your last | klaroline

impossible

                           your last
                          chapter one
{ prologue }
                              impossible

It's impossible.
If it was possible, someone would have found out by now. But it's not. So there's absolutely no way that this is happening to me. This wasn't supposed to happen when I became a vampire. Not that I'd want it to, of course.

Klaus kept his promise.

After the steamy afternoon in the woods, he left with a glance and a smile, and hasn't appeared since. It's been four months. I expect him to have moved on and forgotten all about me. He's probably off somewhere in the world, drinking expensive champagne and back to his old habits of draining women everywhere he steps.

I asked him to leave. That was part of the deal.

So why, once he's finally gone for good, do I want him back so desperately?

I clutch my head in my hands, rocking back and forth on the bathtub rim. It's eleven at night.

After throwing up multiple times in the bathtub of my college dorm, I hesitantly made my way to the local pharmacy. There, I was overwhelmed by the emotions running through my brain, and reluctantly picked out what I needed and ran out of there as fast as I could.

I cried for hours before forcing myself to take the test. It's plastic; cheap, easily broken if you slam it against the counter. We allow these objects to determine the fate of the rest of our existences. Or, in my case, eternity.

Vampires can't procreate. I know that.

Still, something at the back of my brain won't nagging me. Klaus is a hybrid. I know werewolves can procreate- even though I'm a vampire, is there a possibility that I'm pregnant?

I shiver, not entirely used to that term. Yet. But there might not be a yet. Maybe ever.

This could be my last shot at parenthood.

But would I take that opportunity, if it meant carrying the child of a one thousand year old vampire?

That choice has already been made.

I just don't know yet.

I wipe the tears rolling down my cheeks, attempting to keep the mascara I'm wearing from smudging. I know I'm failing. Why am I thinking about my looks, even now? Maybe I don't deserve to be a mother.

I sneak a glance at the timer. Twenty seconds left until I flip the test over, and my entire life is changed. Twenty seconds left of eerie peace, trapped between the white walls of my college bathroom. Twenty seconds of life as I know it.

I don't know if I can handle the truth.

Again, I sneak a look at the timer. Nine seconds.

I let out a moan. Oh, god. And what if the test reads positive? No. Stop, Caroline. You aren't pregnant.

Four seconds. I sob, one hand covering my mouth, unable to contain my tears. The heavy emotions running through my brain have me reduced to a mess of feelings, crying hysterically.

Three.

Two.

One.

Silence. And finally, the quiet buzz of the timer to my right. But I already know that it's time. Letting out one last sob, my hand crawls forward, groping the bathroom counter until I find the stick.

I grab it, bringing it near my chest. My hands shake, and I'm about to flip it over to reveal the result, but my whole body quivers, and I clench the test tighter.

I'm not crying because I'm sad. The flurry of emotions running through me escapes me in the form of tears; and I can't help but cry.

Shaking, I let out one last sob, and flip over the test cautiously.

Two pink lines greet my vision, clear as day, screaming, you're pregnant. My heart skips a beat.

I'm pregnant. With Klaus Mikaelson's baby.