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The second part is up! Caroline-POV.
Enjoy!
Side B
What I want from us is empty our minds
We fake the thoughts, and fracture the times
We go blind when we've needed to see
And this leans on me, like a rootless...
-Damien Rice, Rootless Tree
She was kneeling in the middle of the woods, the dews from the fallen leaves and the wet earth insidiously soaking through her overly expensive and nearly inappropriate skinny jeans. She'd harbored a great deal of secret attachment, or even, dare she say, obsession with those, not that she would tell anyone-the same could be said about the body lying lifelessly still before her, but the attachment or obsession or whatever it was couldn't be further from her mind right now.
Or it was the only thing on her mind, just veiled and obscure-she couldn't tell. The scenery in her head shared an ironic resemblance to her surroundings, where the thick mist so suffocating and dark shadows of the trees so intimidating that daytime almost seemed like night.
But not quite. She could still see clearly the body in front of her eyes, every inch of greyed skin and protruding veins.
She'd seen corpses before-even caused some of them herself. Vampires, werewolves, witches, humans. She'd touched them, carried them, dragged them through dingy alleys and muddy paths, dug holes for them.
Funny thing though, corpses weren't cold like so many had described in novels and poetry, reflecting the devastation of mourning hearts in weird and clichéd synesthesia. They were warm, sometimes even heated and sweaty, the trivialities of a normal life lingering in dead cells and tissues seeping through.
She felt her own fingers twitch, in a meaningless attempt to connect with the warmth. But her whole body was frozen on the spot. She was just kneeling there, unable to breathe or blink, her mind numb beyond any coherent thought, not so different from the body on the ground. For a moment she'd thought she was the one dead.
But she wasn't. She can still hear the heartbeat that was no longer there, smell his blood that had once, twice, run down her throat, see the ignorant crazyass ant that was scurrying over one of his desiccated fingers. She knelt there without a move or a sound, like the helpless, pathetic baby vampire that she always had been.
"Well, I'm a little disappointed to tell the truth. I expected there to be more of a, um, dramatic scene to fulfill this tragedy. Theater is truly dead these days." A sickeningly sweet and silky voice said to her in a bored tone, "but then again, maybe I'm asking too much of you. He's just a fling, right, love? Though the sex was definitely hot."
She finally raised her head to glare at the dimpled smile on his face-a contrived travesty of the real version, "no need to be rhetorical. You can see inside my head after all."
"Am I sensing a bit of hostility?" The man wiggled his eyebrows all too cheerfully, but there was a freezing glint of malice in his eyes, "don't be like that sweetheart. It's just collateral damage, nothing personal-you know that."
Hot blood rushed to her head so violently it pounded like it was going to explode. In a swift move she was up on her feet, slightly crouched in an attacking position. She could feel her fangs descending, and she all but roared at the impersonator, "you already killed him! The least you could do is not abusing his form anymore."
He just smiled at her, his hands folding behind his back in a silent mock.
"Drop. The. Act." She lowered her voice, her body trembling from the barely contained rage, "drop the act or I swear to all the gods in this world I will hide Bonnie from you for all eternity and kill every other witch in existence."
The man seemed to have detected something in her demeanor, his face for once somber. After a long moment of silence he morphed into another face before her, this time one she didn't recognize. "I see my message have got through. Tell your dear friend Bonnie to come to me or this," he eyed the body on the ground, and she instinctively stepped up to block his gaze, "will only be the beginning."
"Oh and I was wrong earlier." His face again broke into a facetious smile, "this was an excellent closing scene. Truly heartbreaking."
And with that he disappeared into nothingness.
She slumped onto the ground, landing on all fours in a shivering mess. The unmistaken warmth behind was drawing her to it and she tentatively turned around crawling over like a wounded animal. Yet she couldn't make a sound. All the adrenaline ebbing had left her feeling weightless and out of control. Her mind, no longer lighted by the burning rage, began to fade into a jumbling chaos.
Nothing registered. Nothing made sense. Nothing existed. Just miles of impenetrable grey haze and an incessant sibilance that she wouldn't dare to decipher.
In the all-consuming numbness she saw herself reach out, her fingers grazing the veined, stony, bloody clean-shaved face.
She felt nothing. Nothing at all.
"Care? Care? Caroline!"
Startled, she looks up to see Bonnie's face, half annoyed and half concerned. "What's with you today? You've hardly been here this whole time."
Caroline shakes her head a little bit, getting rid of the ever-present scenes replaying in her mind, and offers an apologetic smile, "sorry, Bon. It's nothing. So you were saying…?" She perks up almost instantly, her liner amplified smoky eyes widening just the right amount, perfect let's-talk-business smile in place.
Bonnie contemplates her unconvinced for a moment longer and sighs, letting her off the hook, "I was saying that I may have found a way to defeat Silas, but I need more time. If he gets hold of me now he'll just force me to drop the veil, and that's something we can't afford to happen." Her voice falters slightly at the end of the sentence, her eyes simultaneously hardening.
Caroline covers Bonnie's hand with her own and squeezes, suppressing a shiver because they are both so cold. So she squeezes a little harder, "I know, Bonnie. We've…you've lost so much and you've still got lot more on your shoulder. You go do whatever you need to do. We'll hold the fort here no matter what." She pauses a beat before continuing, "just…be careful, OK? Stay hidden. Silas is looking for you."
"What?" Bonnie immediately becomes alarmed. She pulls Caroline closer with their adjoined hand, scrutinizing her from head to toe, "why didn't you tell me? Did he do something to you? Is that why you've been acting weird lately?"
"No!" Caroline objects, though a little too vehement even to her own ears. She breathes in deep, and the dark haze inside her diffuses in waves, pervading every one of her agitated veins, her panic subsiding in the process. "No," she tries again, this time sounding uncharacteristically nonchalant, "he didn't do anything to me. Just some scary announcements and death threats. Nothing I haven't seen before."
Bonnie furrows her brows, "Caroline, you haven't contacted me in three days since you canceled with me last time. And now you seem distracted and…and detached. What's going on?"
"I'm fine Bonnie." Caroline knows she has to give her some kind of answer-serious Bonnie is always sharp and skeptical, "I just have a lot on my mind, you know? I have tests to study for, a graduation to prepare, and the whole Salvatore household to maintain. Elena isn't making things easy for me, Damon's his usual jerk self, and our whole committee's made up of incompetent dumbasses. They can't even get the guest list straight, I mean, how hard can that be? And don't get me started on that bitch Dana…what?"
Bonnie is laughing so hard her grimoire falls to the ground with a loud thud. "Nothing, Care. It's just…It's so nice to be around you."
"Well what can I say? I'm charming as hell and you know it." Caroline winks smugly, flipping her delicately-curled hair. She's good at this. Acting normal, being funny, talking nonstop about shallow and frivolous things, cheering people up-this is something she never fails. She won't be standing there, doing nothing but staring and screaming, not able to...
Nothing. Nothing happened. Nothing at all.
Her fingers are tangled in the end of her hair and she suddenly feels suffocated again. She tugs harshly in haste, as if running from a closing trap, using too much force. A few hairs come out still twining madly around her fingers like relentless queries being unleashed, but she inconspicuously hides them in her clenched fist.
Bonnie doesn't seem to notice her antics, still laughing from her previous words, "yeah, you are totally precious Care."
Smiling perfunctorily Caroline turns to the side, hiding her fist behind her back. The hairs keep tickling her palm like the messengers of devil they clearly are, silently prompting that damn sibilance through the layers and layers of haze in her mind and before she know it a question blurts out, "what's the other side like?"
"What?" Bonnie's apparently not expecting her out-of-place inquiry, "why?"
Caroline quickly tilts her head and shrugs, batting her long lashes briskly-one, two, three times, then proceeds, "just curious. I mean, you've talked to your grams and the spirits and all. And with the whole drop-the-veil stuff lately I guess I've just been…wondering, you know."
Bonnie sighs deeply, "it's not a great place to think about, Caroline. From what I heard it's pretty much a replica of our world, only much darker and scarier. There's hardly any sound or light, everything's grey and vague. You only feel disoriented, hopeless, miserable, if you feel anything at all."
The description sounds all too familiar, but it still sends an unbearably painful chill down Caroline's spine. She closes her eyes momentarily under the assault, only to open them seconds later. Eyes are tricky things-whenever they're not watching the outside world they look right into herself, into the abyss that some twisted scenes keep trying to break out of. Caroline is starting to believe that her eyes never sleep these past days. So she doesn't either.
"But I thought they could see us? People on the other side?" She finds her words too light and buoyant, as if they are floating above her rather than pulled forcefully out of her. The hairs in her hidden hand now feels like the mud and dirt that was once there, taunting her with their seemingly fake existence.
"Well only some of them," Bonnie considers thoughtfully, "mostly ones with extraordinary power or purpose, like Esther." Caroline bites hard on the inside of her mouth to not show reaction to that particular name, or rather the one that it reminds her of. "They have to know where to look, you know? I once read in a grimoire that with a strong agent involved, candlelight lit by loved ones can supposedly lead someone on the other side."
"What kind of agent?"
Bonnie shrugs, "sadly that's not recorded. But something that can create a link I guess." She stands up with her grimoire in hand, "anyway, it's getting late. I should probably get going."
Caroline struggles out of her coiling thoughts, following her to the door. It's already dark outside, wind howling from afar. Bonnie smiles at her under the porch light, her eyes shining so warmly with a hint of mischief that for a moment there it's almost as if they were still seventeen, and this was just another plain girls' night that she complained for the millionth time about Elena and Bonnie reassured her with a roll of her eyes.
For a half second she feels like the old Caroline who was not able, nor expected to keep a secret and that she could just spill every clumped, buried, rotten things out of her heart and be done with it. She searches the silencing haze inside her but for the life of her she can't figure out what there is to spill.
There's nothing. Nothing at all.
So instead she hugs Bonnie tightly-but not too tight because of her vampire strength-to quench the inexplicable emptiness, "take care, Bon."
"You too, Care." Bonnie says after their hug, then glances around the front yard, "oh I've been meaning to ask you. Where's your car?"
Caroline almost chokes on her breath. Suddenly she can feel the weight of the desiccated corpse in her arms, the smell of his blood mixing with that of her trunk, the ominous shadows the iron lid cast on that grey face. The deluge of memories inundating her whole being, Caroline numbly watches her body act on autopilot, "something went wrong and I sent it to the mechanics."
She watches herself waving to Bonnie for the last time, gazing unseeingly at the woods behind the house where her car was deserted, closing the door and stumbling back to the couch. The hairs she pulled out earlier now lies discarded on the ground, like the traces left at a crime scene. She blankly watches herself trembling nonstop, the sibilance in her mind wailing like police sirens approaching by the minute, and she feels like the culprit, the victim and the witness all at the same fucking time.
When she finally comes out of her catatonic state she finds herself in her dark bedroom with a white candle and matches. She puts the candle on her vanity and lights it without a single thought, her bedroom now vaguely reflected in the mirror.
It's eerily tidy-the bed seems like it hasn't been slept in for days, every surface shiny without dust and every object in perfect order-but for the haphazard pile of clothes beside her closet. Caroline quickly averts her eyes from it, zoning in on the tiny flame before her.
Now she just needs the agent.
It's almost too easy-she doesn't know why Bonnie hasn't thought of it. It's so obvious. Strong, powerful, able to form a link.
She bites into her own wrist and holds it above the candle. A few drops of blood hit the flame, sizzling as the rich scent permeates the air. The flame flickers for several seconds before it steadies again, and Caroline can swear she just saw from the mirror his figure appearing behind the window. But she blinks and there's just silent void, the bright light of the candle mocking her in its deceiving tranquility.
She looks down at her wrist. It's already healed.
She opens the drawer and finds a small paper knife. Again she holds her hand above the candle, this time knife in palm, and she clenches her fist hard. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, focusing on the dull pain of the blunt blade biting into her flesh. She can hear the flowing stream of blood reaching the fire, scorched and consumed like stupid little bugs that are so romantic and daring for their own good.
When she opens her eyes she sees him in the mirror, his face so familiarly unreadable with stubble in place. She drinks him in silently, every line and curve and nuance, her unblinking gaze reaching out like desperate roots seeking for water. She feels dizzy from the onslaught of life-sustaining particles that she's been missing for days.
He's indeed annoyingly handsome, she'll give him that.
"Miss me, love?" His voice just above a whisper, he stops a few steps behind her, eyes roaming along her body.
"You're really here." Caroline smiles at him in the mirror. Even in the dark dodgy light his eyes are penetrating and oh so expressive. Caroline would hardly call him transparent-he's clearly far from that, always too guarded or too mercurial, but his eyes never fail to give a clue. Caroline has never seen the ocean before, and yet that's what she assumes his eyes are like-deep beyond measurement, but constantly sending out its own signals to the observant kindred souls.
And showing all shades of blue there are in the world.
"Where else would I be?" Those said eyes squints slightly in humor, "the vast vineyards I happen to own in the south of France? The castle I obtained from the fourteenth century on the Scottish highlands? Or the villa I visit from time to time just off the shore of the Caribbean?" He brags as he always does, brows lifted, eyes big with delight like a child showing off his toys, and Caroline laughs in equal amount of ridicule and amusement, completing their routine.
Some things don't change even in the afterlife, she muses bitterly.
"No, of course I'd rather be here in this quaint little town in Virginia, where supernatural phenomena never cease to amaze." Suddenly he covers the distance between them in a long stride, his solid chest flush against her back, warm, and his hand slides sensually down her arm till it reaches her still bleeding hand, warmer. "Like how a vampire curiously develops an interest in elusive rituals of witchcraft."
She stares at his hand in disbelief, all the meaning of his words lost to her when his hot breath touches her ear. She's practically wrapped in his palpable warmth and Caroline senses the haze inside her evaporating, revealing something dark and ferocious, as if a dormant beast coming to life.
"You are really…here." She breathes unevenly, her voice coarse beyond recognition.
His brows knit together, more concern now than suspicion, "what do you mean Caroline?"
"You are…Klaus." She can't make sense of her own words. It may as well have been an animalistic cry or bellow, the heart-driven tone conveying what sensible phrasing can't begin to sum up.
But Klaus seems to understand her just fine, either from her incoherent words or her broken expression. He snakes his other arm around her waist, steadying her body that feels like dropping. He tilts his head further towards her face, his eyes boring into hers with steely certainty. He utters a single word against the side of her lips, his quiet voice rumbling like thunder in Caroline's ears, "yes."
The thick, dense, ever-present and all-consuming nothingness that has been eating at her for the last three days is instantly set on fire, replaced by the awakened beast and a savage urge to hurt and damage and destroy-just so she can feel something, anything, or she may break into a thousand pieces and all the king's horses and men couldn't put her back together again no matter how almighty he deems himself.
The next thing she knows she's pinning him to the wall with full vampire strength, her fangs carelessly tearing into his neck. He lets out a groan, from pain or pleasure she can't tell. She doesn't even care at this point, sinking in harder and deeper until her lips presses into his flesh like they're grown there and his blood pours right down her throat. She doesn't have enough time to swallow, the warm liquid running down her chin soaking both of their clothes, fusing their skin as one-it has to fucking hurt when they part.
But Klaus isn't fighting her. One of his arms is on her back, pulling her further into himself, making sure that their bodies touch and graze and twine in every way possible; his other arm slowly reaches up to her hand, prying the knife that she's still clutching out of it, gentle but firm. His hand stays there for a minute, feeling her flesh sewing itself up. When the wound finally closes he starts to run his fingers through her hair in a soothing manner.
But Caroline, though sated considerably, is nowhere near calm. His blood runs through her veins like boiling oil, every one of her nerve ending buzzing from its innegligible heat and life. The essence of him, fluctuating inside her right this second, and lasting into so many seconds, even days that are yet to come-that very notion unsettles her as much as it consoles, and irritates her as much as it rehabilitates.
She retreats her fangs with another tear. This time Klaus grunts in half-hearted complaint, but she ignores it and pushes off of him, shrugging off his arms in the process, "where have you been?" She wipes her mouth with her sleeve, all the while staring hard at him, inexplicable anger seeping through.
Klaus lifts one side of his lips and huffs, "no offense, sweetheart, but I've just walked into a dark room, witnessed a peculiar rite of unknown origin, been assaulted and fed on. If anyone has the right to ask questions it should be me."
"Not if I ask them first." She crosses her arms in front of her chest defiantly, "and I know you were not out of town so try something else."
"Fine." Klaus rolls his eyes annoyed, "I've been a perfect little small-town boy, idling in my house, reading, ordering take-outs," he smirks wickedly at those words, "and patiently waiting for my stubble to grow back as we've agreed on."
"I don't care about some stupid agreement!" Caroline throws her arms up in frustration, wanting more than anything to wipe that smirk off his gorgeous and lively face, "I'm not gonna just sit here and wait for you when you so randomly decided to ditch my ass!"
Klaus' lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenching so hard the veins are showing around his temples, "well call me an optimistic, but you would think that maybe for once Mohammad might come to the mountain and all that." He glares at her, biting out each word, "apparently not."
"Sorry," Caroline digs her nails into her palm to keep her voice under control, no longer able to hold eye contact, memories from the past days whirling around her, threatening to suck her in with each resurfacing thought, "I was too busy running into Silas and watching him tearing out your heart."
"What?" Caroline doesn't remember ever seeing Klaus so shocked, "so…so you thought I was dead?" He stutters a little in disbelief, already reaching out trying to hug her or maybe shake her for the truth, but Caroline draws back her body rigid and still.
"Is that why you were doing this?" Klaus gestures towards the candle on her vanity, his eyes softening with a hint of vulnerability, "you were trying to contact me on the other side?"
Caroling shudders upon hearing those two words, the desperation she's felt only moments ago still too fresh. She looks into the mirror, only to see a ghost of herself, pale and haunted, mocking and demeaning her with her own unjustifiable pain and cowardice. She shakes her head, smiling wryly, "what does it matter? You've been alive all this time."
Klaus flinches infinitesimally at her words and Caroline immediately feels like apologizing. But she can barely find the strength in her to speak, suddenly drenched in a bone-deep exhaustion, which Klaus seems to notice. He lets out a deep sigh, straightening his face before tilting her chin up with a single finger, "are you alright, love? Did he hurt you?"
He studies her face attentively like she's one of the objects he's about to paint, but also like he's convinced he can mend and fix her with the sheer intensity of his gaze. Caroline almost laughs at how conceited he is, to assume he's entitled to accomplish whatever he wills. But she's flooded with a cold sadness because she knows that he can't-and maybe deep down he knows it too; maybe that's why he wills ever more strongly.
She moves Klaus' hand from her chin to hold it in both of her hands, "no, just threatened me and left me there." She lets out a humorless self-deprecating laugh, "apparently I'm the established messenger of our motley crew."
This time Klaus is the one who withdraws his hand. He sucks in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, "I'm going to slice him up piece by piece and feed him his own flesh while they grow back. Then I'm going to do it all over again. And when he begs for death I'll pour that bloody cure down the gutter where I've discarded his bowels and-"
"Stop it Klaus!" Caroline's heard enough, "paint the pictures in your head all you want if it makes you feel better. I don't want to hear it." His eyes narrowed in annoyance but Caroline continues in spite of him, "all we can actually count on now is Bonnie. From my experience you were just as helpless facing Silas as I was when he put that damn illusion in my head."
Klaus' eyes flashes gold, the veins around it surfacing and for a moment Caroline expects him to attack her, but the fury written all over his face slowly transforms into contemplation, his eyes now a lightest blue akin to grey, "when was this?"
"What?" Caroline blinks, confused.
"You said you met Silas in the woods and you saw him kill me," Klaus grimaces in distaste, "when did this happen?"
She can practically feel blood draining from her face, but she meets his gaze squarely, "That morning after you left I went to the Salvatore's, and he showed up, as you. He lured me into the woods and…and dragged out the real you-at least what I thought was the real you at the time."
Klaus shakes his head and sighs, "Caroline…you know you are of my bloodline, right?" He lifts his hand to run a thumb over her cheekbone affectionately and so naturally as if he isn't aware of it, his voice low and quiet. Sometimes he makes Caroline feel so young and inexperienced, but she can't rebut him because he is so much older and worldlier and the way he looks at her holds an unwavering conviction that she will grow into something greater.
"As unwilling as I am about it, had I really been dead, you should've been too." He lowers his eyes, but not quickly enough to hide the shadows passing through them from Caroline, "it's been what, three days? Surely you and your little friends have figured that out by now."
He seems genuinely mystified and Caroline suddenly feels trapped. She breaks free from him and runs a hand through her hair, "I didn't tell them." She bites her lip hard till she tastes blood, "I haven't told anyone."
"So…what?" his squints at her, eyes sharp and tone cutting, "you didn't think it worthy of mentioning? Then what did you do instead?" He grabs her shoulder forcefully, fingers digging in, "what exactly did you do in the three days ensuing my supposed death?"
She draws in a breath painfully, though her body isn't accepting it, as if in shock. Her lungs are already burning and Caroline revels in the dreadful sense of suffocation. It's how she died after all. It reminds her of all the fears and sufferings of the hardship that is life. It defines it.
"I went to school. I took my final tests in history and calculus. I finished the invitations I was going to send out for my graduation. I talked to Elena three times and called her a bitch in her face. I met with Bonnie and learned her plans that would hopefully get rid of Silas once and for all."
Besides that there was nothing. Nothing at all.
"Sounds quite cozy, sweetheart." Klaus releases her in a rough push, his lips contorting into a dark grin, like an old wound opening up ruthlessly, "so let me get this straight. Now there's been twice you've got the misconception that I was dead. The first time you were too busy worrying about your little boyfriend Tyler, and the second time you didn't even bother to spare me a thought."
He opens his arms in a mocking gesture, his every word shooting out like poison, though Caroline's not entirely sure who it weakens more, her or himself. "You just went on with your life as if nothing happened, walking right into the bright future that I'd wished you the first time around. Brilliant, Caroline. I'm rendered speechless by your astonishing heartlessness."
A dull ache sneaks into her heart like ancient glacier, wherever the pain touches freezing in everlasting isolation and despair. But Caroline's had enough of those in the past days and maybe it's his blood in her body or his very presence in front of her eyes, for her chest erupts in burning heat and fire, "Well at least I'm not the one signing your death sentence, or seeing to it myself!"
Klaus flinches, which he disguises as an angry jerk of his head, his eyes a violent storm of bumpy waves and shattered cries, "don't pretend you've never helped in plotting my demise, love. Hypocrisy is not a good color on you." He starts to pace her room, muscles strained and wound up, filled with the need to lash out and draw blood, "tell me. Did you find relief in my death? 'The wicked hybrid is gone, good riddance'? Did you mourn me with a little dance on my grave?"
His eyes flicker as a sudden thought registers, and the smirk he flashes Caroline nearly freezes her to the bones, "did I even have a grave? Or did you just leave me out there to be torn up by my own kind? A faceless corpse slowly decomposing, as is deserved by the bloody abomination?"
Caroline clenches her fist, "you are being dramatic."
"Am I?" Klaus stops in his volatile path, turning to face her as he leans on her closet, peering at her condescendingly under his lashes, "if you truly believed that I was dead, dearest Caroline, then where was my body?"
Caroline just stares at him, his proximity to the closet that she hasn't been able to set eyes on since three days ago tipping something deep in her mind over and Caroline feels sick. She struggles to squeeze the words from her closing throat, "what does it matter? Now get away from my closet Klaus."
He merely snorts mercilessly, now eyeing the closet in suspicion, "why, what's in it sweetheart? If I actually find a little shrine of myself here I'd be touched." Head half-turned, his face is now swallowed into dark shadows, his profile barely recognizable. For a split moment Caroline is seeing veins crawling all over it like necrophilous vines and the grey haze is back out of the blue, weaving around Klaus' body trying to devour him.
"I said, get. Away. From the closet." Caroline growls, unaware of her vampire face showing. At that moment the candle burns out and the room plunges into a drowning darkness. It's all it takes for Caroline to throw herself at Klaus. She wrestles him with all her might, taking him by surprise, and they land on the floor tangled together by her window, Caroline on top.
She finds her sight blurring, not understanding why. But through the blurriness she takes in Klaus' moonlit face, pale and clear with stubble, and all the fight in her disappears, leaving her shaky and light-headed.
She expects him to retaliate, and for a minute he does seem about to. Blinking, she braces herself for the impact, her sight miraculously recovering. And yet he just furrows his brows, shocked and confused, as a drop of water falls on his cheekbone, slowly running down the ridge like a single tear. It seems ridiculously out of place on Klaus' face, so Caroline sticks out a finger to wipe it off.
And that's when she feels Klaus' finger on her face, in perfect synchronization and parallel to her own motion.
"Caroline…? What's wrong sweetheart?" He asks quietly, as if afraid to startle her, when he himself looks like he's going to jump at the slightest noise.
Caroline averts his gaze, feeling too raw to make a sound. So she focuses on the mole at the side of his Adam's apple like she always does when she feels nervous or embarrassed or just plain bored, and the words flow out of her without knowing, "you want to know where your body was? It was there, in my closet."
She caresses his neck almost absent-mindedly, as if telling the story of another, "I took you back in my car. I didn't really know what I was doing. When I got home I just want to put you somewhere I wouldn't see. I was kind of crazy at the time and I'd probably pluck my eyes out if it meant that I didn't have to see you like that. Hence the choice of…burial."
Her very own skeleton in the closet.
"I couldn't talk to anyone. If I did…you'd be truly gone." She smiles bitterly, "I know it sounds stupid and deranged. Just another episode of the neurotic lunatic Caroline Forbes."
"No, Caroline. It wasn't stupid. A little crazy, perhaps," he touches the corner of her lips tenderly, "but definitely not stupid. It was…" He pauses at a loss for words. She can feel his gaze on her, and even if it's late in the night she's sure she would feel sunlight shone on her unreservedly should she close her eyes. But the very idea terrifies her more than any pain or torture she's endured, and she's up on her feet in a flash, chest heaving and eyes again burning with unshed tears.
"Completely, utterly, absolutely wrong is what it was!" She sidesteps from Klaus as he, too, gets up to approach her, "you know what the worst part was? Not the loss, not the sadness, not even my fucking guilt for being a weak and useless wuss." Her voice breaks, but she doesn't stop. Caroline feels like she's never going to be able to stop, "it was that I couldn't feel anything. Nothing at all."
She finally meets his eyes. He looks pained, stricken, his breath heavy and uneven like her own. She pins him under a hard glare, something between heated accusation and scorching longing, "no great cities, no art, no music. No nothing."
Her tears silently falls, pouring out from the invisible gaping hole in her chest. She stands stubbornly straight, not willing to let the violent trembles coursing through her body shatter her. But Klaus is suddenly in front of her, leaning incredibly close but not touching. To her utter surprise he bends down slightly and puts his lips on hers.
It isn't like their usual kisses, hot and wet, steaming with need. He just holds her there with his full and supple lips, tainting her with his tangible warmth, nibbling gently from time to time. It tastes like her tears and their lingering blood, heartbreaking yet irresistible.
They stay in that position for a long time, their lips the sole physical contact. It's almost like a fulcrum resuming the balance in Caroline's chaotic life and for the first time in the few days her world no longer feels like it's sliding down into an abyss.
She eventually breaks their kiss, but at the same time she rests her head on his shoulder and her arms sneaks up his back. She grips a fistful of his Henley, groaning into his neck with the same force and desperation, "you can't do this to me."
Klaus pulls her body closer until it's no longer clear where he starts and where she ends. She feels his lips grazing the crown of her head, "I can. And I already did." His voice rumbles from his chest into the core of her heart and soul, resonating ceaselessly, "so did you."
Later that night as they lay sleepily in her bed, Caroline thinks back to the night she called Klaus into her bedroom for the first time. How she lay wide awake long after the amazingly hot sex. How she was consumed with fear that the timing was all wrong. How one look at Klaus' sleeping face and she knew that she would rather keep this under wrap like a thief in the night than jeopardize it with the ongoing mess of a reality.
She was terrified that she's borrowed something perfect from the future. It was almost like unwrapping your gifts before Christmas. Then what would you get when it actually comes?
Strange that when she hardly believed a word of his fancy and her light and their thing, she was so convinced there would be a future.
Caroline rolls over to face Klaus. She can tell he's not asleep from his breathing. Time seems to still as moonlight paints on his face and the universe means nothing more than the rise and fall of his chest. But Caroline knows that it isn't like that, regardless of her wish. The outside world is still scary as hell, running wild and wilder with each passing second and it won't ever stop to wait for them.
A small part of her doesn't want that future to come. Not yet.
She wants to tell him that she still has to grow and so does he, that 'one day' may be longer than a year but probably less than a century, that she isn't going to take things further so soon but she's definitely not backing out at this point, and that she's never shaving him ever again. But she doesn't.
She just closes her eyes and whispers, "don't die on me. I'm not ready yet."
She sees his smile when her closed eyes look right into herself.