Little White Lies | Klaus Mikaelson (1)

Christmas Day

Christmas Day, 2002

I sat in the dreary home. My foster parents had left me here, saying that the Christmas party they were going too didn't have enough food for the three of us. As usual, I didn't do anything about it.

I sat with a coffee cup in my hand, warming myself up. They shut off the heat because they didn't want to waste any money. I stared at the window, watching as snow fell.

I hate Christmas. It's were families gather together and show compassion and whatnot. Bullshit, if you ask me. I mean, I guess coming from a girl without any parents it doesn't really count. I wouldn't know.

I sighed, a sniffle coming out of my small body. I looked like a ghost from outside the house. A little girl sitting by a window, all alone on Christmas Day. Pathetic, I know.

I glanced down at my phone, seeing no one had texted me or responded to my calls. I felt... alone. Like really fucking alone. The kind of alone where you feel like it's never going to end. Like no matter who you talk to, you're alone. And nothing's going to change that.

I shook my head from the depressing thoughts. I stood from my seat, gripping a blanket and wrapping my body in it. I walked to the dimly lit kitchen, opening the freezer. I grabbed the dinner I'd had every day for the past 5 months. Some plain microwaveable chicken, corn, and a chunk of bread and butter. I mean, it filled me up. But only to the point where I'd wake up with a grumbling stomach, and be unable to satisfy myself.

I ripped off the plastic seal on the top. I threw it away and placed the meal in the microwave. I typed in 3 minutes and pressed start. I sat on a high chair near the island and took a deep breath.

Was this all life would ever be?

I mean, what's the point? Life was like driving along a bumpy road and losing control of the steering wheel, tossing you-just a tad-off the road. The wheels kick up some dirt, but you're able to pull it back. Yet no matter how hard you try to drive straight, something keeps jerking you to the side. You have so little control over anything anymore. And at some point, the struggle becomes too much-too tiring-and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy to happen. I mean, how much times can you drive yourself off the road before you just stop the car and get out?

And my mind wandered... it wandered and wandered. Going through tunnels and dark paths. Anything that would take me away from my reality. This time, for the first time, I saw the possibilities in giving up. I even found hope in it. And one word came barreling through my mind;

Suicide.

I sat up with a start, my heart hammering and my brain echoing that word. I couldn't breath. Why couldn't I breath?

I grabbed my chest, tears running down my face like rain. I was shaking so hard, I could hardly keep my arm steady. I cried out in pain, but not the physical kind. I gulped in air, but none seemed to fill my lungs.

I felt like my insides were on fire. I sat back in my bed, shaking and grabbing my sides. I need to breath. I need air. I felt like I was getting smothered. I was dizzy and confused.

Just as the pain come, it began to disappear. My breathing became normal and my heart stopped hammering. The shaking didn't stop, though. That was the worst panic attack I've ever had. Why now? After everything's been so good.

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I felt like I was out of my own body. I was numb and just... sad. I couldn't put my finger on it. I was always like this on Christmas. I hated the holiday. I mean, it's so stupid. Greedy children getting presents for not being annoying all year? No thank you.