Body & Soul - Klaus Mikaelson

Forty

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It's been a long time since I've felt safe.

I think the last time I truly understood safety was the last time I hugged my father before he died. He used to be my anchor, the one who pulled me back from the anger, the one that controlled me when I didn't have control of the memories. He was always there when I needed him, he made himself my safety net, one I thought I would never lose. 

After he died, things slowly started going downhill. That's when my mom's visions got worse. When she was fearful of everything she couldn't interpret. It tore her apart until her visions came true. She didn't mean for it to happen, but it was starting to wear on me. I was worried about her all the time, and that combined with the stress of my dad being overseas, I was exhausted. 

It took me a while to convince her to put her magic away, to stop her pain and the constant nightmares that woke both of us at night. There was a time, brief moments in the middle of the night when I was more in control of my magic than my mom was. 

When she finally put it away, when the visions that sent her tumbling into bed at any time of day finally stopped, life eased. We'd worry about my father, we'd find out she was pregnant with Wren. There were brief moments of excitement, the two of us drooling over the pregnancy test, then the letter we were going to send to Dad. We were beyond ecstatic.

Then my Dad died. 

Safety became a figment of my imagination that day. He was my hero. Without him, I had no sense of true safety, not with my mom's magic hidden in a ring and enclosed in a safe. From that day on, what felt like just a few short months, it was just my mom and me. We only had each other. And eventually, she would leave me too.

I've been running without knowing safety for a long time. I've chased monsters, fought the supernatural, almost died more times than I can count. Safety has been on the back burner for a long time, while I waited until I found a new person to be safe with. Remarkably, the most dangerous being in the world happened to be the safety that came crashing into my life. 

His warmth is the most reassuring thing I have felt in a long time. We woke a while ago, a couple of hours at least. Yet as the sun rose behind the blinds of my room, neither of us dared to move from the comfort of my twin bed that holds us close. 

It's like if I move my leg or sit myself up, my entire life will come back, tumbling harder than ever. It's like this simple moment of bliss is that calm before the storm. Maybe, in this case, it's the calm after the storm, the eye of a hurricane. One day of silence before all the harmful buzz of reality comes back. 

The steady rhythm of his breathing keeps me from dozing off again. I feel like it should be a white noise that lets me drift off easily, yet it's a constant reminder that he is real, that his death was fake. So it keeps me awake. Because if I close my eyes for just one second, he's going to disappear again, this will all be a dream. It took me a while to fall asleep, into the late hours of the morning, with that mindset, with the fear that he will just slip away from me again. 

My head moves up and down with his bare chest. My fingers gently chase the black ink of his mark around his collarbone and down onto his arm. His chin rests against the crown of my head. One arm is tucked behind his head, the other rests around my shoulders as I curl into his side. His fingers make similar motions as mine, gently tickling my skin as the birds begin to sing outside my window.

A heavy sigh leaves my lips as the clock on my nightstand ticks to ten. I squirm a little, pulling myself closer to his side, leaving no air between us. A hoarse chuckle breaks his lips. I feel so safe here, pressed against his side, listening to his heartbeat. I keep waiting for it to stop but it never does. It keeps beating, one pump after the another. It gives me some faith that he won't be leaving me again.