A/N: Guyzzzzz, did you see the last Originals episode? The FEELS! Okay, we didn't even like Finn, but . . . that was heart-breaking. And Lucien, you traitor! And to think we liked him.
Anyway, yeah, if you haven't seen the latest episode, check that baby out. You guys are awesome, and thanks so much for reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing this story! It means soooo much to us! :D Sorry for taking so long to update! We hope this chapter sort of makes up for it. Since we ended on a cliffy (sorry about that . . . not really), this is the dreaded confrontation. The girls meet most of the Mikaelsons here, yay! Except . . . not on very good terms.
Yeah, so our lovely reviewer Savily pointed out that Jackson doesn't really have a fan base, which is good, because we basically trashed him here. Yeah, sorrynotsorry.
The next chapter will be in Klaus's perspective again, then back to the girls, and Kol's introduced next chapter! Now, Finn's in this story too because we wanted a full family unit, but don't worry he won't be taking up too much space. Because . . . Kol! Kol's amazeballs! That glorious psychopathic maniac . . . Two chapters from now, let's see what happens when he meets the twins! Trouble, trouble, and lots of fun! :D
Warning: Some bad language sprinkled around.
Anyway, please read, review, and enjoy! Thanks so much! :)
Disclaimer: We aren't Julie Plec, and we do not own the Originals. No Klaus for us. :( However, we do own Amy, Jessica, and Leon, as well as any other OCs we create later on.
Chapter 4: The Other Woman
Amy's Perspective
This was one killer party. The amount of cute boys was endless and I danced with about half of them, just rotating from one to another after every dance. I wasn't looking for anything serious, but then again, I never was.
The current one I was dancing with was getting a little too grabby, so watching my sister gravitate toward the stairs leading to the second floor with a man gave the perfect excuse to remove myself from our dance/grinding session.
Heading over to the bar, I followed the two lovebirds with my steadfast gaze as they started up an intense make-out session. The guy was extremely good-looking, and considerably older than her, but the way he looked at her, my guess would be he didn't know that little fact. The way he was looking at her made me a tad more than just nervous. It wasn't the typical lust a man looked at his lover with, it was woven in with a raw, indescribable pain- like his life had just fallen apart and he was using Jessie to forget it all for a night . . . and that never went well. Especially now that they were heading for the stairs.
After they disappeared onto the second floor, I decided to turn down the next drink offered to me by the bartender; I needed to stay sharp in case my twin ever needed me. Something off set me about her being with someone that old. We had both admittedly been with guys in their twenties, but he gave off this aura of maturity that none of our lovers had ever possessed.
Sipping on my chaser, I slowly moved through the crowds towards the stairwell filled with people that lead up to the closed door. Before I had made it even close to my location, Mister Grabby Hands latched onto my arse to turn me around toward him.
"Hey, baby, I was wondering where you ran off to," he garbled, his words distorted by alcohol to the point of unintelligibility. He was backing me up until I hit a stone pillar (tacky, much?) and pain shot up my spine, the man pressing so close against me I could smell the rancid odor wafting from his breath.
"Not in the mood, buddy," I warned, futilely attempting to laugh off his dominant position and make a move to dodge around him. Before I could force my exit, though, he pushed me even harder against the wall, holding me in an iron clutch so I couldn't move. His grip was inhumanly strong and I couldn't even attempt to break free. Just what I needed tonight, I thought furiously.
"Hey, lemme go now!" I growled, but that handsy bastard let my rebuff roll off him like droplets of water off a duck's back. So, I resorted to plan B: spitting in his face. In hindsight, not my best move, but it sure was satisfactory at the time.
He bared his teeth in a gesture somewhere between a sadistic grin and a rabid snarl. "You like it rough, I will give you rough." He leaned in to kiss my neck, but ended up biting me hard enough to puncture my skin. Ow, dammit!
I tried so hard to squirm away, but it was useless. I was in too much shock to scream, no one had ever freaking bit me- well, like that! And that son of a bitch was not letting go! What a creep! If I received some disease like Hepatitis, I would be looking into a serious bloody lawsuit.
Next thing I knew, his weight was abruptly removed off me and from my now unsupported position on the wall, I dropped hard onto my arse. Double ow. In a daze, I looked up to see a (very!) good-looking African American male, wrenching the man up by his neck and throwing him to the side like he was nothing more than a flimsy rag doll. "And stay down."
I immediately gained a well-earned respect for the young African American man. The man looked down at me and kindly held out his hand for me to take. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"
Taking his hand to stand upright, I was able to clear my head enough to respond, "Yes, um, thank you. That was very nice of you . . . to kick his arse like that."
His lips spread apart in a winning, swoon-worthy smile and I was quite nearly blinded by the gleaming whiteness of his teeth. Best. Smile. EVER. "You're bleeding. Here, follow me, I will patch you up," he offered. His features were earnest enough, but after my little situation I was reminded yet again to never trust a pretty face.
Pressing my hand against my neck to stop the bleeding, I countered that with, "So, you want me to go with a stranger to an unknown location, after I was just assaulted by a different stranger who bloody bit me and who wanted to take me to God knows where. Excuse me for my lack of courtesy, but I don't think so."
At the very least, he didn't appear surprised, but he still maintained his pleasant charm. "Hello, my name is Marcel, what's yours?"
I smirked at him, shaking my head in mock regret. He found the obvious loophole in "we're strangers": ensuring that we technically weren't. Cheeky bastard. That was soooo a Jessie move. Hesitating only a brief moment (yeah, he won me over), I told him, "Amy. My name is Amy." Why not tell him? He did save me, I had to give him credit for that.
He bowed playfully in introduction and I rolled my eyes, but good-naturedly. I liked this man, he appeared to have a decent moral compass and his charisma was off the charts. "Well, Amy, now we aren't strangers. So, come along and I will get you a bandage."
My neck was gushing blood. That sounded like a damn good idea. "Well, how can I argue with that?"
We started to head over to the stairs until he stopped me and asked, curiosity written all over his face in big bold letters, "How old are you anyway? Fifteen? Sixteen?" His easygoing, relaxed countenance transformed into something much sterner and a foreign bout of insecurity plagued me. "You've been drinking, I can tell. You shouldn't be at a party like this. You might think all that makeup and clothes like that will make you look older, and while most might fall for it, I can see right through you."
"You're right, I'm fifteen," I replied, shifting away from him sheepishly. He didn't look surprised, but he didn't appear all too thrilled about it either.
"So, what's your story?" he asked conversationally as we neared the stairs. "With that accent I doubt you have resided in this lovely city for your entire life."
"I haven't, for a matter of fact. I grew up in London, then moved to the states when I was about eleven. We had gotten bored of our town and decided to explore. My sister and I have been wandering ever since," I rambled, telling the man my life story was definitely the tequila shots talking, but it was too late now.
"What about your parents?" he queried, like most did in hearing little snippets of our past.
"That isn't important," I said quietly, avoiding eye contact. It was a tough subject and a story not even I knew.
Before he could perhaps question me more, a stunning, willowy woman with lush dark hair stormed past us . . . heading straight for the room Jessie and her date had snuck into. Incandescent rage was pulsing off her like a ton of bricks being thrown right at my head.
"Hayley?" Marcel called after her, but she didn't even take the time to acknowledge his existence. "Hayley, what's wrong?"
A drop-dead gorgeous blonde woman hurried up to join us, gasping, "Someone's set off Hayley. Said someone's going to be torn apart right about now."
It dawned on me. That person could very well be my sister. My protective instincts bubbled up right to the surface and I took the stairs up two at a time. "Jessie!"
Marcel and Blondie were hot on my tail, but I couldn't care less. There was only one focus on my mind: saving my twin sister. Running in my tall black wedges was a difficult and daunting feat, but I ignored my pain and clumsiness for the sake of Jessie.
"Get the hell off my husband!" sounded from her room and I quickened my pace even further. I was the first one to skid into the room as the woman named Hayley violently threw Jessie off of the black-haired man. My twin crashed into the nearest wall and crumpled to the ground.
Red bled across my vision and I stepped forward to punch the brunette right in the nose, so she wouldn't target my sister again. "Leave my sister alone!" My knuckles throbbed, but dammit, that felt good.
"You're going down, bitch!" challenged Hayley, taking the blow in stride. Her eyes vicious, deadly daggers, she turned onto me and before I knew it, I was on the ground nursing a busted lip and receiving a sharp kick to the ribcage. Really, literally kicking me when I'm down? Not very classy.
The black-haired man was wisely staying out of it- his wife was a force to be reckoned with. Blondie woman twisted Hayley's arms behind her back after the third kick she landed in and hissed, "Calm yourself!" My side was throbbing and hurt like hell. She likely bruised a rib; she would so be paying for my medical bills.
Marcel, acting as the gentleman, handed a stunned Jessie her dress. "You should put this on." She obeyed his suggestion in a blind rush, and he made sure to politely avert his eyes, even though she still was adorning undergarments.
To really make this a party, two men joined us at the doorway. Like we needed more company. One was a very handsome (seriously, these people could've been models), impeccably dressed, elegant black-haired man. By his side was also a heart-throbber with dirty blond hair, a face to die for, and a smirk playing at his lips. Was he enjoying this? If so, then he was definitely the only one.
"What appears to be going on?" the blond simpered and I scoffed. Wasn't it obvious? The whole scene basically spoke for itself- he just wanted to make this worse. "In our room in our house at our party. A bit tactless, if you ask me." So they're the hosts . . . the Mikaelsons.
Hayley viciously signaled over to my sister and spat, "You're the one who tipped me off, Klaus, so you can just stop with your damn games. That whore over there was on top of my husband, and if I had come only five minutes later they would've been screwing." The brunette struggled against Blondie's unrelenting grip. "Let me go, Rebekah, I'm about to give that slut what's coming for her!"
Don't you call my sister a whore, I thought, but bit my lip before I could actually say it. All eyes were glued onto Jessie. I jumped to my feet and wrapped my arm around my trembling twin's shoulders, fully intending to shield her from any more insults or attacks, but Jessie wasn't having any of that. She shoved my arm away and yelled at the black-haired man, "Oh my God, you're married?! What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you let this happen when you have a bloody wife?"
Relief almost immediately blossomed up inside of me. Jessie hadn't known. She hadn't willingly gone off to sleep with a married man. Then the righteous anger came; that bastard led her on! I would have WORDS with him. Speaking of which, said bastard was sporting an excellent "deer-in-the-headlights" expression as of now.
Hayley did manage to wiggle away from Blondie's- Rebekah's hold, only to slap the black-haired man hard across the face. "How could you do this to me? You faithless, cheating asshole!" I wasn't extraordinarily happy with her for slut-shaming my sister, and beating me up, but I was internally rooting for her just for that moment. Damn, was that a slap! She really packed it. His head practically flew off his neck. Now, would that be a scene to behold.
Jessie and I, Marcel, Rebekah, Klaus, and the other gorgeous black-haired man were made into mere spectators now as Mr. Manwhore retorted, "You're the one who cheated with Elijah first! Ethan told me how she saw you, so don't even bother to deny it! He's in our pack, our family, he wouldn't dare lie to me."
The other pretty black-haired man, presumably Elijah, defended himself indignantly with, "We did no such thing! Neither of us hold such little value in your marriage as you seem to do. Perhaps you should inspect your own actions, when it was you who so carelessly tossed your marriage to the side like a piece of trash." Oooooh, burn.
"This Elijah's a savage," Jessie whispered into my ear and I stifled a snort. Only my sister could maintain even the slightest ounce of humor after this. But that was Jessie, cracking a joke to hide the pain. A few heads snapped toward us, like they overheard- which was impossible, considering how quietly she had uttered it.
"Elijah wouldn't do something so vile, unlike you, he has a moral code," Rebekah stated proudly and vindictively at the same time. The cheater flashed her an irritated glare for throwing in her two cents. She sounded protective of Elijah- maybe they were siblings? They didn't look all that alike, but age-wise, she could've been his younger sister.
"Elijah's right!" Hayley agreed (she didn't heed much attention to Rebekah's comment), shoving Mr. Manwhore back onto the bed when he tried to stand up. "I wouldn't cheat on you! I'm better than that! I don't know what Ethan thinks he saw, but he had to be hallucinating or-"
"Somebody threatened him," Mr. Manwhore finished with a gruff growl, his eyes shifting over to Klaus. Klaus merely smiled in such an cherubic and innocent yet diabolical way that I was instantly certain he was guilty of whatever Mr. Manwhore was accusing him of.
"That doesn't matter right now, Jackson!" Hayley raged and I was impatiently waiting for her to hit him again. Come on, any time now! We're waiting on you, sister. It was a much needed entertainment, after how he used my sister. "What matters is you cheated and you just stomped all over our marriage! This is on you, and your whore." Jessie flinched beside me. Okay, not rooting for you anymore, you insufferable bitch.
Hayley then stalked over to the two of us threateningly and Marcel intervened, "Leave them alone, they're kids." Apparently he deduced we were twins- it was fairly obvious, even though we were fraternal because we still looked alike. I'd like to think the reason Hayley backed off was not only Marcel's warning, but also my "Mess-with-us-and-I'll smack-you-to-next-Tuesday" look. Let's hope so.
Jackson leaped off the bed like it was searing his arse off and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "What do you mean they're kids?" He stared at Jessie accusingly. "Jessica, how old are you?" Well, this got awkward real fast.
Uh oh. This could very well be inching into illegal territory, and it was for everyone to know. Lovely. Jessie stormed past the two of us to position herself stupidly (but bravely!) in front of him. "You're not the only one with secrets, jackass! I'm fifteen!" So, maybe that wasn't the best idea. With a room full of adults, especially sharply dressed ones (I dunno, it just made them more proper somehow, or at least Elijah), this dirty laundry did not need to be aired.
The silence that followed was charged up with tension as Jackson's face contorted up with disgust. Yup, she definitely hadn't told him. Well, his tiny, itty bitty redeeming quality was that he hadn't willingly jumped the sheets with a fifteen-year-old girl. But other than that, he was totally going to take a road trip to hell. "Y-you're fifteen? I laid my hands on a . . . a kid?"
"You shouldn't have been laying your hands on anyone but your damn wife!" Jessie shot back and that shut him up real fast. That's my girl, you show him!
I could see Hayley mentally putting the pieces together. Not only was Jessie only fifteen, but she obviously was unaware of his existing vows to another woman. She was innocent, besides her own (rather large) lie and Hayley was beginning to realize this. Maybe she'll stop bitching at us now and target the real villain: her sleazy husband.
"You know, Jackson, the age of consent in Louisiana is seventeen," Klaus pointed out cheerfully and I jumped in surprise, almost forgetting he was present in the room. "Let's hope dear Jessica here won't charge you with, ah, what is it called? Oh yes, unlawful sex with a minor? Statutory rape, perhaps? Take your pick." Something told me he was not the biggest fan of our dear Mr. Manwhore.
"I didn't have sex with that douchenozzle!" Jessie was quick to deny. She must have been so thankful for that tiny saving grace. I caught Elijah mouth 'douchenozzle' inquisitively, as if he'd never heard the term before in his life and it quite honestly befuddled him. Jessie filtered out very interesting, unusual insults; I'd long since developed an immunity to them. Hearing them was like second nature.
"It's true!" Jackson insisted vehemently to both Klaus and his wife, as if that would help matters in the slightest. "I didn't sleep with her, I didn't!" Well, he was going to, and that's all that mattered.
Hayley looked repulsed to even be breathing the same air as him. Join the club, sistah. "You were going to, and don't even try to deny that. You kissed her, you undressed her . . . ! And just because you thought I was with Elijah doesn't make it okay! Because I wasn't! I would never do that to you! Our marriage means the world to me and I thought you felt the same."
She was on the verge of tears, but she stoically held herself together. Rebekah moved forward to comfortingly side-hug her and Hayley squeezed her back, seemingly appreciating the support.
"It do feel the same! I screwed up, Hayley, I screwed up real bad. I just . . ." Like a cornered animal, he lashed out on the easiest target: my unfortunately underage twin. "Jessica, you told me you were nineteen! How could you lie about something like that? It makes me sick to even think about being with a damn kid."
Jessie's shoulders lowered in defeat, so on her behalf, I lost my already volatile temper. "Hey, you son of a bitch, don't talk to my sister like that! I think we all know that you're the one who fucked up big time, buddy." Oh yeah, take that, back up, one point for moi.
The hole he had been speed-digging all night became his new home, because he evidently just decided to dig his own grave. Y'know why? 'Cause he ignored me. Like I hadn't said anything at all. His dickiness just increased tenfold in my books. NOBODY IGNORED ME, DAMMIT.
He ignored me, and he kept on talkin'. "Jessica, do you want to be the kind of girl that gets unsuspecting guys in trouble because you lied about your age?" His disgust in himself and anger with her spurred him on even further. "You're just a stupid kid! If I knew you were fifteen, I wouldn't have even looked twice at you! Do you get that? This is all ridiculous! But no, you just decided to be selfish. Selfish and stupid."
If there was a line, then he just tap-danced a mile past it. For the second time that night, pure silence stretched after his words. Shocked beyond words, I glanced over at Jessie and my heart split into two to see her green eyes gleaming with a thick sheen of tears. I expected her to burst into tears and run off, but I underestimated her. Jessica Kaslova didn't take shit from anyone.
"Shut the hell up." Jackson's eyebrows mingled with his greasy hairline, but she didn't even give him a chance to speak. "No, you got your chance to spout bullshit, I'm talking now." She moved forward lithely, like a graceful but dangerous wildcat ready to pounce. "First off, real nice ignoring my sister like that. Nobody puts Amy Kaslova in a corner."
That brought a chuckle out of Klaus (again, the only one who seemed genuinely amused by this spectacle), and I praised loudly, ready and able to back her up when the need arose, "Excellent "Dirty Dancing" reference!"
"Thank you, I appreciate that!" she threw over her shoulder and I grinned evilly. Her rant was about to unleash itself full-throttle. Jackson wouldn't know what hit him. "You have the audacity to call me selfish? Yeah, I lied, I made a mistake, and I'm sorry about that- but I don't give a flying fuck anymore! I wasn't the one ready to jump into bed with the first girl I saw and I wasn't the one to cheat on my wife! 'Cause, you know, I'm not the one who's married. You're the selfish one! You made me cross lines I vowed to never cross and you made me into an interloper. Guess what, asshat? I'm nobody's damn mistress."
Right after her bout of fury, startling all of us, the window exploded and shattered into a million pieces. I choked down a gasp of horror. Did she just carelessly reveal who we were? Everyone stared at her in a whole new light, but she brushed it off like it didn't happen- or at the very least, she didn't care that it did happen. "Oh, bloody hell." Giving into her "fuck it all" attitude, she said impetuously while picking up her stiletto shoes and marching out, "Y'know what? I'm not paying for that."
She purposely bumped into both Klaus and Elijah on the way all the while ignoring the shocked faces of the others. I bit back a smile in reaction to her sheer rudeness. She had no shame.
Everyone stared after her and a tiny ghost of a smile toyed at Hayley's lips. Someone just handed her husband his arse, and that had to taste savory. It was real obvious to me that Hayley hadn't even begun to display her tsunami of rage to Jackson, though. She was waiting for privacy.
My sister just delivered a perfect, albeit melodramatic comeback, and I knew very well that I couldn't outdo her. But damn son, I could try- because I had choice words to share with a certain Mr. Manwhore. "Hello, good sir, you used my sister and then treated her like crap, so you're on my shit list." He at least had the decency to look ashamed. "You can go screw yourself, because your wife's not gonna be giving you any action anytime soon!" Klaus left off a low whistle. "Have fun, Mr. Manwhore, because you know what they say: hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." Donning my most friendly smile, I left it that and did a little curtsey as his mouth dropped open.
Klaus started to obnoxiously clap as I went to follow my sister out the door, but I was quickly stopped by him as he moved to stand in my way. Aw hell naw, he's not gonna ruin my night even further.
"Move," I ordered, scowling at the man. He clearly did not look intimidated by small stature- which was a bad mistake on his part.
"I agree, let's move to another room and let the couple discuss their quarrels while we discuss this situation at hand, young child," he grinned and Elijah shook his head warningly at Klaus. Great, they weren't gonna let that show of telekinesis go. This night was getting progressively worse.
"You have no right to keep me here so I recommend you move your sexy arse out of my way, please." His eyebrow tweaked up at the unnecessary and involuntary addition of "sexy," so I immediately regretted inserting that in. "You didn't hear that. I didn't say that. History never heard it, and it's erased. You've forgotten about it. Goodbye." Then I twirled around him and this time, he didn't block me.
And . . . my sister was gone. She must have run off somewhere to let her guard down and cry her eyes out. Because Jackson's insults hurt her, cut into her self-esteem. The thought of it made me clench my fists as tightly as I could and curse Mr. Manwhore's existence.
A steady hand came on my shoulder out of nowhere. Turning, Marcel was standing behind me looking at me with sad eyes.
"I'm sorry about all that, are you all right?" He lifted his hand up to my face to inspect my lip, but I batted it away.
"I don't have time for this, I need to find my sister." Turning on my heels, I began to swiftly make may way out of the building, but again I was cut off by Klaus. Just great.
His devilish smile told me he was all too happy with what had played out. He was leaning against the boundary of the balcony that overlooked the party downstairs.
"I believe we've started off on the wrong foot. You and your sister are quite the characters," he complimented, but I just rolled my eyes to the ceiling. If this guy makes my crappy night even crappier, I'mma shove my foot up his arse.
"That's lovely, thank you. If you would so kindly excuse me, I have places to be." When I began my trek down the stairs, he grabbed me by my arm and stopped me cold in my tracks. I glared murderously at his hand until he finally let go, but he made it clear that he wanted me to remain in the conversation. "Well fine then, have it your way."
He continued as if I hadn't tried to leave, "Your sister mentioned your last name as Kaslova before she shattered the window and that struck me as odd. Not a very English last name, is it?"
How weird. During that entire messy confrontation, he picked up on that snippet of information? This guy was a creeper. "Your name's Klaus, and that's German. You can't talk, now can you?"
His lips peeled back into a broad smile and dimples formed on his cheeks- they were admittedly rather adorable. They softened my irritation with him, which was extremely irrational, but if you saw those dimples . . . ! I had dimples, as well as Jessie, so maybe I was biased. "That's true. I've just known only one woman in all my years with that last name. . . ." He trailed off pensively.
"All your years?" I snorted. "You're like in your mid-twenties, yet you make it sound like you're some wise old sage."
Klaus chuckled and dipped his head to acknowledge my point, so I was at least a little bit validated. "Valiant effort, I must say. Not many witches would dare enter my home without my consent. Then again, after that little show with the way you spoke to your sister's married date, you clearly like to play with fate. I wouldn't want to test it further if I were you."
Only that guy could so easily insert a threat in the conversation and have it sound so casual. He was insane, batshit crazy. Witches, what the heck is he talking about? Somebody had been reading too much Harry Potter.
My poor habit of playing with fire decided to rear its ugly head and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "You do realize you are threatening a minor, right? I do believe you can be charged for that, sir." At least his accusation was temporarily avoided.
His lips curled back to reveal his perfect teeth, but his smile didn't exactly reach his eyes. "You are a funny little witch, aren't you? The same goes for your sister. Childish and rather annoying, but amusing nonetheless." His laugh was like mind-numbingly cold ice to my ears as I tried to piece through his statement. He really thought I was a witch. Psycho.
As I read his expression, it became apparent to me that the same was taking place vice versa. Any trace of mirth he carried melted away as soberness replaced it. "You really don't know what you are, do you?" he inquired.
"No shit, Sherlock, 'cause I'm not a damn witch. Do I look like Hermione freaking Granger? My name is Amy Kaslova and I'm just a fifteen-year-old, not a witch. I'm hopping off the crazy train. Stay away from me." That was my decisive end to our pleasant conversation. It was a clean break.
I hurried down the stairs, an eerie sensation crawling its way up my spine. A fiery hole in the form of Klaus's unwavering gaze was searing into my back and a sense of vulnerability washed over me. Weaving my way through the dancing bodies, against my better judgement, I turned to take one last look at him. Unsurprisingly, his eyes were glued on me, but he didn't look angry. There was something . . . unfathomable about him, like he was in a deep, pensive state of musing.
It was difficult to shake that bizarre encounter off, but try I did. Finding my sister was higher on my priority list than analyzing the conversation I had just taken part in. She could've been anywhere by now. Since we ditched our cell phones earlier, I had to search for her the old-fashioned way. By foot.
I wandered the streets, looking anywhere and everywhere for my sister. Each road led to a new party full of colors, music, and dancing. Yet, not one seemed to lead to my sister. She had to have been distraught from her situation with Mr. Manwhore, and the last thing she needed was to be alone, but she was nowhere in sight.
Fear was building up in my stomach, twisting it up into uncomfortable knots- if Jessie was hurt . . .
After running up and down the streets of the French Quarter for a half hour, exhaustion got the better of me. My feet were bloody and blistered, and I coveted a nice warm bath to soak the pain away. And I really needed to sleep off my drunken stupor.
"Bloody hell," I cursed under my breath. "That girl better have gone back to the room." Or I don't know what I'll do.
Limping my way back to the motel, I trudged over to the elevator and allowed to carry me to my destination. At long last, I stood in front of my motel room and twisted my key into the lock, pushing the door open with a shrill creeaaaak.
Any thought of being pissed at her for running off and ditching me evaporated into thin air. Her eyes were rimmed with a vibrant red, and noticeable tracks of sticky tears stained her cheeks. But that wasn't what got to me.
I wanted to break every bone in Mr. Manwhore's body. Sitting on the bed, Jessie was playing her cherished violin, drawing the bow up and down the strings in such a way tears sprung to my eyes. It was a sweet, melodious, mournful sound, for she was playing the song she always performed when she'd been hurt.
Ashokan Farewell. Jessie poured every ounce of her heart and soul into that song, and as a result, its product was exquisitely and hauntingly beautiful. Closing my eyes, I just listened. I purged my mind of all thoughts of Leon, the cops, the Mikaelson party, Klaus's ominous conversation . . . everything. Hell, I forgot all my troubles, forgot my entire life, I practically forgot my own name because I was so lost in the song. And for the entirety of the piece, I didn't want to be found.
The last note cut off abruptly and I lifted my head- her sobs had hindered her ability to play. "Jessie . . ."
She flippantly tossed her violin onto the bed and jumped to her feet, pacing furiously. Fresh tears rolled down her face and she clawed at her neck, leaving visible jagged scratch marks. It hurt me how little she cared about her own well-being. "I am such an idiot! I am! I'm a bloody idiot."
No, not again. Jessie was entering one of her dark bouts of self-loathing, and it was always so difficult to lift her self-esteem again. That was the crux of the issue. She could snark and joke all she wanted, but it was to cover how truly little self-worth she carried. "Jessie, that's not true. You didn't know he was married-"
"That doesn't matter!" she screamed, not at me, but at everything. So, I fell silent, not keen to interrupt one of her rages. "I still lied to him! And just because he put his damn wedding ring in his pocket- he must've- doesn't mean I'm not a bloody fucking idiot! Jackson was completely right about me! I was so selfish to lie to him like that. That's all I am, Amy. I'm a selfish, stupid whore."
"Stop!" I half-shouted, about ready to slap some sense in her. I hurried over to her and grabbed her none too gently by the shoulders, shaking her until she could see the truth. "Stop belittling yourself like that! None of that's true, none of it!"
Jessie shoved me backwards, viciously, but I let it go. She was beyond upset at this point. She was hysterical. "Shut up! Just shut up! You're lying!"
Her breaths were coming in rapid, desperate gasps as she shouted through her tears, "There's no point to me! All I do is sleep with a different guy every night, drink and smoke pot, and steal stuff for a living! I'm a fucking waste of space. I thought he was a good guy, Amy, I really did. I liked him. He was kind and actually listened to me-" her crying became too hard to speak, but she muddled on, "and . . . and I t-thought he liked me, t-too. I-I thought that maybe, j-just maybe we h-had something between us. B-but no, he was j-just using me to get b-back at his wife. I'm s-so stupid to have ever even thought t-that he liked me! How c-could I be so dumb?! How c-could anybody like me?"
She collapsed to the ground in her sobs and I dove forward to cradle her head to my chest, gently rocking her back and forth and shushing her like she was a small child. "You're okay, Jessie, everything's okay. Leon's going to come and help us out, and then everything's going to be just fine. You don't need Jackson. Just forget about him. Forget about all those guys who only want to sleep with us. Forget that we comply every single damn time. It's just you and me, you and me against the world. The way it should be."
Jessie was too distraught to answer, but I knew she was at the very least listening. Soon enough, her cries tired her enough to knock her out, and she fell asleep right on the floor. I didn't want to move her, and feared waking her, so I resigned to a night on the crusty old carpet.
It's just you and me, Jessie.
A/N: So, what did you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? Let us know! Why do you think Klaus was so interested in them? A little hint here. We're diverging from, erm, "canon rules."