Going, Going, Gone (An Elijah Mikaelson Love Story)

Chapter 2: Merlot

No cops ever came, beer hands is probably crying to his friends, realizing he'll never get to use the condoms nor spend any of his money.

Cami is mad I came in here as an escape goat, giving me an hour-long lecture while buzzing around and refilling drinks. So help me God, Grace. You could have gotten caught and locked up, then who would I have? She had lectured when I finished telling her I had an issue with today's pocketing.

I sat there and let her do this until she felt better, knowing she at least tried to get it into my head that my actions do indeed have consequences. Never thinking of telling her the fully story of how I did get caught, because I know she'll get over it soon enough. She loves me too much to hold a grudge.

It's been two hours since I stumbled through the doors and made my way up to the bar to calm my nerves.  I glance around, looking for anyone trying to point me out of the crowded bar, pointing at me like beer hands did and screeching for an officer to come quick. Nothing. Not a single person glancing my way.

Despite the calming of my nerves thanks to the clear tequila, the feeling of the man's hands on my wrist and the calmness of his voice remains, almost as if he's still right here. My heart skips a beat as I recall his words to me and how close I was to being caught. I got lucky.

After more shots of the house tequila, I notice I'm no longer feeling the warm buzz I had at the beginning, but more of a sway of my body and a numbness in my mouth. I fish my hands into my bag and take out a hefty tip and leave it on the counter for Cami.

'Poor girl deserves way more'. I think as I see her zipping around the bar as the music amps up and more people make their way through the entrance doors. She'll walk out of here tonight with little tips and sore feet for sure; tourist are jerks when it comes to tipping- no reason if they never have to come back here again.

Better get out of here so I'm one less glass for her to clean.

Glancing at my watch, I realize it's way too late to go to Charles' place and it's best to go home. If I do venture out, then I'll just be met with another lecture or another empty threat of how it is a privilege to run with his people and to not forget, or else.

He's a different person when he's mad. I may be his favorite, but that doesn't mean he gives me any special treatment.

Screw it, I'll deal with it tomorrow. Today has been God awful.

Going home would be nice, maybe I'll be able to finally finish knitting that scarf or maybe I'll just curl up on the couch with another movie and let the couch be my bed for the night. Tomorrow will be better. It will be.

I slide and stumble off the high-top chair. I go to shuffle my bag onto my shoulders when I meet his stare. He sits, slightly leaned on the counter, locking eyes with me as he takes a slow slip of a dark liquid.

The stare goes on for what feels like forever, and only ends with a sharp nod of his head and eyes adverting back to the bar, a small smirk resting on his face once more.

My heart skips five beats. How long has he been sitting there? How could I be so stupid? Have the police been called? How long do I have?

I never get tracked down after getting caught, always getting back into the shadows, lying low until I know it's safe to emerge. Yet now here I am. In a bar. With a guy I just tried to pickpocket mere hours ago. Great.

I advert my eyes and stuff my clammy hands into my jacket's pockets. Trying to not let him see the shaky breath I release; I straighten myself out and stalk towards the entrance, never taking my eyes off it. Twenty more steps. I think to myself, trying to continue my confident facade.