even run a comb through my hair and brush my teeth, because I'm too scared that if I don't he'll refuse to let me talk to Mom. Ordinarily as a protest I would wear my old pyjamas, one of the few things he let me bring with me, but I need to keep him on my side. To that end I choose a pair from the drawer. They're not quite made of silk, but they still have that feel to them –
Expensive. Everything about him screams rich-as-fuck.
He's sitting in the living room, flicking through channels. His eyes move to me. "Sit." He indicates the place next to him. There's a plate with a sandwich resting on the arm. "Eat." Again, I know this isn't optional. I force myself to sit next to him and eat the sandwich (it's a toastie, cheese, ham and tomato). Despite his best efforts it tastes like cardboard, and my stomach twists, but I force it down.
Once I'm finished he gets up. "Wait here," he commands. He goes into the other room. My hands clench on my knees. I stand, carefully placing my feet on the floor so I don't make a noise. I press against the wall; from this position, I can just about hear him.
"...calm. The last thing I want is for her to panic." There's a pause. "Yes, it's quite clear she doesn't know Hayley; being with her for five minutes has proven that." Another pause. "I don't know. She'll have to know sooner or later. I can't believe you've kept it from her – no, you started this, remember? Now it's my turn."
I think I hear his footsteps so I turn round to go back to my spot on the sofa. Instead I run straight into him, colliding into his chest with my shoulder. I almost fall but he doesn't even move. My eyes slide to the other door, ajar. He holds out phone to me. "Five minutes."
I take it from him and whirl round quickly. "Mom?"
"Mia," I hear her breathe. Almost instantly I feel the tears welling in my eyes. To hear that she's alive, that I'm talking to her – a part of me didn't think he would go through with it.
"Mom-"
"Sweetheart, are you okay?"
"I'm – I'm fine. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm – he hasn't hurt me. Are you sure you're okay?"
I can feel his eyes on me. "Yeah, I'm fine. Where are you?"
She doesn't answer me right away. "I'm not sure," she says, but there's something in Mom's voice. The ground feels like it's shifting under my feet and I remember his words: yes, it's quite clear that she doesn't know.
I lower my voice slightly. "What do you need me to do? Maybe I can-" I creep further away from him, though I'm certain he's watching me. "Maybe I can escape-"
"No." The loudness of her words, her insistence, makes me jump. "Mia, don't. I don't even know where I am, and – it's too dangerous."
"But – is he hurting you?"
"The only thing that's hurting me is that he's got you," she says soberly. "Promise me you won't do anything. I'll come to you."
"So I have to just stay here and do what he says?" It's hard to force the words out. I think of endless days in this house with him, a prisoner in that beautiful room.
"Oh honey, I know." I hear her voice crack; it feels like someone's stuck a knife between my ribs. "Just hang in there, I'll find a way to you."
"I don't even know where I am."
"I'll find you," she promises. "I'll get away, I promise."
"Mom..." I don't know what I can say to her. I want to beg her to stay on the phone, beg her to let me come and find her. Then another question pops into my mind. "Why is he doing this to you?"
She's silent. "Mia-"
I've lost track of him and now he's in front of me. "Say goodbye," he says, though it definitely hasn't been five minutes. He holds his hand out for the phone.
I swallow a sob. "I have to go."
She begins to whisper quickly. "If you find out where you are try and tell me."
"Love you," I say miserably.
"I love you-" I pass the phone over to him. He's staring at me but his eyes are soft. The urge to dig my thumbs in them almost makes my hands burn. I hate him, I hate this house, I want to snatch the phone from his hand and throw it through a window. My bones feel like they're trembling.
He rests a hand on my shoulder. "Go to bed sweetheart. I'll be there in a few minutes."
He sits on the bed, staring at me. He's given me half an hour, so by the time he comes up I've stopped crying. He can probably tell but at this point I don't care. My anger has subsided into plain old resentment, and I'm sure he can read it on my face. It doesn't make him leave though. He sits on the bed, placing a glass of water on the table. I see his eyes linger on the framed photo of me and Mom. It was the time we went to New York, buying dorky little trinkets and doing all the touristy things. We had coffee in Central Park and asked someone to take our photo. I've always loved it: our heads are pressed together, matching grins. Mom is so young, we look like we could be sisters. Our eyes are the same shape, though mine are a shade darker in colour; my hair's brown too, but lighter, and her skin is more tanned than mine.
I want him to see it. I want him to feel guilty.
"I'm sorry," he says finally. "I didn't think it was a good idea."
I snort at this. Instead of annoying him he smirks. His hand reaches forward. I'm unprepared and almost back up against the bed head before I realise he's not touching my face. He fingers the heart-shaped locket round my neck. "Pretty. How long have you had it?"
"Since I was little." I reach up to the chain, keeping my hand on it. "My dad gave it to me when I was a baby."
The cloud passes over his face and I want to back away again. "Your father?" he says, voice hard.
I nod, increasing grip on the necklace. But he drops it almost immediately. His face looks like it's about to explode. Maybe he sees me watching because he takes a deep breath. "Are you sure you don't want any help sleeping? You're exhausted."
"No thanks."
He raises an eyebrow. "I have alcohol too." Maybe it's a joke, but I'm not in the mood to laugh. "Tomorrow we'll talk about the rules. Provided you obey them, you can talk to your mother every evening. Is that a deal?"
"I haven't heard them yet."
He smirks again. "Fair enough. Goodnight, little one. Sleep." There's a pause and I think he might kiss me on the forehead again. After a second he gets up and reaches for the light.
"What's your name?"
Almost instantly I want to kick myself. I've tried not to show any interest in him. But it seems clear that I'm going to be forced to spend time with him and – I need to know. When I tell the police after I've been rescued.
He turns his head, looking at me. "I didn't realise it was a hard question," I comment when he doesn't answer right away.
"Nik," he finally answers. He switches off the bedroom light. I listen, hearing the door go. Because that's something else I noticed when I came back upstairs: our rooms are attached. There are sliding doors on the right side of the room next to my desk, and when I peeked through I saw another bed. The room's smaller and darker, in muted colours. His room.
The sliding doors close, but I already know he's listening. I put my head under the pillow and let myself cry.
The numbers dance on the page. They could be parading naked in front of me and I still wouldn't be able to make sense of them. I fling the pencil on the ground and fight back the urge to scream.
It's been a month. One long month here, with him. I've never lived with someone who is so rigid. Mom gave me rules, sure, but not like he does. With him if he makes a rule, it's law. For example, the rule is that we always eat together. But tonight, because of the amount of homework I've got, I said I wanted to eat in my room. Nik, thinking it was about him, said no. As predicted we got into a fight about it, and he said if I went up to my room I couldn't eat. So I'm now in my room doing my homework on an empty stomach.
Thing is, everything is so hard here. He's enrolled me in a private school and I don't know whether it's that or the fact I'm in Vermont, but the work is much more difficult. I can manage in English and history, but I can't keep up in science or maths at all. By the end of the lesson I'm staring at the board, head pounding from concentrating so hard.
I'm holding my head in my hands when the sandwich appears in front of me. Slightly toasted bread, tomatoes and chicken and bacon and whole load of mayonnaise. My absolute favourite. Again, I wonder how he knows this: like how my bedcovers are green, my favourite colour; how he avoids giving me anything with strawberries in, which I'm allergic to; how he brings me books, dropping them on my bed, seeming to know which ones I would love. Without even trying he seems to know me. Or maybe he's just done his research.
It makes me wonder how long he's been watching me and Mom. Waiting for the perfect moment.
"Mia," he says gently. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Sweetheart, you can't lie." He kneels down so he can look right at me. "What's going on?"
"It's too hard." The words are surprisingly difficult for me to say, almost choking me. I don't want to admit this, least of all in front of him. "I just – I can't understand it." The tears are on my cheeks before I know it.
He straightens and when he picks me up I stop crying, more out of shock. He places me on his lap, brushing my hair out of my face. "Okay," he says in a different voice than he normally uses. "Where you're going wrong is that you're not working out the bracket first. So if we do this one: (3 + 6) x 2, you work out the bracket first – so that's nine, and then times nine by two, which equals eighteen. See?"
The annoying thing is that I do see. My eyes move down the sheet, working them out as I go.
"Do you understand?" he repeats.
I sniff, wiping my eyes. "Well now I do. The teachers never explained it like that."
He half-turns to me, arm still wrapped round my waist. It's then I remember that I'm sitting on his lap, so close to him that I can feel his breath in my ear. I squirm but he clings on. He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear. "You're having a hard time with this, aren't you?"
A hard time? No, not at all. Only I've been kidnapped and my mother's been forcibly kept from me. Not to mention starting a new school and moving to a new area, which is always stressful. And I have to live with a stranger who controls every move I make.
He sighs, his fingers grazing my face. "Why don't you leave the homework for tonight? Come downstairs and we'll watch a film – whatever you want."
"Do I have to?"
He frowns and I feel his grip increase slightly. "It's not a punishment." He nudges me with his shoulder and his arm loosens round my waist. "Eat, get changed and come downstairs." This time he does kiss me on the forehead, but it only lasts for a second before I manage to get away. I quickly disappear in the bathroom and by the time I come out he's gone.
I do go downstairs though. I haven't talked to Mom and so far, he's allowed me to speak with her every day. These are bright spots in my day, times when I feel normal. She never talks about herself, always me: how was school? Have I eaten? Slept? Nik is always next to me when I'm talking to her. He avoids looking at me, but his body tenses when I'm speaking to her. He never gives me very long on the phone with her, always talking with her before and after I have.
I settle on the sofa, picking the first film I see on the television. Everything in this house is high-tech, including a smart television. I see Nik frown at the film I've chosen – I guess it is a bit mature for a fourteen year old – but he doesn't say anything. He sits down next to me, his arm lifting on the top of the sofa just above my head. "We'll call your mother afterwards, okay?"
I nod. I'm not even watching the film particularly; it's just a good way to numb the mind. I'm still not sleeping very well which isn't making school easy. I get a few restless hours, but most of the time I'm awake before Nik is. He's offered me everything he can think: pills, alcohol, even asked if I want to switch beds. I say no every time and feel a little thrill when I see him bite back a retort. I know it's not going to be long until he shoves them down my throat.
Now though my eyes are growing heavy. I let them because I know it won't last, it never does. I let my mind wander, and at a certain point I am both half-asleep and half-awake – you know what I mean? That moment where I am certain I'm still awake, yet my mind is wandering without my control, like I'm having a dream. Right now it feels like I'm asleep again, but I'm somewhere else – somewhere warm, face buried into...something, something soft and I don't know, but I feel – I don't know. Relaxed, contented. Like I know I'm safe. I feel an arm round me and I don't know whether that's in the dream or in real life but it feels good, feels...
I wake up slowly. I'm in bed and for a moment I struggle to breathe because I'm wrapped so tightly in the bed covers. I sit up. The clock is next to the framed photograph of me and Mom, lit up so you can see it in the dark. Except it's not dark: the sun is brushing against the curtains.
"Good morning sweetheart."
Nik is leaning against the door. He's holding a glass of orange juice, like he always does when he comes in to see me in the morning. I ask for coffee but he always brings juice. I glance at the clock again. 6:33a.m. "Did I sleep all night?"
"Yep. You didn't even wake up when I brought you to bed." He's grinning though. "It's Saturday you know. You can sleep in."
"I'm okay," I say. My throat is sore so I sip the juice when a thought occurs to me. "What about Mom?"
He lifts a shoulder. "We'll call her tonight. No big deal." He gives me a quick kiss on the forehead. "I'll make us some breakfast."
I have no idea why, but after that I sleep like a log.
By the time he gets in the car I'm trembling. He doesn't say anything as he drives off. He doesn't even shoot me a glare. I look out the window, but the school is quiet. I'm meant to be in science right now struggling over the periodic table. I would rather be there then here.
Nik still doesn't speak. He's just staring straight ahead, not even looking at me. But I know it's coming and I'd rather run headlong into it. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
He looks over at me. "Mmm?"
"I shouldn't have gotten into a fight. I don't even know why I did it," I say. It's true I don't like Lacy Lovejoy (yes, that's actually her name) but I never had any intention to hit her. She was teasing me as usual, something about the shoes I wore to school. She wouldn't get out of my way and gave me a shove and – I can't explain it but I just lunged for her, pushing her into a wall. Even when she tried to back down I wouldn't let her go. I punched her in her nose, so I'm expecting her to come into school next week with a plaster over it. I look down at my hands, bruised and sore. I must have punched her hard. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. I – sorry. I'm really-"
"Mia-"
I stop. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"It is?" I whisper.
He looks back over at me and I feel the car slow. "I would have rather you didn't punch her, but I know it wasn't just your fault."
"It wasn't?"
"No. You've-" He catches himself. I can tell because he glances over to me to see if I caught it. "You've got a bit of temper. I know your mother has one, and I guess you've inherited it. Perhaps we'll just have to – I don't know, wear you out more."
"So-" My voice trembles and his eyes slide over to me.
We're on a country road, winding our way back to the house. There's no one behind us so he just stops. "Sweetheart if you just want to ask me something, can you do it now so you don't distract me while I'm driving?"
I steal my breath. "Will you – will you let me talk to Mom tonight?"
His hand reaches out and gently squeezes mine, resting on the top of my lap. "Yes, you can."
The relief makes my chest go light, and I sink back in my seat. "Thank you," I say. I've never thanked him before – never felt that I should thank him for anything that he's done. But now –
Nik smirks at me and that's when I know I'm truly okay. When someone smiles people feel reassured; when Nik smirks it has the same affect on me. As long as he's smirking he's in good humour. Usually laughing at me. "Don't thank me yet. You don't know what I have planned to tire you out."
That's how I end up walking two miles every day after school and early in the morning on weekends.
In the house there is a room that I'm not allowed to go in. I'm pretty sure it leads to the basement, though I can't confirm that. I notice it when I'm in the kitchen, finding some food for myself. Nik's out this evening, but he came to pick me up. He always picks me up, without fail. "I can take the bus," I say. "Petra and Helen take the bus, so it's not like I'd be alone-"
"I don't mind."
"If it's out of your way-"
"It's not. I just need to get back to work." He pulls up in front of the house. "Make sure you lock the door."
Now I'm in the kitchen, pulling things out of the freezer. Nik cooks – he's actually not a bad cook, though he always has tiny portions himself. Finally I find a frozen pizza and put that in. I make myself coffee too, because he always stops me from drinking too much (unlike San Francisco I can't stop on my way to school to grab some). While I waiting for it to heat up and wander round the kitchen. I like it. Nik always makes us eat at the table, but I like the granite counter and the white cabinets. It feels homey. It's one of my favourite rooms in the house.
I've never really paid attention to the door, but now I take a proper look. There's a padlock on the side, making it impossible to open.
As usual he appears without me even noticing. "Hey. You getting dinner?"
"Yeah." I finger the lock. "What's in here?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
He rolls his eyes at my question. "Just some old tools for the garden. But it's a complete mess in there and – it's not safe."
See, I'm getting better at noticing him when he lies. He has a tell: he looks at me and then looks away, then quickly looks back at me, checking to see if I've bought it. "Is that all that's down there?"
"Yes." Another lie. He slips his arm round my shoulders, deliberately turning me in the opposite direction. "Now don't tell me you've actually cooked," he says lightly.
That night I lie in bed, thinking about him. Next week I'll have stayed with him for seven whole months, yet I still don't know much about him. I know his second name is Mikealson, but otherwise he hasn't told me anything about his family. Same with his job. For all I know there are dead bodies in that basement.
The week I'm off with him. He asks me what's wrong and make some excuse about being buried under homework. I'm probably as good a liar as he is, but he leaves it.
The week after next, May 17th, is my birthday. I don't bring it up and Nik behaves normally. In fact he seems more distracted. I end up thinking about birthdays in the past. One day, when I was eleven, I was really depressed because we had just moved and I hadn't made any friends, so Mom let me bunk off school. We had a splurge and Mom let me pick my own presents, and then we went to see a movie and, for fun, snuck into another three films. We ate so much junk food that I had a stomach ache starting at midnight and not ending until six in the morning.
I know this birthday is going to be different. Firstly, there is no special breakfast, no pancakes with a pink candle on top. In fact we're late and I end up going to school looking unkempt. I'm pretty sure I blow the geometry test, and I miss the goal in lacrosse. To top it all off, Nik can't pick me up today – the one day I would like to just get home and he makes me take the bus.
By the time I get home all I want to do is go straight to bed. But I can't because as soon as I enter the house I see smoke coming from the kitchen. "Shit!" I race through, thinking that in our rush this morning we must have left the oven on.
I'm confronted with another sight altogether.
Nik is pulling something out the oven, cursing. He drops it on the table. "Damn it!"
"What's going on? I thought you were at work." My eyes follow the thing on the table, all black and smoky. "What is that?"
He runs a hand through his hair. "I was...well I was trying to bake a cake."
"A cake?"
"Well I'm not an idiot," he snaps. My face is heating up and I think I can see hints of red on his cheeks. "I knew it was – and I just thought I could – but then I had to take a call and forgot about it."
I focus on the counter. "What flavour is it?"
"Chocolate."
"Huh."
"I've never baked before."
And you decided to change that today? I want to say. But I don't want to ask that, because that then leads to other questions, and I'm not sure I want to them answered. "Well, maybe it's still edible..." He gives me a look, one eyebrow raised. "Maybe it's just the ends that are burnt." I break through the black bits and put a semi-okay piece in my mouth.
Nik's watching me and even though he's pissed, there's a smirk crossing his face as I chew. "How is it?"
"Erm. Crunchy."
"And?"
"Bitter."
"And do you want a napkin?"
"Please." I spit it out. By this point he's almost chuckling (he doesn't seem like the guy that chuckles an awful lot) and I've still got this stupid grin on my face.
"How about we go out?"
I look at him; we have never gone out for a meal. He's occasionally let us order food, but that's it. "Can I pick where we go?"
"No where cheesy."
"Food or...?"
He aims for my head and I duck, but I know he doesn't mean it.
I end up having a really good night. We go to a burger place where the food is gorgeous, and then we get cakes at this little cafe. It's Friday so he lets me stay up late (usually I have a ten o'clock curfew, half ten on weekends) and we wander around the town.
It's midnight when I finally go to bed and he tucks me in. We're bitching and joking around and it's just – it's like we've known each other for a hundred years. I know it shouldn't be this way, that I should hate him.
But here's the thing: hating someone is really hard to do all the time. Especially someone who is kind to you and makes sure you eat and attempts to make you a cake.
"Nik?"
He's in a process of getting up from the bed. "Yeah?"
I try to think of a way to phrase this. "What did you do...before this?"
He understands what I mean. He sinks back down, his face tight. "A lot of things."
"Anything...you miss?"
His eyes flicker down to my face. "Some things," he says carefully.
"Did you ever...?"
"I had a normal life," he says after a pause. "A long time ago. Parents and siblings – we were probably the most normal people in the world. Well, not quite, but not as crazy as we came to be."
"Do you still see them?"
"No."
"Do you miss them?" I'm hesitant; I know I'm pushing my luck here.
"Some of them." He sees my face and lets out a breath. "Years ago I suffered...something horrible happened to me. It almost destroyed me. My family turned against me and there were...fights. I had never gotten along with my parents but this was my siblings. They-" He presses his lips together. "So I went out of my way to destroy things for them. I successfully ruined their lives.
"Thing was, it didn't make me feel better. I realised it didn't make me feel better. And so I decided to change the way I had been; make myself someone better. It took a long time...and I don't think I've really... But I'm better than I was." His eyes meet mine.
He kisses me on the forehead. "Goodnight little one."
That night I struggle to sleep. I don't think of him with hate anymore and I know that's wrong. I've also realised that I forgot to call Mom tonight, and that scares me more than anything. I switch the light on and that's when I see the present on the bedside table. At least, I think it's a present. It's not wrapped or anything, just in a black box.
I open it, thinking of necklaces and bracelets. When I see what it actually makes me laugh out loud. It's a box set of the series The 100, series 1-3. It's my all-time favourite television show, right in front of Once Upon a Time. Nik refuses to watch both of them because "they're completely unrealistic" and "watching it for the cute boys is not a good reason".
I set it on the bedside table and go to sleep.
It starts on a Tuesday. That's the day Nik doesn't let me talk to Mom.
These days I don't know what to say to Mom. She never tells me about where she is or what she's doing, and I try to avoid mentioning Nik. We end up talking about school and old memories, but even that feels strained.
I notice that Nik has been on the phone a lot that evening. I leave him alone until eight, which is usually when we call Mom. I wait for him to get off the phone before I ask about talking to her.
"Not tonight." He sinks down on the sofa, a hand passing over his eyes.
"Not tonight?" I repeat.
"I'm tired."
"But-" I stare at him. "But – that's the deal. As long as I do what you say I get to talk to Mom every night."
His eyes are still closed. "I know. I'm not in the mood."
"But-"
"I said no Mia."
I stand. "That's not fair." I can feel my entire body shaking, something that hasn't happened since I've taken to exercising more often. But now my muscles feel like they're burning. "I've done all you ask! And now you're changing the rules."
"Enough." He's glaring at me, and his lips are pursed – always a bad sign. "I've had a hard day. I'm not going to change my mind."
"Fuck you."
"Mia-" But I storm up the stairs and slam the bedroom door so hard everything rattles. I spend the night alternatively crying and punching the pillows. When he comes in to say goodnight I bury my head under the covers and won't come out. He must be tired because he leaves it.
It's in the middle of the night I get it. I don't say anything until the next evening when I ask again.
"Not tonight," he says again. His face is braced for an argument, but I just nod and turn away. I know what's happened:
Mom's gone. She's done what she said she would do and escaped. That's why Nik has been on the phone all the time; that's also why he won't let me out of his sight lately. I know I'm right the next day when he allows me to stay off school. "I'll stay off work too," he says. "We can do whatever you want. If you're in the mood for a laugh we can try and bake."
I don't say anything. I watch television all day and catch up with my homework and finish my new book. Nik hovers round me constantly, nudging me when I'm trying to concentrate.
In the afternoon he gets a call. I can hear him from the living room. I mute the television. "Thank God," I hear him say in a breath of relief. "Keep hold of her, whatever you do. Where are you? Okay, I'll be there in half an hour." He comes through the door. "Sweetie I have to-"
"You found Mom."
He pauses, eyeing me. "I have to go out. I'll be back."
"Nik, wait." I grab hold of his sleeve before he brushes past.
"Mia, I have to go."
"Please – let Mom go."
He sighs, turning back to face me. "I can't Mia. If your mother escapes she'll never stop coming for you."
"What damage can she do?"
Nik shoots me a look.
"She's miserable." I feel tears growing in the corners of my eyes. "You can't keep her imprisoned her whole life."
The tears do nothing to him. "Watch me," he growls, turning away.
I call – no, I yell at him. "What if I promised to stay?"
It stops him in his tracks.
"Just-" I clear my throat. "I – I won't leave. Let Mom go and I promise that I won't run. I'll do what you say. I'll stay here – with – with you."
He's gazing at me, studying. The phone is clenched in his hand. "How do I know you'll keep your word?"
I cross my arms. "I'm not the one that's broken it."
He walks back towards me. "Okay," he says, "here's the deal: if I let your mother go, all the same rules apply. You can't run off-"
"I said-"
"-and if your mother comes you can't go with her. I will-" I see his teeth grit together "-allow you to see her. But I won't have her staying here. You stay with me. If she tries to get you to run away you tell me. Agreed?"
"You won't hurt her?"
"As long as she doesn't try to take you."
I nod. "I'll stay for as long as you want me." His eyes flutter across my face. He didn't expect that. "Just let her go."
I don't believe he will until he lifts the phone to his ear. "Release her," he tells the person on the other end. "Yes, I mean it. Don't go after her."
"Let me talk to her."
He hesitates but he hands the phone over without a word. I don't have time to be surprised; I turn away, listening to the rustling on the other side. Then I hear, "Klaus?"
"Mom, it's me."
"Mia." Her voice lifts and a hundred memories appear in front of my eyes: Mom and I stuffing our faces with junk food, Mom laughing at me during a hike, the two of us shopping and Mom complaining that we're taking too long. I order them, little glowing yellow balls of memory, lining them up in my head. "Mia, I tried to come to you-"
"I know Mom, Nik told me." I take a deep breath. "I've spoken to him and he's agreed to let you go."
She pauses over the phone. "Where's the catch?" I open my mouth. "I know him Mia. He doesn't do favours for people without a reason."
"He's agreed as long as I stay."
The denial starts instantly. Over her yells I say, "And you can come and see me but I can't go with you, and you have to clear it with him first-"
"This is insane-"
"-and you can call this number and we'll talk-"
Her voice is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "I can't – he can't do this! You're my daughter, mine. He can't take you-"
"Mom, it's okay. I know, alright? I figured it out."
Just like that she stops. "You know?"
"Yeah I do. And it's fine Mom, I'm cool with it."
"But-"
This is the hard part. I grip tight hold of the side of the table and stare at the pattern on it. "Mom, please just leave it." I close my eyes, resigned. "I want to stay with him."
I don't allow my voice to tremble. The phone is so quiet and for a moment I think it's gone dead, but then she speaks. "What does he have on you?"
"Mom – he has nothing on me. I really want to stay here. So if you love me you'll let me stay with him."
"Mia, please." She's crying, I can hear it over the phone. I increase my grip on the table. "Just let me-"
"No Mom. I want to stay here. Look, when you're settled why don't you call me and we'll arrange a time to see each other?" I force my voice light and breezy, like it's nothing. Like it's not killing me. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"
"Wait Mia-"
I hang up before she hears me. The tears are flooding my face. He tries to grab me but I shove him out the way. I slam my bedroom door, fall down on the bed and cry harder than I have since I got here. The pillows go see-through from all the tears, my nose will now be permanently blocked and everything in my body aches. Every time I calm down I think of what I said to my mom and feel my own heart crack along with hers. She'll think that I prefer being with Nik, that I like him more than her. It will destroy her.
It's nearing ten when he comes into my room. I don't turn around, I don't even bother to hide the tears.
He stays on my bed for a while. I'm not facing the side with a clock so I can't say how long he stays exactly. "You did a brave thing."
I don't answer.
"You can still see her Mia. I won't stop you."
I press my nose into my pillow. "I know," I croak.
"Mia...sweetheart, I'm sorry."
"No you're not."
"I am-"
"Nik, please." My chest aches from talking. "Tomorrow I'll do whatever you want, but tonight will you please please please just leave me alone?"
I expect him to flare up at me, but he bends down and presses a kiss on the side of my temple. "Sleep well little one." For once he does what I ask and leaves me, closing the door. I throw the covers over my body and, for the thousandth time, cry.
I'm not an idiot. Because really, why would someone kidnap a child and not to hurt them? And let the mother go but still keep the child? Does he really think I don't know?
One night and pull the picture out from under my bed (it hadn't felt right leaving it out on the table). I've always liked looking at the photograph of my father. It's at him and Mom's wedding, both of them smiling into the camera. He's got a beard and dark hair, brown eyes – kinda scruffy looking for his wedding. He died when I was small. Mom gets all upset when she talks about him. All I know is that he died in an accident – a fight that went too far, Mom always says.
I've never looked like him. Not even when I was little. I always thought it was because I looked like Mom.
I tear the photograph into two, and then again. I continue until it's in little pieces. Then I open the window and fling them outside. They scatter with the wind. When I crawl back into bed my chest feels lighter. I fall asleep with ease.
The goal is in sight. I know there isn't much longer, five minutes tops. Another girl is trying to tackle me but I duck, swerving to the side at the last second and – the screaming gets louder as I close in – I throw the stick back and shoot it the ball into the net and - ! The goalie misses and it sinks deep into the corner of the net. "Yes!" I scream as my teammates dive towards me.
I look out into the crowd. A lot of people are here – our team is doing pretty well, and we're gaining fans because of it. I see Jess' parents in the school colours, screaming their heads off. "They're so embarrassing," Jess hisses as we walk towards the changing rooms, still grinning from our victory.
"At least they're here."
"Yeah well, I wish they would miss it."
I take my time getting changed. Nik is usually late picking me up. I have to wait on the bleachers for him, which is annoying when there are dozens of people around. I stumble out, my muscles aching in a good way, and I call out goodbye to my friends.
"Nice shot."
I almost leap out my skin. Nik's already outside, waiting for me. He's dressed in a white hoodie, a leather jacket placed over it. How he's not freezing I don't know. As I approach him I see tons of moms glancing in our direction, even the ones with wedding rings.
"What are you doing here?"
"Clearly I've wasted money on your education." He wraps his arm round me, pressing a kiss onto the top of my head. It's easier for him now. I've shot up in height recently. I didn't even notice until all my clothes started becoming shorter. "I finished early and thought I would pick you up. Again, nice shot."
"You saw?"
"I did. I also saw you tackle that poor girl to the ground. I always knew you had a vicious streak in you."
"Clearly I've learnt it from you."
"Then you've not learnt very well: if it had have been me she wouldn't have gotten back up." He smirks and I have the sense that he means what he said. "Food?"
"Can I pick?"
"Within reason." He presses another kiss on my head as we separate to get in the car, and I'm fighting a grin.
There's no phone call in the evening.
Just like there was no phone call the evening before, or the one before that. I haven't spoken to Mom since I convinced Nik to let her go.
I still hope. Christmas comes and I wait all day by the phone, because it's Christmas and surely Mom would call then. Because it's Christmas. It's always been our favourite time of year. Mom and I couldn't afford a lot, but we would attempt to make a Christmas meal (this never worked) and would spend the day eating chocolate and watching films. We would label them Christmas films, even though the one rule was that they had to have nothing to do with Christmas. Our list included Paddington, Sex and the City (this was my choice; Mom would always complain that this was too girly) Up and Four Weddings and a Funeral, just to name a few.
I think she's going to call. Maybe not in the morning but later. After lunch. After dinner, in case she thought we would be eating then. The sky's going dark and it's not snowing which is an absolute miracle. I wish it would. The fact it hasn't snowed can't be the Christmas miracle.
Nik's been outside for a little while now – taking a walk I think. I'm in the living room still full from the turkey and stuffing and potato, watching television but really keeping in earshot of the phone. "Come outside with me," he calls from the kitchen.
I shoot him a look. It's below freezing out there.
"You haven't been outside all day. You need fresh air." When I don't move he walks inside. His boots are dripping water on the floor. "I have a surprise for you."
I look towards the phone.
"We won't be long."
I give in. We go outside, me in my scarf and hat and big warm coat. It's colder than I thought and I can see my own breath.
Nik takes my arm, leading me through to another field. The house is surrounded by fields and woods, absolutely dead quiet from the snow. It feels like we're the only people left in the world. The sky is clear so I can see the stars. It makes it even colder.
"How long are we going to be out here for?"
"Stop grumbling."
"I'm a teenager. It's my prerogative."
We stop in front of a big pile of logs. They're arranged into a neat bonfire, precisely, as if someone has spent hours on it. "Is the surprise a witch burning?"
"Do you have any magical abilities?" It's meant to be a joke but it falls flat and I glance at him. "It's actually a tradition that me and my family used to do."
I keep my voice level. I don't want to seem eager. "You lit a bonfire at Christmas?"
"We weren't ever keen on the usual traditions. Except this one."
"Lighting a bonfire?"
"Not the whole tradition." From his pocket he pulls out a slip of paper and a pen. "The tradition is we write our wishes for each other on slips of paper and burn them."
"So they can go up in smoke?"
"Just do it and then we can go inside."
"What about yours?"
He reaches into his pocket and pulls at a piece of paper, folded into four. "Waiting on you, princess."
I glower at him but begin writing. "Do we fling it into the flames or something?"
He rolls his eyes. "If you like." He lights a match and throws it into the wood. He must have poured alcohol over it or built it in some special way because the fire immediately leaps up, as if reaching for the sky. Nik throws his paper in the fire and after a moment I do the same. It sparks up again before dying down.
"See?" Nik says. He turns to face me. His lips are a deep red from the cold. "Was that so painful?"
"We'll see how my toes are when we get inside." I stare into the fire to ask the next question. "How come we didn't do this last year?"
"Wasn't in the mood," he says casually. I'm not sure if he means himself or me. Last year he let me speak to Mom early and I spent the rest of the day crying in my room, mourning my old life. Now that I think about it, he was pretty quiet that day too.
"C'mon." He tucks his arm round my waist. "We had better go in. If we're lucky we can save the middle toe."
By the time we get back we're freezing. Nik makes me hot chocolate with marshmallows and lets me pick the film we'll watch. I know it sounds stupid, but for five minutes I forget the mope I've been having and watch Nik go round the kitchen complaining that hot chocolate from a packet is nothing compared to real hot chocolate, and if it wasn't Christmas we would go get some proper stuff, and I think that maybe if I have to stay with him for the rest of my life, this tradition isn't so bad.
I even forget about the phone until I go into the living room. I know they'll be no messages but I check anyway, swallowing down my disappointment. All throughout the film my eyes keep flickering to the phone, jumping a little when I hear the slightest noise. Nik, thank God, ignores it. He lets me stay up until midnight but I get more miserable as time goes on, eventually going to bed just after eleven.
By the time midnight comes round, I have to face the fact that Mom hasn't called to wish me a happy Christmas.
"I'm sorry love," he says when he comes in, water in hand.
I shrug over the open book he gave me for Christmas. "Guess your bonfire-wish theory is bogus. Yours didn't come true."
He bends down, his mouth at my ear. "You don't know what I wished for."
"So you didn't wish for Mom to call me?" I demand.
"If I told you, it wouldn't come true, would it?" He kisses my forehead before he goes.
"Hold it."
I flinch at his words, then plaster a smile on my face before ducking my head round the door. "See you later!"
"Come in."
"I'm late-"
"Come here Mia."
Knowing I'm not going to get away I walk into the room. Nik's on the sofa with his laptop on, but he has time to look me over. "No."
"What?"
"Go and put something else on."
"There's nothing wrong with my outfit," I deny, though I know I'm not being entirely honest. My body has finally realised that I'm a teenager: I actually have breasts now and no longer look refugee skinny. It's Petra's birthday and there's a party at her place – boys and girls. So I'm wearing my favourite denim jacket and black skirt with a white buttoned top.
I look good. Which is exactly why Nik is objecting.
"You need at least another inch on that skirt," he continues. "And it's March. Go put a sweater on."
"I have a jacket."
"A sweater would be better."
"Nik, I'm nearly sixteen. I think I'm old enough to dress myself."
"Do you know what guys are going to think when they look at you?"
I want to tell him exactly what they'll think, but I know he'll immediately send me back upstairs, not to change but to stay. "I don't care what they think. I'm going because it's Petra's birthday and my friends are going to be there. I'll hang out, chat, sip some disgustingly mouldy beer and come home. I can't see what my outfit is going to do to change that."
He snaps the lid of the laptop closed. "You won't change?"
"No."
"And you're still going?"
"Yes."
"Then sit down."
"Oh God, no-"
"Mia-"
"Nik, just let me go."
"You can go as long as you listen for five minutes."
I heave a dramatic sigh but sit down next to him. "Now," he says, turning his body towards me. "If you insist on going to the party, we need to have a talk about...about boys and sex."
The last words come out in a rush and I stare at him. "No."
"We need to have this talk."
I close my eyes and put my hands over my ears, muttering, "I'm not here, I'm not here-"
He grabs my wrists. "Believe me, I don't want to have this discussion. You're the one who's insisting on going. Now," he says, taking a deep breath. "Boys at your age are only after one thing and they may pressure you to go faster than you're ready for."
"Nik, Mom covered this when I was twelve," I say, attempting to cut him off. "And we have sex education at school. I know all the details, okay? I know to always wear a condom and to only have sex when I've known the boy a long time and am in love with him." I add the last bit quickly because when I mention the word condom Nik's face goes the colour of a tomato. "Look D-Nik, there's no one I'm interested in and I certainly have no intention in having sex tonight. So can I go now? Helen's picking me up at the bottom of the road in – like, five minutes ago."
"Well I'm glad to hear you're not planning on throwing your life away for a boy who thinks the height of politeness is letting you win at beer pong," he says dryly. "Just so you know, any boy that has sex with you without my permission will be hunted down and ruthlessly tortured, and then I'll go online and buy a chastity belt." He cups my chin with his hands. "Got that, sweetheart?"
I leap from the sofa. "Thanks a lot. Now I'm going to be too freaked to have sex and probably end up virgin for the rest of my life."
"I'm weeping for you," he says. Even as I close the door I can hear him laughing.
I've never really been bothered by nightmares; I've never had anything to be scared of. Not even when Nik kidnapped me did I suffer from bad dreams. But for some reason, in less than a month from my sixteenth birthday, I start having them.
They're all different, but Mom and Nik are in them. There's a cast of characters I don't recognise, but one in particular scares me. It's a woman, oldish, with long dark hair and a black outfit. She always looks at me with interest, but not the kind I like. Mom and Nik are always in front of me, defending me, but her eyes always seem to seek me out.
Nothing really happens in the dreams, but I always burst awake. In the past I've tried getting back to sleep, but it ends up taking longer. So now I wipe my sweaty palms on the bedcovers and take a book and go downstairs to get myself a drink. When I swing the kitchen door open though I see a shape leaning against the counter and leap out my skin.
"Shit!"
"Mia?" Nik puts his own glass down. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, just couldn't sleep." I go towards the fridge. "You too?"
"Same." He puts his glass down and comes towards me, cupping my chin with his hand. I try to pull away but he keeps hold, eyes scanning my face. "You haven't been sleeping very well for a while, have you?"
"That's – how do you know?"
"You're a bad liar and I can see the dark circles under your eyes." He finally relinquishes me, resting his hands against the cabinets behind him. "What gives?"
I let out a sigh, wishing Nik wasn't so damn observant. "I've been having some bad dreams lately, and they keep waking me up. Okay?"
"Nightmares?" He frowns, straightening. "What about?"
"Oh – it doesn't matter." I sit down with my glass of milk at the counter and after a moment he approaches, sliding next to me. When I open my mouth to tell him to go back to bed I say, "I keep having these dreams about Mom and...and you. And there's someone else there too, this woman. She wants to get me and I don't know why and it just... Nothing really happens in the dream, so..." I'm thrown by the look on his face. Its gone blank, the face that means he's in deep thought. "It's just a dream."
He finally looks at me, nodding. "Just a dream," he repeats.
"Why are you up?"
"I never sleep well."
"Nightmares?"
I'm being sarcastic but he nods. "Just..." His eyes go distance and he almost looks...sad, I think? I've never seen this look before. "My family life wasn't great. My mother turned on me and my father always hated me." He says it like one would comment about the weather.
"Why – did he hate you, I mean?"
"Because..." He looks back at me and the veil lifts. "Well, because I wasn't his son. My mother had an affair with someone else and I was the result of that."
"And he knew?"
"He knew," Nik says solemnly. "Or at least, I think deep down he did, even if he didn't acknowledge it until he had proof."
"But-" I want to say but he raised you. He raised you so how could he have hated you? Why couldn't he love you when you were a boy?
Perhaps Nik knows what I mean though because he says, "My father was a very proud man. The fact that his wife had slept with another man did not sit well with him. He wasn't as bad with my siblings as he was with me, but...he wasn't an easy man to get on with. We all took off after a while and none of my siblings expressed the slightest interest in renewing their relationship with him."
"Did you ever find out who your real father was?"
"I met him once. A long time ago. It didn't go as well as it could have gone – my fault – but he seemed nice. I think..." He stares over my head, seeing something I can't. "I think he would have been a good role model. He seemed – peaceful. That's the one thing that gives you a happy life y'know: peace. Being content with your lot in life. Some people have it in them; other people have to learn it."
The look on his face is scaring me. Nik doesn't scare me, and it's only now that I realise it. I don't think he's scared me since that day when I got into the fight with Lacy. He's good at keeping his temper; his calmness actually reassures me that everything is going to be okay.
I give his hand a squeeze. "We should go back to bed."
My words break the spell: his eyes focus on me and he smiles. "Of course. I have to get up early and take you to school."
"About that..." I try to look young and cute, angling my head down while looking up at him.
"Yes?" he says as we climb the stairs.
"Well, as you know I'm nearly sixteen."
"I do know that."
"And it would be so much easier if you didn't have to take me to school every morning."
"Yes, it probably would."
"So it seems beneficial if I learn to drive and get my own car."
"Oh." We're in my room now, and he comes in to say goodnight. I land on the bed and automatically he pulls the covers over me. He shoots a smirk over the top. "No."
"Why not?" I squawk.
"Because I don't need to go into panic mode when you're five minutes late." He kisses me on the forehead. "You can wake me if you have nightmares."
"Same to you," I call, even though I know he won't.
I hope I don't, but sure enough the next night I wake up, pulse pounding in my ears. It's warm tonight and the sheets stick to me. I stumble as I get out, and because of the awkward angle I catch the light from Nik's room. I slide the doors open, peeking inside. I rarely go in Nik's room. He's in bed, chin pressed on his chest. The covers are pushed off his body and his chest is bare. I pause, eyes raking over him. He's actually younger than I thought he would be, and in good shape. I briefly wonder how much time he spends at the gym, and then how old he is. We've never actually discussed it.
I hesitate for a moment before crawling onto the mattress. "Hey," he murmurs quietly, head still facing away from me. "Can't sleep?"
"Not really. Hey Nik?"
"Mmm?" he says, still not looking up.
"What's your favourite colour?"
Eyes closed he frowns. "Red."
"What's your favourite food?"
"Blood."
"Very funny."
"I'm tired sweetheart. It's been a long day."
"If you had a choice, would you rather be a squirrel or a chipmunk?"
He groans, moving from his still position to pull a pillow over his head. "Why do you want to know this? At-" he peeks to the clock "-one in the morning, of all times?"
"What if a totalitarian government takes over and they don't believe I know you, so I'm forced to answer all these questions about you? Who knows if I'll pass?"
His voice comes out muffled from under the pillow. "You've been watching that show again."
"Which one?"
"The one with those two women."
"I'm going to need more information."
"That stupid programme where the women drink all the coffee and yell all the time."
I sit up on my elbow. "The Gilmore Girls isn't stupid! It's brilliant – that episode where-"
"Well if that totalitarian governments takes over, please note that under no circumstances do I ever want to watch The Gilmore Girls."
"So what would you like to watch?"
"One where a man shoves a sock in the annoying girl's mouth."
Despite myself I laugh. The sick feeling in my stomach has receded, and I can't actually remember how bad the dream was. Perhaps Nik senses it, because he lifts the pillow off his head. "Better?"
"Better."
Nik rolls over towards me, his arm slipping over my stomach. His head is on my pillow now, his nose breathing on my skin. "Goodnight," he murmurs. He pulls the covers up, somehow managing to keep them off himself while I'm covered. I pause and then turn to face him. Nik's eyes flicker but I'm already closing mine, sleeping pulling me under.
The night before my sixteenth birthday I go out. It's a celebration since we won the last game of the season, and we're all flying high. I'm almost late home and as Helen drops me off I have to race up the road, the group of them cheering me on. I actually love running, though it seems so uncool for a sixteen year old girl to admit. By the time I reach the door my phone beeps, alerting me I should be home. "I'm here!" I holler as I stagger through the door. "I'm not late, I swear-"
I stop in my tracks.
Nik's in the kitchen, glaring at the person from across to me. But she's turned to face me, her eyes bright. "Mia?"
"Mom?"
She's staring at me. I suppose I can't blame her: the last time she saw me I still had baby fat round my face and was as shapeless as a rake. Now my face has thinned out and I'm taller – taller than her – and now have breasts. Plus I'm wearing my black leather jacket with my red v-neck t-shirt that shows off my chest and skinny jeans. In contrast Mom looks exactly the same. I suppose you don't age as much when you get older; its more gradual.
She lets out a cry and flies to me. I hug her tight. She smells of pine and wood as normal, and for a moment my stomach loosens. Then I see Nik's hooded eyes and it clenches right back up.
"Thank God," she murmurs.
"I missed you," I say, though I don't feel any relief at saying the words. "So where have you been?"
She hesitates. "I'll – I'll explain. In fact sweetie," she says, taking a deep breath, "we need to talk."
"No." Nik's face is hard, staring at us.
"Klaus, we have to tell her. It's time."
He approaches and for the first time I feel my skin prickle. He looks like a hunter about to pounce on his prey. "She's not ready Hayley. This isn't going to go well."
"She has to know sooner or later, and in case you haven't noticed things are getting serious. Mia can handle it."
"I'm the one who has looked after her for the past two years-"
"Not by choice!"
"Well if it had been my choice, she would have known immediately. It never would have had to be a secret-"
"It was the right call-"
"The right call!"
They're both yelling now. They barely even notice me. "Stop it!"
It takes a few tries for the two of them to finally look at me. "Look, it's okay. I told you, I know."
"Honey," Mom says helplessly. "I don't think you understand what we're talking about."
"Well, it's pretty obvious." My eyes land to Nik. He is watching me with a blank expression. "You're talking about the fact Nik's my dad. I mean, I'm not stupid. You guys didn't exactly to a good job in hiding it. But I'm fine with it." I avoid looking to Nik, instead focusing on Mom. Her expression is hesitant, biting her lower lip as she usual does when she's nervous. "I said I would stay Mom. But we can spend some time together." I look at Nik for confirmation.
Nik's smiles, but it makes me more nervous. "I appreciate that sweetie, but that's not what we're talking about."
"Oh?" I shift to look at my mom. She's twitching, a bad sign. "Then...?"
Nik sighs. "Perhaps you should sit down."
But something in me makes me want to stay on my feet. When I don't move he continues. "The thing is Mia, we haven't been entirely honest with you. We're not...we're not who you think you are."
I look between them. Mom isn't saying anything and Mom always has something to say. I'm beginning to feel sick at the look on their faces. "Are you my parents?"
Nik lets out a little breath. "Of course we are Mia."
"Then what are you talking about?"
The two of them look at each other. "I'm a hybrid sweetheart," Nik finally says. "And so is your mother."
"Okay..." I look between the two of them. "Is that a religious thing?"
"No. A hybrid where a person is part werewolf and part vampire."
The words land in front of me, the room silent. I look between the two of them, their faces held, waiting for me to speak. I wait a few moments before I let out a smile. "Nice one."
"Mia-"
"C'mon Nik. I'm not ten years old."
"Honey," Mom says. She twists a ring on her finger. "He's not joking. We're serious."
"Mom, you guys can give this up, okay? I mean you're good actors but the joke's over. I know vampires and werewolves don't exist."
"It's true honey." Nik approaches me, attempting to look casual. "And because we're hybrids, so are you. But I come from a family of witches, so you're part witch too."
"O-kay." I try to joke along with them. "So where are my powers then? Can I turn you two into frogs?"
"Mia-"
"Take off your necklace."
"Klaus, no." Mom turns on him. "We can't-"
"We need to prove it to her, and we can either turn into werewolves, show her our fangs or she can prove it herself. It's probably best that we know what happens when she does anyway."
"Guys!" I'm yelling now. "This isn't funny anymore. It wasn't funny to start with!"
"Mia." Nik's voice has become steely. I stare at him, wishing he would just smirk at me and let me know it's okay. But there's something dark about this version of him, something that makes me a little uncertain. "Take off the necklace."
I tell myself this is stupid. My fingers are shaking as I undo the clasp. It takes a few tries – I've never taken it off before, so it's difficult. By it finally comes undone, and I drop it into his open hand.
I wish I could say nothing happened. But I feel an enormous rush inside me, like a pipe exploding. It spreads throughout my entire body, coming out of each pore of my skin. The table collapses, the chairs flying into the corner of the room. The coffee pot explodes; the fridge door flies open, and the lights flicker a dozen times before finally settling.
I scream, backing away. I fall over my feet, quickly scrambling upwards. Nik and Mom instantly approach me. "Mia," Mom begins, reaching to help me.
"No!" I hold my hands out. They burn and though it doesn't knock them down, the two of them visibly wobble. I shove them down in my pockets. "What is this? What's going on?"
"Honey, calm down-"
"What the fuck is going on?"
"Mia," Nik says quietly. "We explained this. You're part witch."
"So what? Am I going to start craving blood? Or grow a tail?"
"You're scared Mia. We understand. Just sit down-" Mom is begging, pleading. But I don't feel moved by this. My heart is speeding in my chest, not so much bumping as bouncing back and forth in my chest.
"I could be dangerous! You must think so if you put that necklace on me-"
Mom blinks. "No – Mia, you've got the complete wrong idea-"
"Have I? In fact, I'm surprised you want me back after all of this."
"Mia." There's a note of warning in Nik's voice –
"Why the hell are you complaining?" I turn on him. "I thought this was what you wanted? I thought you wanted me to hate Mom. Isn't that the point?"
"Of course not – you're being ridiculous-"
"Am I?" My voice aches from the shrill cry. Tears are coming down now and I'm angry about this. I don't want to cry in front of them, not now. Right now these people aren't my parents. "C'mon Mom! You don't want me – at least not the real version of me. Think about it: you kept that necklace on me to keep my magic contained, you didn't tell me who my real father was – in fact you lied about who my father was! You turned me into this little kid who is nothing like who I really am!"
"Mia-" Mom's crying now too. "You don't understand. The circumstances-"
"The circumstances forced you to lie to me? That's a new one! Never heard that before!"
"That's enough." Nik tries to grab me but I dance around him. Maybe it's the magic, preventing him from grabbing me. The thought releases another ball of fire in my stomach, once again crawling up my throat.
"And you! You're no better! You, who wants me to tell you everything, who babies me and coddles me and who forces me to tell you every little detail of my life – who gets mad if I don't! You would kill me if I lied to you! And yet – look! You've lied to me ever since day one. You have never ever been honest with me!"
For the first time, he looks stricken at what I've said. He doesn't even make an attempt to grab me so I run, run out the house and down the road, ducking through bushes until I hit the woods, running and running until I can't hear their voices, until I've left them behind.
Unsurprisingly Nik finds me a mere hour later. I'm in the woods, leaning against on oak tree. My magic seems to have calmed down a little. I'm levitating acorns in the air, watching them dance round the sky. I'm too numb to even be shocked. I'm clear-headed though. When you're numb it's surprisingly easy.
He doesn't say anything, just sits down next to me, matching my position. The two of us watch the acorns dance above us.
"I'm sorry."
I don't look at him.
"You were right Mia. I shouldn't have lied to you, and neither should your mother. We were simply trying to protect you. You have no idea the forces that would hurt you. Your mother – she thought it would be best if she simply kept it from you, allowed you to live a normal life. And – well, when I realised you didn't know I decided not to tell you either."
"Let me guess," I say, staring at the ground now. "There was never the right time."
"There were plenty of right times. I just-" He sighs. "I wanted you to like me Mia. I didn't want to scare you, and I knew if I told you the truth I would have. I just... I wanted you to have some of your childhood left. I didn't want you to spend your time looking over your shoulder."
I don't answer him.
"Mia." He inches closer to me, though I notice he doesn't touch me. "Mia, please say something. Just tell me what you were thinking."
I turn to him. His face is pale as he looks at me, eyebrows pushed together. Before I know it I burst into tears – noisy, explosive tears, and the acorns drop to the floor. "I was happy," I sob, and even I can't tell when exactly I'm talking about.
He doesn't say anything. He grabs me, pulling me into his lap and holding me tightly, rocking back and forth slightly. He doesn't try to reassure me. He just keeps hold.
"I had a daddy, didn't I? He wasn't perfect and he certainly wasn't the one I'd dreamed he would have been, but I had one all the same. And I'd love him as much as I'd hated him, hadn't I? All that distance, all that time wasted... All his faults and failures mean nothing to me now."
Melodie Ramone, After Forever Ends
A/N: Just a few things:
1) In case anyone was wondering, the name Mia translates in Latin as mine, hence the title and Klaus' comment at the beginning to the story.
2) I know Klaus is very OOC in this fic. But it would only work for the story if he was like this. The way I saw it was that Hayley had managed to succeed in taking Hope from Klaus and he had gone mad, blamed Rebekah and Elijah and as a result made their lives hell. Then once he had lost them he realised he was alone/miserable, and decided to turn over a new leaf so when he found Hope he could be a better parent to her. I hope you got the gist of that from the story.
3) The heart shaped locket that contains Hope's power is what Hayley used to stop Dahlia from finding her in series 2.
Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I know it's long but I hoped you enjoyed it!
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