Tears of Gold | Klaus Mikaelson (3)

I Don't Care

Exhaustion. I was exhausted. All my bones hurt and I felt like I was going to be sick. The moment the drug that kept me human ran out, I'd experienced the must vigorous of torments. Like nothing I'd ever felt before. For what felt like a day, I'd cried out, alone, in the dark among broken glass. My cuts weren't healing, signifying that I needed blood, and desperately at that. I'd noticed my finger tips becoming discolored, and my body ached for release; some type of blood. But among my haze of pain and fury last night, I'd thrown everything. Including my blood bags.

No, seriously, everything. Even my fucking microwave was broken. How does that even happen? Every single dish, bowl, and vase was completely smashed to bits. It was a good release last night, but when I finally found myself able to move, I'd realized I was literally living in shit. Everything I'd established at my home was completely broken. And it only made my heart sink further than it already had last night. I realize in a mix of shock and tiredness that I was struggling to find a viable reason to get up.

And so I did what I always did when I felt like this. I looked for something inside me that made me want to get up; made me feel like I was worth something. And just like that, a name flashed through my mind, accompanied by a face. Klaus.

I sat up slowly, groaning in pain as the glass dug harder and harder into my hands. I need blood. I stood up, luckily I still had boots on my feet. My knees almost gave put, and they would have, had I not been able to be grip the desk island. I brought my hand up to my mouth to stifle the cry I almost let out, as I'd forced my hand into even more glass.

The door was only a few feet away. I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as I closed my eyes. You're gonna be okay, Emma. I opened my eyes and bounded towards the door one step at a time, my strength hardly restored, but my will at least a little bit higher than it had been before.

I realized, in a bit shock, it was dark. I was overreacting when I said it had been a day. Had it really been twenty four hours of my simply writhing in pain. No wonder I was exhausted...

And the moment I walked outside and locked eyes with the nearest person, I lost it. I lost control and knew there was no way I would be getting it back until I got what I needed. I'm not sure what his name was. I knew he was in his early forties. But that didn't matter when I dug my teeth into his neck and drank like there was so tomorrow. My hunger was only slightly satisfied when his body fell to the ground. I was ravenous. My hands were shaking, and only a few of the cuts had healed.

The next four were in a group together. Some were old, some in their twenties. They were both men and women. But that didn't matter. I was starving. And when they finally fell to the ground, the pain in my hands faded. I wiped my hand across my mouth, finding a bit of blood running down my chin. I left the bodies like that, in an alleyway. Drained of blood, and very dead.

My pain had faded, leaving only the earth-shaking truth that I'd spent so long looking for a woman who was dead.

I walked around for a little while, a bit numbly. My knee still had glass in it, so I limped quite a bit. I got weird looks from everyone I passed. Probably due to the the fact there was blood leaking down my forehead, hands, and arms. Not from the people I'd killed, but from the many cuts on my body.

I found my way, eventually, to the compound. I'm not sure why I was there. I knew neither myself nor anyone else could numb the pain I was feeling inside. But I was here. Because, in reality, it's the only safe-haven I had. Home to the only people left in the world who actually gave a damn about me. It did sound quite depressing, didn't it?

I stumbled inside, sighing in relaxation as warmth engulfed me. And the familiar smell of bourbon and cologne. Usually I'd be disgusted by the smell, but right now it felt warm.