Oh no I didn't…
Yes.
Yes I did.
-Cheers :)
4 Years Later:
Klaus's POV:
One month Earlier:
The night is biting cold, it nips at my bare neck and my frozen fingers. My suit, and all it's layers, is torn and stained with dirt and someone else's blood. I run my hands through my hair, and feel the grit press under my fingernails. I'm shaking as I squint through the dark, trying to recall the moments that just passed; and coming up completely empty.
I take a step forward, my bare toes running into something heavy and warm.
I nudge the object for another moment before understanding encloses me. My heart finds its way into my throat as I crouch down over the body at my feet. I recognize the man. He's older, his jaw sharp and set, even in death. He's the second in command. I remember seeing his photograph in a picture frame in the old city hall. He was the man who signed off on the mission.
The mission of revenge. What a cliche. They'd created an army. A human army.
What were they thinking?
They truly believed they could stand against me.
I remove the bleeding man's hat from his head. It's crumpled on one side, where he's fallen against it. It's damp with mud and fresh blood. I straighten the bent rim and place it on my head. It's still still warm; it weighs on my ears.
My heart is pounding too quickly, as if it might snap through my ribs and fall out onto the frozen ground. My fingertips begin to tingle, as if they've got an electric current running through them. Bringing my eyes from the man's lifeless features, I draw a line through the forest around me. It registers, one, two, five bodies scatter the ground around me. All members of the army. The army created specifically to kill me. To avenge the death of the Irish clan leader's wife…
Death seems to pour out of them, onto the ground, staining the lively foliage around them… The air tainted with damp earth and iron.
A sound, so small it should go unnoticed. However, tonight is a special occasion. A rare night when nothing seems to pass without an instinct rushing my body, clutching my soul and causing actions to play out without a decision being made.
A small hand, a gentle, kind hand, touches my shoulder.
My hand is in her chest, her ribs press into my wrist, my fingers wrapped around her heart before my eyes register her face. Her youthful, perfect, untainted soul. The shape her mouth falls into as the shock overtakes her. The wind blows her hair onto her lips, a drop of perfect blood falls from those perfect lips. Her life flickers in her eyes, the sadness there pierces my own; sends shivers down to my core.
She can't be older than thirteen.
"Oh," she whispers, so quietly that the words gets swept up into the wind, and then she's gone.
I've killed her.
I've killed a child.
Her face blurs before my eyes; tears flood and fall down my face. I withdraw my hand and catch her small frame as she falls into me.
"No," I say, loudly, my voice seems to burst forth and then snap off. "Please, no, I'm sorry," I say to the nameless girl. The lifeless girl. I didn't even know her name. Don't know who she is, where she came from; how she's alive, when I seem to have killed everyone around her. Where did she come from. Why didn't she run from me…
I cradle her body as I sink to my knees. She's draped across me and I look down into her face, my tears fall into her hair, against her skin. "I'm so sorry." I say, my heart aches in my chest, my body throbs with agony as I stare at this creature; killed, before she's even lived.
I'm a monster.
I will never be anything but a monster.
It's then that I begin to scream. Into the night, into the void, into the darkness that closes in around me. The forest disappears and I'm clutching at bed sheets.
It's not a nightmare.
It's a memory.
A memory from Ireland, 1825.
Caroline's POV:
Present day:
The group I'm out with is loud and almost too big. Drinks with the friends had turned into drinks with the friends, friend's of friend's, and everyone's significant other.
Minus one.
"Caroline!" Mary shouts from the other side of the long rectangular table. "Where your beau at?!"
I set down the lemon I've been absently chewing on, licking the tangy juice off my lips and lean forward. "He was busy!" I shout back, knowing full well it's a lame excuse. It is 9 o'clock on a Saturday. But she just gives me a thumbs down and a laugh and quickly becomes wrapped up in a story being told by a tipsy coworker.
Anna and her husband Caleb look at me across the table with almost identical glances. Both full of sympathy and sadness. They're the only two at the table that know about Klaus and I. About how we haven't talked is almost an entire month. About how he hasn't been staying at the house, and at the moment, I'm not sure where my husband is.
That last night plays back through my mind over and over like a ticker tape. Like something that seems more like a nightmare than anything that could happen in real life.
"What's going on? Was if another nightmare-"
"I can't do this." He's gasping, his eyes are puffy, his face is gaunt, like someone has sucked the life out of him.
"Klaus-"
"What are we doing, what are you doing?"
"You're scaring me."
"Good! I'm a goddamn monster! You should be scared of me!"
"I'm gonna get another drink," I practically shout over the conversation, and my friends nod, Caleb hands me an empty bottle, asking me for another beer. I roll my eyes, but agree, slipping away from the over-stimulating conversation.
"Vodka and lime please," I ask the bartender. A kind looking man with a kept beard and eyes that crinkle up when he smiles.
I drum my fingers on the bar, squinting at the rings of moisture left behind by a recent resident of the barstool I'm next to. Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I check for the hundredth time if I've missed a call. One from Rebekah.
I'll call her back later.
"Caroline Forbes."
I start, and look to where the surprised greeting came from. As my slightly tipsy mind catches up with what my eyes are seeing; my heart drops into my stomach.
"Tyler," I say, louder than I mean to.
Tyler Lockwood is leaning against the bar two bar stools down. He's dressed in a suit that looks about 2 sizes too big. There are a few more defined lines around his eyes, and his hair is shorter; but otherwise he looks exactly the same. And it's unnerving.
"Wow," he says, shaking his head and smiling. I blink at him, still not quite able to comprehend. "How long has it been?"
"Almost 5 years," I say, mostly to myself.
"You're drink," The arrival of the bartender causes me to jump once again.
"Thank you," I say, picking it up and bringing it to my lips, forcing myself to turn back in Tyler's direction. He's still looking at me in disbelief.
"You live here now?" He sounds impressed. Like it's unheard of that I might have actually moved away from the town he always said we'd be stuck in forever. I take another sip of my cool drink, reminding myself not to read into his tone too much. It's been a long time; maybe he's grown up and matured.
He scoots closer, taking the bar stool that I'm leaning next to. I feel my instincts telling me to lean away; but I don't. For some reason.
"I do," I shrug, "I mean, sort of. We move around a lot."
And as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I want to suck them back in and swallow them down. Even if they would leave a pit in the bottom of my stomach. Better that than talking to my ex-boyfriend of 5 years about my marital status.
His eyebrows raise and he sets down his drink, leaning both elbows onto the bar. "You seeing someone these days?" His forced, casual tone makes me cringe and I hide my mouth with another sip of my drink.
"Actually, Tyler I'm married."
The words bounce between us like a spring. His face falls immediately, he leans away from me, as if just realising how close he's sitting; altering the distance between us from intimate to friendly.
"Oh," He chokes and I kick myself for announcing it so abruptly. I've gotten used to the reactions when I tell people who my husband is when they see the wedding band, and when it's someone who knows Klaus's name and reputation, it's always a tricky conversation.
But this is different. Tyler and I have history, Tyler and Klaus have history… I feel as if I'm playing a mean joke on him. Running into an ex is not an experience anyone is happy to be caught in the middle of; but somehow, this is worse. This is torture.
"Yeah…" I nod, offering a small smile, because I don't know what to do with my face. I take another swig of my drink; though it's basically gone now. However, I'm unwilling to answer the multiple questions I know are churning around in his mind and headed in my direction.
"Wow," He says again, and nods, cupping his beer in both hands. "For how long?"
Thank you Lord for starting with an easy one.
"Four years." I look over to gauge his expression, he looks a little surprised, the way most do when I tell them. But I don't want to answer anymore. I glance over at my table of friends, hoping someone might come to my rescue; but no one is paying attention.
He lets out a breath and then turns to me, a surprising smile on his face.
"Good for you." He nods, and I blink.
You should probably say something.
"Thanks." I smile a tight smile and let him clink his bottle against my empty glass.
There's a pause, a horrid pause. I want to leave, to go back to my table and listen to pointless gossip and forget about this entirely weird coincidence, but my feet are a thousand pounds each; stuck to the floor.
"Who's the lucky guy?"
And there it is. The question burning in his mind. I wish he wouldn't do this to himself (I wish he wouldn't do this to me) Why can't he just go on, knowing I'm married and happy…sort of. Why torture himself like this.
I sigh and turn to look him right in the eye.
"Exactly who you think it is."
He freezes, no expression on his face, and I know he's understood.
I don't look away in shame; why should I? I don't apologize because I don't feel I need to. Our lives went different ways, and my life, my happiness and unhappiness, no longer affects his. All of this is true, yet I still feel a lump the size of my empty glass lodge somewhere between my tonsils.
He blows out a long breath, and I clear my throat, hoping this is the end of the uncomfortable encounter.
"And how is that going?"
I wouldn't have been offended if the question was asked with genuine curiosity and interest. But there is something in his tone that grates on me. I bristle under the sarcastic edge to his voice and purse my lips, holding back the venomous words that tingle on the tip of my tongue.
"Good," it comes out more curt than I meant it. I try again. "Actually, great." I think back to the past month and want to cry. How Klaus hasn't even let me near him in weeks. Ever since that terrible day; where something from his past surfaced, so grotesque that it knocked him to the ground; left him lifeless. The sinkhole in my stomach reopens and drains my insides through to my feet.
I fidget under the memory and wish that I was telling the whole truth when I said everything between Klaus and I was perfectly fine.
"Well that's—"
I turn towards him, shaking my head, stopping his train of thought before it's too late.
"Tyler, I'm just going to say something before you dig yourself into too deep that neither of us can get you out," I think I've taken him off guard because his mouth snaps shut, whatever he was going to say next has gone from his mind.
"I'm not asking you to be happy for me. I'm not asking you to take an interest in my life or my marriage, and I would appreciate if you would act like every other person who knows Klaus and react with shock and confusion." Once I'm finished, he's still speechless, "Okay?"
It takes him a minute, but his face relaxes and his lips press into the smallest smile I've ever seen. It's at least an apologetic one.
"You're right," he nods; I press my lips together and nod with him. "I am shocked," he looks again at my left hand and then finishes his beer in one large swallow. His eyes are nearly sad; and I nearly feel sorry.
"Hey," he shrugs, suddenly a bright edge to his tone, it takes me off guard. "It's a wild world, right?
I smile and lift my empty glass along with his, and they click together in the air once again.
"It was really good to see you." He says, even though I don't think he means it.
"Yeah," I sigh, although I don't think I mean it either.
And I realise quickly it's not because I hate the guy. I mean, I haven't even thought about him in years. However, there is something making me ill about this entire interaction, and I think it's the fact that I love my husband.
Just knowing that I'm here, talking with Tyler while I'm still angry at him from this abandonment that he's inflicted on me, would bother him to no end.
At least I think it would... Maybe not, under the circumstances.
"Think I can give you a hug or is your scary husband going to spring out of the bushes and jump me?" he picks up his jacket from the bar and shrugs into it. His eyes are playful, but I still roll my eyes at him.
"How about you just hug me and shut up?" I set down my glass and turn towards him.
He chuckles and envelopes me in a familiar embrace.
I cautiously wrap my arms around his wide shoulders, my chin pressing to the soft space between his neck and shoulder. He holds me a little too tightly and I let him. After a short moment I step out of his arms; offering him a nervous smile when he quirks an eyebrow at me.
"Good to see you Tyler." and he knows it's a goodbye. But this time, I kind of mean it.
He turns to walk away, and then stops himself.
"You know Care I'm in town for a few—"
"Goodbye Tyler."
He pauses, understanding clouding his expression, and then he reluctantly takes a few steps backwards, surrendering and retreating.
"Goodbye Caroline."
Once he's gone, my chest becomes tight and my palm sweat. The bartender has returned with Caleb's beer, but I can barely process what's just happened. I'm feeling dizzy and nauseous, and I don't know if it's the vodka or the shock.
I grab the beer and make my way back to the table, setting the bottle in front of Caleb with a loud thump.
"I have to go," I say, pulling my jacket on and gathering my phone and purse.
"What? Why?" Anna asks, worry in her face. I give her a look that conveys the urgency of my escape, and she nods a little in understanding. God I love her. Why can't I have silent conversations with everyone in my life and them just know what I mean.
"Be safe," is all she says in return and I nod, offering everyone at the table a wave and a rushed goodbye.
The night is cold and the rain is still falling. This place is beautiful, but the rain is forever going. Like someone turned on a sprinkler and forgot to turn it off. I'm beginning to hate this place for whatever it's done to my husband.
"Taxi!" I call, as a black cab pulls down the street; but it's full of people already, and the driver waves at me as he drives by.
XXX
One month Earlier:
The daisies are bouncing around in the cool breeze. The evening is cold in comparison to the hot day. I push my hair out of my eyes, digging up the dirt in the flower beds that run the length of the small backyard. It'd been a few months since we'd unpacked everything and began to make the space our own.
It'd been a few weeks since Klaus had become quiet. Since he'd started to stare off into space more than usual.
I'd grown used to Klaus's flashbacks; a thousand years of memories trapped inside one person; it was bound to happen. He told me he'd lived in Ireland before. He said he'd left for personal reasons and I had never questioned him about it. I figured if it was something he'd wanted to speak to me about, he would have.
I hadn't known that he wasn't actually sure of the reason himself. That he'd blocked out the experience so completely that he couldn't actually remember why he'd left.
I press the fresh smelling roots of the daisies into the ground, gathering the loose dirt around the base of the young plant and pressing it down gently. It's then that I begin to hear the screams. The shouts of terror that seem to rip through my husband's throat and curdle the blood in my veins. I can hear him all the way from inside the house.
I'm bolt upright and in the house in seconds. Nearly yanking the bedroom door off it's hinges, I'm at his side, frantic and panicked.
"Sweetheart," I call, taking hold of his hands, leaving fresh dirt where my hands flutter over him, waking him from his terror ridden sleep. He gasps for air, his eyes open, yet he still looks a million miles away. "Wake up, it's okay-"
Before I can get another word out, he's sitting bolt upright, his hands pushing me away, his eyes filled with fresh tears. I watch as he struggles to put space in between us. He won't even look at me. He scrunches his eyes closed, his fingers holding tight on the sheets until his fingers poke through the thin fabric. There's blood on his teeth, he's bit his tongue with the stress of the night terror, his eyes are yellow and he's crying now.
I watch him unravel in front of me; horror encapsulating every tortured feature.
"Hey," I say, I reach out to touch him but he doesn't let me get close.
He pushes my hands away. He pulls his knees into his chest and stares at a spot in the floor until the tears on his face are dry and his hands have stopped their shaking.
But he never really returns. To the moment or our life, and when he leaves the house, I beg him not to go.
And when he's gone, I sit and wait, for hours; days; weeks...
XXX
Klaus's POV:
Present day:
The place is too quiet. I'm not used to such an empty space. The forever presence of Caroline has become such a comfort that these last few weeks have been a constant fit of anxiety and sleepless nights.
I fed yesterday.
Drained animals of their blood. It tasted like watered down piss, but the throbbing in my head has ceased and I am beginning to process my thoughts more clearly.
The nightmares still drown me; so I don't sleep. It makes it easier to live life when each terrible memory of the past thousand years aren't trying to claw their ways through my mind and devour every good feeling and thought I've had.
Sleep has become a chore I'm learning to avoid.
Of course with that comes slow instincts and high functioning paranoia. Each sound that is made by the strangers next door cause me to flinch and my blood to boil in my veins. Burning me from the inside out.
I was stupid really, to think that this wouldn't happen again. To think that I could skip this part of my life. Like getting married meant I could pretend that everything in my past would stay there. That it wouldn't affect Caroline, or our life together.
That's all these past few weeks have been; a reality check. A moment to remind me that no matter how happy I am, or how happy I endeavour to make her, the reality of my flaws will always make their way to the surface; snuffing out any light that tries to survive.
My phone begins to ring, and I stare at it until it stops. The name flashes across the screen along with her face. She's called too many times to count.
The ringing begins once again, and my frayed nerves are what make me pick up the loud device and answer the call.
"Hello?" Her voice comes through the phone clear, an edge of unmistakable worry to her tone. "Klaus, are you alright? Where the hell have you been?"
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I close it again and lay down on the hard mattress, the dim lights of midday making their way through the curtains of the contained and dingy room.
"Rebekah," I basically sob into the phone, my voice rough from lack of use. Her name bringing a fresh wave of guilt and sadness. She's called too many times to count; only I have. I've counted each one.
"Nik," she breathes, almost sounding relieved. "What is going on, Caroline has been calling me for days; she's in a panic, where are you?" She demands; and for the moment I'm not sure how to answer. For a second, I can't remember where I am.
"Ireland."
Nothing but silence comes from her side of the conversation. I wait for realization to wash over her.
"Oh Nik," she finally breathes, and I close my eyes, willing the stinging in them away with every fiber of my being. "Why?" She asks with disbelief and disapproval. "Why do you torture yourself like this…"
"I thought I could handle it." I admit, pressing my hand over my face, my voice muffled against my palm. "I don't want to be this anymore. I don't want to be afraid of my own life, Rebekah," I'm close to shouting and she has become very quiet. "I'm tired of living in fear of my own memories... I just want to forget. I don't want to remember what I was… What I still am-"
"Stop it now," My sister demands, and I can hear her own tears in her voice. "Just stop it."
I hold my breath, taking control of myself, pushing myself up so I'm seated on the edge of the uncomfortable bed.
"Nik, you listen to me. I know what you're going through, and I'm sorry for the pain and the regret that you feel. But you can't just run away; not anymore. You have a life now. Nik, you have a wife. A wife who knows you, and the horrible things of your past, and loves you in spite of them."
"A wife who has been calling me in fits of worry because you've gone M.I.A." she disciplines. "How dare you do that to her; after everything that she's stuck with you through. After all of the time you've spent building her trust, you're just going to abandon her because it's getting too hard? News flash brother, marriage isn't' easy. It becomes even harder when you've got centuries of baggage."
"I don't-"
"You have found someone, who loves you. Loves every part of you." Rebekah interrupts, silencing whatever feeble argument I was about to make. "Don't take that for granted. Call your wife. Beg for her forgiveness; and be honest with her for bloody sake."
I run my hand down my face, holding onto the phone as if it were my lifeline.
I let the silence run on for ages, and so does she. Neither of us willing to end this it first.
"Thank you," I finally say, taking a few steadying breaths.
"You're welcome."
And with that, she hangs up, and I'm once again left alone with my thoughts.
I pace, I pull my shirt over my head and pitch it onto the floor. I grab the only clean one I have left and my jacket from the back of the broken chair.
I don't know why I grabbed this jacket as I was leaving in a hurry. I haven't worn it in ages. It's old and there are holes worn through the elbows. It used to be black but now it's a faded kind of charcoal. The seams of it separating and the pockets have holes.
My fingers find something soft and small, stuck in the large hole of the left pocket.
Pulling it out, the piece of paper is folded small and it's soft with age, as if if were an ancient thing. With careful fingers I unfold the crease lines, walking closer to the dim light that illuminates the space around the window to see more clearly.
I blink down at the jagged edged art paper in my hands, my eyes scanning the faded ink that is pressed into the middle of the page.
It's a stick man. Faded with age and bleeding the dried out ink. It's simple, and it's familiar and it drowns out everything else.
My finger traces the signature that is scribbled in the corner of the page. My mind bringing me back to the exactly moment it was drawn and why…
Now don't lose that. She had said. It's going to be worth a lot someday.
Without warning, a laugh rises up in my throat and out of my mouth. Like an involuntary reflex. As if in that moment in that silent art gallery, all those years ago, she knew that I would run. That I would grab this jacket on my way out the door. That I would find this, and remember.
I curse under my breath, knowing what comes next.
I shove my arms into the jacket and carefully fold the delicate drawing back into it's original state before replacing it to the damaged pocket. I leave the room without checking out, hoping the alcoholic hotel owner understands.
XXX
Caroline POV:
We've only got a few boxes of possessions now. Having brought our collection down to only the things we cannot live without, the place is packed up in only a few hours. I've got the boxes stacked by the front door. I've got my phone clutched in my hand and the lights dimmed in the quiet house.
Each second I stand here I hate it more and more. The rain beats down on the windows and the sun is nearly rising. Somehow the night has gone by in a fog and I'm not even tired. Not in the usual way.
I check my phone and have another missed call from Rebekah, but don't bother to return it. She's been kind throughout this entire ordeal, but she's only ever been able to offer me words of comfort; nothing ever leading to anything. Whenever I'm finished speaking with her I end up more worked up than ever; feeling more lost and alone than I was before.
I replace my phone to my pocket and sit down on the floor of the empty living room.
The sound of pacing is what brings me back to the present. It goes on for long enough that I begin to count the steps that the stranger takes outside on the wet pavement. After ten or so paces, I stand up off the hardwood and peer out the window to the street.
The entire road is dimly lit with the gold and pink of the sunrise. The rain is patchy and light, but it continues to soak the ground, jumping off the pavement and then resting in the puddles that are ever present in the potholes and gutters.
But the figure pacing outside on the street is what holds my full attention. His slumped shoulders and ragged jacket drip with rain. His hands are shoved low in his pockets, and his head is bowed into the collar. He steps ten paces in one direction and ten in the other; as if his feet are moving of their own accord. As if he's lost, and can't find his way back.
I watch him for far too long, completely mesmerized.
Finally, after he shows no sign of making his way inside, I tiptoe over to the door; as if I might spook him with loud sounds and sudden movements. The door creaks as I pull it open and squint out into the rain.
He doesn't stop pacing, but he slows his steps, his eyes continue to watch the pavement at his feet. I know he hears me as I step out into the rain and make my way down the walk towards the empty street.
The cold water quickly turns my damp clothes wet. I pull the thin cotton of my sweater closer to me, and come to a stop at the curb of the narrow street.
"You lost?" I ask, breaking the silence, my breath fogging in front of me in the light of the early morning.
His back is still to me, and now that he's stopped pacing I can hear his heart beating in his chest. It hits like a drum, and when he turns around to look at me, so does mine.
His eyes are crystal clear, clearer than I've seen them in ages. The rain trickles down his face, falling out of his hair and dripping from the tails of his jacket. His breath becomes white fog in front of him before disappearing just as quickly.
"No," he finally says, rocking back on his heels and glancing down the street, doing anything that means he doesn't have to look me in the eye.
"Good," I reply, pushing my wet hair out of my face and licking the drops of water from my lips, "What're you doing out here?" I ask with a shrug, gesturing at the rain and the overall crazy of it all.
"Trying to work up the courage," he says slowly, taking his hands from his pockets and looks at them, and then back up at me. "To come to the door," He takes a tiniest of steps in my direction, the puddles on the street burying the toes of his shoes. "And beg for my wife's forgiveness." He finishes, his voice unsure, questioning, and overall exhausted. Like he'd been pacing out here for hours instead of just a few minutes.
I let the words sink in, letting them warm me through. Like he'd just said the magic words; like he'd just hit the defrost button on this block of ice that's been sitting like a rock in my stomach. Freezing out everything to do with these past few weeks.
"Oh really?" I ask, playing with an innocent tone, "You do something bad to her or something?"
The exasperated look on his face confirms his regret. He's embarrassed by his actions. I've seen it before when he gets jealous or I call him out on being thoughtless. As if maybe, he thought he'd tricked me into thinking he was without faults. And then when he does something stupid, it's as if he's scared the veil has been lifted from my eyes, and I'll wake up from this spell he's put me under.
It's actually both adorable and infuriating; and it makes for a confusing mixture of feelings in my stomach.
"I did," he nods, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out a small square of soaked paper. He looks down at it, and I take another step closer, blinking the rain from my eyes, squinting against the brightening sun.
"And what was that bad thing that you did?" I ask quietly, trying to understand the paper in his hand, and it's relevance to this situation.
He shakes his head, the wet paper now laying open and flat in his palm; he looks up at me, his blue eyes piercing mine. "I forgot her value." he finishes, holding out the parchment for me to see.
I close the rest of the space that's between us and look down at his open palm.
The ink is running and faded, and the paper is soaked and torn; but the shoddy outline of a stickman is placed directly in the center of the page. And my signature scrolled in the corner.
I look at the page in disbelief, the memories slowly making their way to the front of my mind. The gallery, the wine, the drawing, and the later…
"Where did you find this?" I ask breathlessly, my fingers fluttering over the fragile piece of our past; kept safe, as if a small portion of heaven set aside to be brought out at the perfect moment, right when it was needed the most.
"Right where you left it," he shrugs, and I look up at him, seeing my expression mirrored in his I'm sure. "You told me not to lose it," he clarifies, but I can hardly hear him over the buzz of my own thoughts. "You told me that it would be worth a lot someday."
"I don't understand," I finally say, finding the right words is the hardest part of all of this. "You left," I shake my head, "You left me. For weeks you were like a ghost."
"I know," He nods, both of us nearly shouting over the rain as it picks up. "I know I'm sorry-"
"I know that you're sorry, I'm wondering why." I clarify, placing both of my hands on each side of his neck, I force him to look in my eyes. "Don't tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you need me to know."
He opens his mouth, raindrops falling off the tip of his nose, the sound of a nearby car radio starting up and the DJ's announcing the winners of concert tickets. I wait. Patiently as he searches for the words.
"This place, these people," He glances around as much as I will let him, with my grip tight, my fingertips curling in his hair. "It brought back horrors from my past. One's that I was not hiding," he rushes to clarify, and I feel myself frown in confusion. "Memories that I had suppressed beyond even my reach. Until one night, they all came flooding back."
I nod, remembering that horrible day. His tortured screams and the endless nightmares.
"I remembered things that I'd done that made me sick, even then. Things that I've never spoken to a single soul." I can't tell if he's crying with me or not as the rain pours over us, but my tears get washed away as quick as they come.
"Why didn't you just talk to me?" I ask, shrugging my shoulders, refusing to give up on this so easily. "I thought we were supposed to be partners. I thought you understood what I need from you. 100% honesty."
His free hand comes to my wrist and he lowers his forehead onto mine.
"All my life I've been afraid." He closes his eyes, and I watch the water dance in his lashes. "Of my father, my instincts, my own DNA… I thought I was most afraid of losing control." He breathes the words into the air between us and I watch the mist move through the wind. "I thought if I lost control, then surely that would be the end of me."
And then his eyes are open, and they're searching mine.
"Turns out I'm more afraid of losing you. I couldn't risk it. Not after I've learned what true happiness feels like. Not after I've caught a glimpse of this new life." He stands straight a tucks a strand of wet hair behind my ear. "You are too important. Too precious to risk losing."
I let his words wash over me, hearing them with fresh and open ears.
I look down at his hand, still holding the drawing from years before. From the days before we fully understood what sacrifice, love, and life really meant. I gingerly place my hand over the paper, covering it with my palm.
"Thank you," I whisper, pressing my lips together. "And Klaus," I squeeze his hand, the paper nearly disintegrating with the lightest of pressure, "I need you to know that I hear what you're saying, and I understand where you're coming from." I keep my voice even, "And I'd just like to say, that if you ever handle a situation this poorly again, I will divorce you and move to Hawaii."
His laugh is surprised and sudden, and I watch his eyes crinkle with joy and relief.
"Sounds about right." he nods, wrapping both arms around my shoulders and pulling me into a tight bear hug that crushes me to his chest.
"I'm not kidding," I say, my voice muffled against his wet jacket, "I'll leave you for someone younger, I will."
He presses a kiss onto the top of my head, as an angry cabby honks their horn at us.
"Get out of the road!" He shouts as he drives by, splashing us with dirty water from the gutters.
"Right," Klaus says, "Why did we choose such a wet place to have such a conversation?"
"Because someone couldn't grow a pair and come to the bloody door," I chide, grabbing his hand and dragging him with me towards the house.
"The bloody door? You're sounding more and more like your husband everyday." He teases, placing both hands on my shoulders and following close behind me as I step inside the warm, dry house.
"I wouldn't really know, he's not around a lot lately." I elbow him in the ribs, and don't give him time to respond as I place a kiss on his mouth, pulling him closer to me with a hand on the back of his neck.
"Sounds like an idiot," he says against my lips and I smile into the gentle kiss.
"Only most of the time." I reply, pulling away and shrugging.
"Right so-" His sentence is cut short as he looks around the wide open space, and takes in the boxes around him. "Did you, pack?"
I follow his eyes and nod, my hands resting comfortably on his waist. "I figured I was starting to hate this place as much as you were." He raises an eyebrow at me and I roll my eyes. "I ran into an old friend of ours at the pub earlier."
"We have friends?" He asks, and I smack his arm.
"Tyler Lockwood says hello," At this, he shuts up. His mouth snapping shut and his eyebrows shooting up onto his forehead. I nod, as he searches my expression for the joke that I'm not making. "Turns out Ireland was probably not the greatest idea. I'm going to leave the latest travel plans up to you from now on." As I'm saying this, a small smile begins to tug at his mouth.
"What?" I ask, "You're not mad or jealous or upset?" I look him up and down, "Are you feeling okay?"
He actually chuckles now.
"You talked to him?" He asks.
"Yeah, he asked about my life and what I was up to, then we just kind of, awkwardly hugged. It was kind of surreal, like I was in this weird dream and oh my gosh, why are you smiling so much!?" I swat his arm and put a little space between us, crossing my arms over my chest.
He sobers himself a little and rests his hands lazily on his hips, "So you talked to Tyler Lockwood, spoke to him about your life..." He's nodding, and understanding starts to dawn on me.
"Oh my god, you're just glad that he knows that I married you! That we're together! You competitive bastard."
"That I,"
"Don't say it," I warn.
"Won." he shrugs.
"Ugh."
"Essentially."
"Stop talking."
His smirk could kill.
I roll my eyes and glance around the room.
"I was thinking of trying to get out of here as soon as possible. I've looked over the lease and if I get ahold of Greg today, what time is it, okay it's almost six so if I call him at eight when the office opens I can tell him that-"
It's his turn to cut me off. He pulls me against him and wraps me up in him, pressing a passionate and gentle kiss into my lips, effectively causing me to turn off my planning mode for a few precious seconds.
"Or we could take a second, get out of these soaking closes," He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it to the side. "Breathe Caroline," he says to me in his silky voice that makes life seem like a breeze. "Just, breathe."
XXX
The mattress is piled with all of our blankets and pillows that we busted out of the box labeled 'living room stuff', and the mattress is lying in the middle of the empty kitchen, the bed frame packed away and unused.
I don't know what time it is, I've completely lost track. I'm warm and dry in Klaus's over sized sweater and shorts. He's curled up next to me in a dry pair of sweats, each curve of his body running the length of mine; the two of us rolled up in a burrito of soft blankets and still moments.
Our breathing is matched, our hearts are slow. I lace my fingers with his and pull his arm tighter around me, holding our hands to my heart. Even the rain on the windows has slowed for this moment.
Our imperfect lives packed up into boxes all around us. The triumph over this lingers in the air, and all of a sudden it seems like we can get through anything.
It's preposterous, it's unrealistic, and I know this isn't the last obstacle in our path. I know that we are flawed, and we are hot headed and ignorant. I know that we will continue to be an everyday, full time job; and we are going to have to choose each other everyday if this is going to last.
If we are going to last.
"Mmmm," I hum, each particle in my body completely weightless. "We should get up," I say into the pillow, never opening my eyes once.
"Mhm," he hums in agreement, but his hold on me only tightens slightly, somehow managing to move closer to me, even though there is no closer. "Or we could stay here for another minute."
"Maybe like forever…" I sigh, tangling my legs with his and letting him hold me until I can't stay awake any longer.
I don't know why I wrote more. I think I missed them. And I missed you guys! I'm not sure if there will be more… Let me know if you want more I guess! We shall see :) Thanks guys. Review if you can :)