So I spent a whole day writing this and at the end the file was defect.
Fortunately I happened to be sitting in a pile of nerds and we managed to recover half of it.
I immediatly sat down and wrote the whole thing again. So when all of my friends were drinking and talking, I spent my time hunched over a laptop, listening to depressing music.
It was an emotionally draining process and it made me realize just how important writing is to me.
This chapter now holds a special place in my heart.
Enjoy ;)
The grey
She'd let him take her off-guard. Again.
Given her hope and ripped it away right from under her again.
Just like when she had thought he'd spare Tyler.
Just like when he had succeeded to make her believe there was good in him, only to then proceed to kill Tyler's mother. Only to then proceed to attempt to murder her herself.
So she cried alone, again, in her shower. Just as she always did.
She didn't really mind, though, she was used to it. There was too much going on, everybody was suffering and Bonnie sure as hell needed Stefan's comfort now, more than her.
It was okay to cry alone, she was strong.
What had really hurt was that he had, for one moment, given her the illusion that she didn't have to. And he had the audacity to be hurt by her words, he had the audacity to expect for her to be 'attracted to the allure of his darkness'.
She had killed 12 people today.
The guilt washed over her again. It was too much, almost numbing the pain again.
She placed her hand on the shower wall to stabilize herself as strangled sobs escaped her throat.
Good, crying was good. She hoped that, along with the water, it would wash away the weight of what she had done. Just as it had washed away the torture, the grief, the loneliness.
He had pushed it right into her face. 'You tell yourself whatever you need to so you can sleep at night.'
At the end of this day another of these nights awaited her. And despite herself this was the most terrifying thought of them all. She'd done this before. She knew, she knew. And every cell of her body protested, tried to reject it. The worst was not the horror that was, but the horror that was to come.
And somewhere inside a small voice whispered her biggest fear. One day you are going to break.
One day all of this will be too much.
But she couldn't, she wouldn't.
Despite everything that had happened to her, she was happy with who she was. She was strong, she was though and she was good. No matter how hard she fell, she would get right back on her feet again and continue. She didn't need anyone, she didn't need anything.
Just hours ago these words had felt real, had felt true. But now, for a moment, they felt like an empty mantra she was reciting to herself.
Instead the nagging voice of doubt, of fear, of self-loathing that she knew didn't have any leverage if she didn't let it, seemed far more convincing.
Terrible people. People who do terrible things are just terrible people.
She was a terrible, terrible person.
She watched herself think these thoughts, observed them, knowing they were caused by circumstances and not to be believed.
But sometimes one needed to give in for a moment, in order to get it out of one's system and to be able to recollect oneself properly afterwards.
Open up. So she stood there, weeping helplessly, having opened up the gates of her own personal hell.
And in the midst of all this she saw his face, his expression and tone of voice menacing, only worsened by the fact that they followed a look of fake concern and the words that fell from his lips cut into her like a vervein-laced knife. 'Hey, hey. You look like you're in need of comfort… Why don't you find someone less terrible you can relate to.'
She hated him.
She hated him more than anything else in this moment.
Her hand balled a fist against the tiles and she gritted her teeth.
Yes, this was the way to channel all this into a purpose, her way out of this, for now. She wasn't usually one to build herself up on hate but this time it just felt right.
It was all his fault. The minute he had arrived to kill Elena. And Jenna, not because it was necessary, but only because of mere delight in cruelty. He had kidnapped Stefan and made him an emotionless serial killer. He had turned Tyler into his slave. He had made him bite her. And Tyler trying to free himself from that damned sire bond had let to the death of her father. He had caused for Bonnie's gramps to be tortured by spirits for eternity. He had killed Tyler's mother and driven him away. Jeremy had died, Bonnie had suffered greatly, Elena had turned off her emotions – all in the process of finding that stupid cure that he had brought up in the first place. He had almost killed Caroline herself. Hell, she had been turned to be his vampire sacrifice, in the first place.
What she had done – she had done it out of love, or because she couldn't help it. He damaged, killed and destroyed out of a sick, twisted enjoyment of these things. Even when she was at her worst like today – worlds lay between them. He was a monster. She wasn't.
Even if, right now, there still was a nagging little voice in the back of her head telling her that she had already left the black and white and entered the grey.
No, there was no grey. Even now.
Angry tears fell from her eyes, but the sobbing had stopped.
Yes, this was good. She knew it was not that easy, there were layers to this, but still. In some way, it was true. Life was never black and white, even when she wished it to be, especially when she wished it to be. There were a thousand perspectives on everything and anything. But in order to be able to capable to live and act, one had to choose, at least temporary. And this was it, this felt true and honest and real, being fired by recent events.
She hated him, hated him for everything he had done.
But most of all she hated him for messing with her head, for making her like him, for making her doubt her assessments of him, only to painfully prove her wrong again. For that fucking face and that fucking suave way of phrasing things and these fucking beautiful things he'd say to her and the way he looked at her and-
She let out a cry of frustration and desperation.
The fucking bastard deserved to die!
None of this mattered. All that mattered was that, when it came down to it, he would always be a disappointment. What had she expected, he had been this way for a thousand years.
Any amount of liking, had there been any left, was dead now.
Slowly, little by little, she felt the anguish receding.
When she finally stepped out of the shower she had not only cleansed herself of the guilt but also of him.
She looked into the mirror, and she was glad to see herself again, reassembled, strong. She let out a sigh of relief. This, too, had passed. A sense of wariness was left, but that was nothing compared to the terror of raw pain.
As she applied her body lotion, all the little creams, got dressed, practiced all her little rituals the rush of power and pride tingled underneath her skin. She had done this, again. She had survived this, again.
As she was curling her hair she heard the buzz of her cell phone.
An unknown number. This could be important. She picked it up.
"I need your help," a familiar voice croaked. "It's about Silas."
Klaus. How dare he ask for her help! She was furious, about to hang up just like that. But then a realization clicked in – Silas. A pang of guilt followed. Silas, whom she had killed twelve witches for.
"Where are you?" she asked, her anger clearly audible.
"At my house." What was wrong with his voice?
It didn't matter. She hung up and then proceeded to finish curling her hair. No matter what this was, she'd make him wait.
He was crouching on the floor of his living room, shirtless. What the-
Even now she couldn't help but appreciate the sight, but it only fueled her anger.
On second glance – he was sweating. He didn't look well.
A fire burned in the fireplace, painting the room a warm shade of orange.
At first it seemed as if he hadn't even noticed her arrival. Then, finally, he raised his head a little and his eyes focused on her. There was a moment of silence, and the tension was so thick, she swore one could cut through it.
"Are you real?" His voice was strained, but focused.
She frowned. What kind of question was that?
"What?" she snapped.
Anger flashed through his eyes. "I've been having hallucinations," he explained, his voice somewhat rough.
Oh. What?
"Why?"
"Silas. Prove it," he ordered.
Something shifted. She felt the anger rush back up in her. "Excuse me?"
He let out a small growl. "You have to prove to me that you are not a hallucination." He squinted, his eyes dilating out of focus for a moment.
"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?" she snapped, placing her hands on her hips.
"You have to tell me something only you and I know." Her frown deepened, as he took a few shaky breaths. "Silas is the one giving me these hallucinations and so far they have proven that he has limited access to my head."
She stared down at him, thinking. A cold expression appeared on her face.
"And why would I do that?"
"Caroline!" he snarled. "This is a serious situation. If you want me to I can come over there and see for myself just how real you are."
She curled her upper lip in disgust.
She left him hanging a little longer. Finally she said, "Your father killed your favorite horse."
He nodded, relieved. Then he rose, visibly struggling and she took a step back.
He let out an annoyed huff and rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, love."
Then he turned around and revealed a wound on his shoulder.
"It's white oak," he pressed out. "You have to get it out."
She looked over the wound. It looked pretty bad, painful. Good.
Suddenly she felt her anger intensify. After what had happened just hours ago he dared to ask for her help. He dared to expect of her to just gulp down the pain, the humiliation, the shame of being rejected by him and help him, just like that?
"And why would I help you?"He turned his head towards her, his eyes wide with fury and hurt. Good.
Swiftly and controlled, she pressed her hand onto the wound and pushed the splinters farther in.
He fell to his knees, on all fours, screaming in pain.
She felt a rush of power, mesmerized by the sight. Instantly, the guilt kicked in, but she pushed it down.
She stared down at him, unmoving. "I will bring you nothing but misery."
Their eyes met. He gritted his teeth, fingers almost digging into the floor.
She knew this hadn't been the greatest of ideas but right now she couldn't care less. She had nothing to lose anyway.
Then his eyes dilated out of focus again, he could barely keep himself steady on his arms. Suddenly he stumbled backwards, eyes fixed on the empty space before him, his face contorted in an expression of genuine fear.
He was seeing something.
Her heart dropped and somehow she knew that she wouldn't be able to keep this up. It made her uncomfortable seeing him like this. Enough.
She kneeled down beside him and lightly touched his arm.
"Klaus." He didn't react. "Klaus, it's not real."
He turned his head to look at her, a terrified, rabid look in his eyes, followed by relief.
Then his face hardened and anger settled in his features.
She half expected him to lash out at her; surprisingly all he did was glare at her. Maybe he was just too exhausted.
"Don't try that again. That is if you value your life. I am not a patient man right now."
She licked her lips and got up. A pair of tongs lay on the table nearby, already stained in blood. Obviously he had tried to remove the splinters himself.
"Are we done with our little revenge-fantasies now?" His voice was strained; he was barely holding it together.
She sat down behind him and positioned herself in front of the wound.
"What makes you think I'm not going to kill you?" she asked, calmly.
A moment of silence followed, and a part of her was glad that she couldn't see his face.
"Because it's not like you," he answered, his voice harsh.
"Maybe it is."
But it wasn't, and instead she caught the first splinter between the tongs and pulled it out.
He groaned in pain and shifted his weight onto his arms, trembling.
"I hate you," she whispered.
Anger rose up again and she pulled out the next one in a much harsher motion. He bawled and doubled up in pain. Instantly, regret set in.
"Wait," he croaked. "Break."
She complied.
A moment of uncomfortable silence spread between them.
She licked her lips and eyed the splinter she had just pulled out of his shoulder.
Abruptly he jumped to his feet and turned around, a crazed look in his eyes. He was seeing things again. She rose, too, eyeing him warily.
"Don't touch me!" he yelled, taking an aggressive stance.
Her eyes widened and she took a step back.
"You have no power over me!" he screamed.
Suddenly he lunged at her, grabbing her upper arms. She flinched and fear surged through her veins.
She hadn't realized the amount of danger she was in, alone with a murderous psychopath suffering from hallucinations. He had hurt her before.
"Klaus?" She hated how weak her voice was.
"I will destroy you!" She flinched again, terrified.
No, this was not the way to go. She was no coward. She was strong. She had to shake him out of this again; it hadn't been that difficult the first time.
She brought her hand up to his face and touched the side of his face, keeping eye contact.
"Klaus, it's me," her voice was steady and composed.
He looked back at her, his dilating into focus again. A confused look on his face he assessed the situation. Abruptly he released her arms, a deeply disturbed look on his face.
"Have I hurt you?" he asked, worry both evident in his face and his tone.
She dropped her hand.
"No," she assured him.
Relief spread on his face, then it hardened again.
"Let's proceed."
He turned around and sat down again.
She seated herself behind him, ready to pull out the wood.
"How did this happen?"
She caught a splinter and drew it out. He tensed up and let out a groan.
He took a moment to compose himself, then answered.
"Silas. He wants the cure. He tried to turn me into his lapdog and get it for him. I declined."
Silas seemed like more and more of a threat now. If he had managed to inflict this wound, he could easily have killed him. "I suppose he tried to make a point. He granted me a visit after you left."
She pulled out the next splinter and his breathing got heavier again.
How exactly had he rammed in the stake to break it into that many pieces?
He gulped and she felt him tense up again.
"I thought you were with Stefan."
She frowned. Where was this going? It was none of his business, especially after what happened in the woods.
"He's with Bonnie," she answered. "She needs him right now."
She pulled out another splinter, revealing a big piece of wood, embedded deep in his flesh. No wonder he was in such pain.
"This is going to hurt," she announced, positioning the pair of tongs near the stake.
She was about to pull it out when she heard him, whispering so quietly that she'd almost missed it.
"Why are you doing this to me?" It sounded honestly desperate and entirely out of character.
She shifted to the right, leaning in front of him to take a look at his face.
Her suspicion was confirmed, his eyes were vacant again.
She was about to shake it out of him, when he spoke up again.
"Why do you give me hope only to take it away again?"
She froze.
"What else am I supposed to do for you?"
She felt her walls crumbling around her.
Her stomach dropped.
There was no black and white, there never had been. Even, or rather especially when she needed it to be. Instead, all there was, was a terrifying, painful grey. And she was caught right in the middle of it. With him.
She put her hand on his arm, realizing that it was shaking.
"Klaus."
He turned his head and looked straight back at her, slowly his eyes came into focus again. Then realization hit his face, abruptly replaced by a look of sheer terror. She held her breath.
Finally, he looked away. She slid back in behind him.
"This is going to hurt," she repeated, her voice shaking.
She willed her hands to be still, positioned the tongs around the wood and started to pull.
He tried to suppress the noise coming from his throat, but it came out strangled instead.
His hands were clutching to the fabric of his jeans, his knuckles white.
Finally, it was out and she let out her breath that she hadn't even known she was still holding.
There were only a few small splinters left and she removed them quickly.
Then she dropped the pair of tongs to the floor and sat back.
She watched him heal and was once again mesmerized by the perks of being a vampire.
The experience had left her emotionally drained.
For some reason she felt like she had pulled the wood right out of her own flesh. A whole different kind of cleansing process.
Only it hadn't washed away the things she wanted to rid herself of, but brought them back, full force, again.
All the carefully built defenses had been torn right down.
She was in the grey, with him and all the guilt that came back, crashing down on her again.
She had killed twelve people.
She'd have to sleep tonight.
She felt a defeating sense of weakness coming over her and this time there was nothing controlled about it, no way to make it okay.
She couldn't do this. Not here. Not with him.
She had to get out.
She staggered to her feet, legs shaking she headed towards the door.
He rose, too and flashed in front of her. "I can't let you wander off like that. Silas is out there, he was in my head. I can't let him use you against me."
She looked up at him, desperation rising in her. All the dams had broken down again and the water was rising. She couldn't do this again. Not in front of him.
The torturous helplessness took over.
"But- I have to – I need to-," she stammered, not really knowing what it was that she needed.
She saw worry in his eyes and she evaded his gaze. She couldn't do this. Not again.
That was until he suddenly reached out and carefully pulled her into his arms.
She tensed up. She should push him away. She should hate him.
Instead she felt a deep sense of relief rushing over her, forming a peculiar symbiosis with the overwhelming dread she still felt.
"Shh… It's okay. I've got you," she heard him murmur.
She buried her face in his chest and let out a sob. She felt his hands caress her back and let herself get lost. This wasn't exactly new, she'd let him comfort her the night he'd saved her from himself.
She'd needed this, she hadn't even known how much. After everything that had happened in the last days – losing Tyler, Jeremy dying, Elena losing her humanity, almost getting killed by her, Bonnie and the witches – she suddenly realized that she couldn't do this any longer. Not alone.
And on some level, for now, she accepted that.
It didn't change anything about how wrong this was, how inacceptable evil the nature of the things he did was, how terrible her own crimes were (the guy she killed the night she was turned, her mother's colleagues, twelve witches).
She was in the grey.
But at least she was not alone, for now.