𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 ⟪♥︎⟫ Elijah Mikaelson

XIII

Awhile back in America
Season 2: Gonna set your flag on fire

Elijah had been stuck with Cami in the house, because for some reason, Niklaus thought he was the one in need of a therapist. It warmed his heart to know that his brother did actually care more than he let on, but it annoyed him greatly that he was currently a grown man in need of a baby sitter according to his younger brother.

It was of course unfair to Cami to let is annoyance with Niklaus bother the mood in the house, but he couldn't quite help the frustration that came with this new situation.

'Here's a question: "What's the name of Don Quixote's horse?"' Cami asked, after having found the alcohol in the house and a couple of boardgames.

'This is absurd,' Elijah argued calmly.

'Fine,' Cami sighed as she put the card away, 'Dumb idea. I heard you told Rebekah and Hayley that you lived in Paris for awhile. How was life without your family and all the drama that comes with?'

He stared at her and answered, 'Rocinante. The horse's name is Rocinante.'

Cami smiled as Elijah reached for the alcohol and soon trivia question after trivia question followed. Along with lots of alcohol.

'What three European countries begin with the letter A?' Cami asked, her hands clamped around the cards, quite buzzed from all the drinking and finding a lot of trouble in reading the questions.

'Albania, Austria, Andorra,' Elijah answered flawlessly.

A groan escaped Cami's lips as she threw the card away, 'Who was the only U.S president to earn a PhD?'

'The tedious Woodrow Wilson,' he answered again, reaching froward to pour himself another drink.

'Who rode Secretariat to the Triple Crown in 1973?'

'Ron Turcotte.'

'No!' Cami yelled in exasperation, 'I refuse to believe that you just happen to know that!' And in her very buzzed state, she waved with her arms pouring the alcohol over Elijah's arm, 'I'm sor- I'm sorry Elijah.' And she reached for a handkerchief, 'Here.'

But while Cami went on to the next question, Elijah's gaze remained fixed on his sleeve. As if in a trance, he was obsessively dabbing the handkerchief against his sleeve. Leah's face flashing through his mind as he starting rubbing harder and harder to get his shirt clean. He saw her running, a white dress, covered in blood. Sometimes she begged for her life, plastered against the red door of the slaughterhouse.

It was torture, to watch her in pain, afraid. It was more than just the fear of hurting her, it was also the knowledge that he already had. He'd left, with only a letter as an explanation, promising that he'd be back soon.

More than a year had passed by and he hadn't called, written or seen her. He tried to tell himself that it was because he needed to help his family, to focus on the problems and enemies they faced. But deep down he knew that if he saw her face, he'd never be able to leave her again.