Ravenna

Chapter 11

    Sometimes you can't outrun your demon so you might as well turn around and give them hell...

        I snarl once more trying my best not to focus on the fact that ever since I got to know him, all Niklaus Larson had ever done was step on my toes and while I've been doing a pretty good job at keeping my lid on. I think I just might lose. It. All. Tonight.

         "What do you mean by you don't do 'Just friends'?" He asks, placing my helmet underneath his arms.

       I try my best to control my ragged breathing, taking in slow deep breaths. "Klaus, give me back my helmet right now."

         He mockingly places his finger to his chin and taps. "No." He harshly replies.

         "Give me back or I'll take you right here. Right now. In this parking lot." I threaten.

       His brows seem to raise at that and an intense look of interest flashes across his face. "You think you can take me?"

          "I know I can take you." I snap.

      He brings my helmet to his hands once again and slowly let it drop to the ground with a loud thud. That only fuels my anger even more. I find myself launching towards him within seconds and he lands back flat with me over him throwing hard blows.

            The advantage I tend to get around boys most of the time is the fact that some of them are absolute gentlemen and would never actually raise their hand to a girl. Wonderful, isn't it? Gives me enough bloody time to lift them up, give them some good ol'kick in their balls and leave the fight with just a bloody nose, due to the fact that they tried to head nod me once, just to escape.

           That's what happened with Klaus.

         "Stay the hell away from me!" I manage to spit out grabbing a fistful of his jacket just like Isabelle had previously done.

          "This relationship is getting nowhere this way." He splutters and then falls to the ground. Probably laying unconscious. I curse every bit of my body at that moment for having a guilty conscience for the first time in forever as I lift Klaus and find a way to get him home with me.

        Maybe I was hurtful at times but I wasn't the devil himself.

                                       ×××

       I trip on my leg when I walk into the house, Klaus' arm around my shoulder and I, myself slightly hurt and limping underneath his weight. I repeatedly let out choking coughs as I approach the staircase and it doesn't occur to me that I'm probably drawing attention to myself until Jenna shows up at the top step with folded arms.

          "What have you done now?" She inquires, shaking her head.

        "Damn Jenna, I appear home with a guy whose support is plainly based on me and still in that moment, I've got my own injuries but of course, Raven's the one who did something!" I scream out my frustration at her even when she's absolutely correct.

      She shrugs and gestures towards my room door. "Let's get him upstairs."

            "Upstairs, really?" I feign mock surprise. "I was thinking these steps led to the front porch where I could dump his fucking body!"

          "Is he dead?!"

       "Of course not." I exhale once again and begin taking the steps once at a time.

            "I wonder how your father survives." She sighs pressing a hand against her forehead.

            I take a hot shower, making sure to wash off every drop of my blood on my skin. Be it Klaus' or mine. I needed it off.

           I had beat up other people before. Boys. Girls. Asses. Bitches. But none felt as bad as this. They all felt very...good. as sadistic as that might sound. Knowing I could defend myself usually made me feel good...not bad. Not guilty. Not like this.

       I brush my now wet dark hair with my fingers as I stare down at myself in the mirror trying to control myself and get rid of any alarming thought in my head. I angrily punch at the glass when nothing seems to change and make quick movements to get in shorts and an oversized black t-shirt.

           "I was wrong," Klaus forcefully chuckles when I make my way back into my room. He was now laid on my bed, Jenna had helped clean his wounds and had left him shirtless on my bed for some reason. He had nothing but his sweatpants. I couldn't actually stop myself from stealing glances of his properly toned abs. I wouldn't mind getting my hands on those. "You could take me."

          "I warned you." I say, grabbing one of the novels from my little bookshelf.

         I place myself on to my window nook, raising my knee high when I lay down. I flip to where I assume I stopped reading the book in hand.

           "That's it?" He interrupts me, attempting to get off the bed. "You're just going to pretend like I'm not in your screwing house, your fucking room and just read?"

          "I won't particularly suggest getting up." I shift my gaze to his, a tempting smirk coming on.

           "Fuck that!" He seethes getting up. "I don't get you!"

         "I've heard that more times than I need to." I tell him, eyes scanning through the page I'm on.

          "Okay but are you actually listening?! Don't you get this? Do you actually think I'd be spending my time out on a Saturday night in a girl's room just because she knocked me out?"

          I exhale, flipping to the next page. "I don't think she'd actually be able to knock you out."

            "I'm glad you realize," he says like his masculinity was on the line. I smile to myself at how embarrassing it must be for him to actually think I was tougher than he was. If he had just hit me, once. I'm pretty sure he would have won that fight.

        "How do you feel?" I ask, guiltily eager to let him go home.

        "Bad! Physically and emotionally!" He yells his reply and I scrunch up my face in irritation.

      I finally turn to look at him and realize he's actually closer than I had thought. A tattoo on the side of his torso catches my attention and I grin, sharing no shame as I bring my hand to his chest. He seems to be taken aback but I'm too focused on the feather of flocking birds which had been imprinted onto his chest with black ink. Not only was it such a Joseph Morgan fan thing to do but also a common item to share with me.

        "I like your tattoo." I let the compliment roll off my tongue, my hand not leaving the side of his torso.

          "I like you." He swiftly says and I raise my eyes to meet his.

         "I figured." I bit my bottom lip and then, in a swift movement, turn back to my window like we weren't just having some sort of weird moment.