I have a way of bleeding dry
anything you call a rose
julia with blue jeans on, moonface
.
.
.
ix.
"Are you frightened of me?" he doesn't ask. There's blood under his nails and a pistol in his hand.
She doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to, really.
ii.
Her father is smoking in the kitchen, and the walls are burned gray.
"Stay away from the Englishman," he tells her in that voice he uses sometimes, when he's afraid but won't admit it.
"What Englishman?" she almost says, but wait, forget it, scratch that. She already knows.
vii.
Chicago glitters like the jewel it never was, and Caroline waits in a motel room. It wouldn't matter which.
"Are you afraid of me?" Klaus doesn't ask, when he shows up with blood on his shirt sleeves, with bruises on his eyes.
She kisses him instead of speaking. Hates the taste of iron in her mouth.
v.
"Your fiancé," he drawls lazily, drumming his fingers against the bar top. "Lockwood."
She takes a sip of her own drink, small, delicate. Ladylike, with her gloved hands and lipstick stains wreathed around the edge of the glass. She smiles when she turns to him, chin jutted up like a challenge, mouth red and hair gold.
"What about him?"
iv.
So what, she doesn't love Tyler. They both know it's a marriage of convenience, the Lockwood boy settling down with the police captain's daughter.
"Caroline," Klaus says, and he's the only one to call her by her given name, not Miss Forbes, no false respect. She hates him for it, almost, but he's tall and handsome and terribly angry. His eyes like a wild dog's eyes, gun hidden beneath his jacket.
Stay away from the Englishman.
"Mr. Mikaelson," she replies instead, taking his hand with gloved fingers.
x.
She's quiet at the funeral, her hand empty of a ring. Her father stands next to her as they watch the line of black cars roll slowly and silently to the graveyard.
"Klaus Mikaelson skipped town," he says out of the corner of his mouth, like it's a secret, like he knows.
"Oh," she replies, "really?"
Her hand shakes as she brings the cigarette to her mouth.
iii.
"You're a bad man," she wants to say, but no, that's not quite it, really. He's smiling at her, teeth crooked and smoke pouring from his mouth like he's an industrial complex. It's true, of course. Still wouldn't stop him.
Her father came home last week, beaten down and badge thrown carelessly across the table, stay away from the Englishman. The Salvatore brothers are out of Cook County jail, stay off the streets, Caroline. She isn't afraid of him, of any of them. She stopped being afraid a long time ago, stopped wincing when she sees bright blue eyes and dark hair.
"You're a bad person," she says instead, and for a moment she can see why they call him the Wolf.
i.
"Caroline," Bill Forbes says, glaring at the other man. "This is Professor Mikaelson."
The party goes on, oblivious to the two men smiling at each other with shark's teeth, hoping to break each other's bones as they shake hands.
"Please," the other man says, his voice accented and lilting. "Call me Klaus."
viii.
"Tyler is dead," her father tells her over the telephone, from the station, his voice wavering and faraway sounding. "He was murdered."
The static roars in her ears.
She drops the receiver.
vi.
"I love you," he says to her, kissing her knuckles with a kind of delicacy she thought him incapable of. She knows he's dangerous, knows she's being foolish. She's quiet for a moment before she replies.
They're in a motel room. It wouldn't matter which.
A/N: Yeah this was super short and confusing, probably a little lackluster and cliched, but I am trying to get better at writing stories, especially AU, with only a few words. Hope you enjoyed it anyway!