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

Chapter 5: Sunrise

I pry my body away from the sweat covered sheets, grimacing at the pool of vomit on them.

God, if only he could see me now.

My body stumbles and shutters its way into the bathroom, collapsing onto the floor near the toilet. I groan softly and wrap frail arms around myself, jerking violently when I feel another roaring wave of nausea forming, bile moving up my throat and into the bowl. My body shutters and my head aches from the nightmare and the drinks from the night before.

With one last heave and a flushing of the toilet, I glance back into the bedroom- the light from my alarm clock illuminating it to be six in the morning. No point in going back to sleep, defiantly not in that bed.

I groan and push my body off the cool bathroom floor, gathering myself up and walk back into my room. I begin by gathering the soiled sheets in my hands, careful not to spill any of my contents back out. I wad the contents into a ball and throw them into my tub, landing with a sickening sound. I gather up an array of clothes scattered around my room, pulling them to my chest before fishing the sheets back into my arms. I grab my keys and head for the laundromat located in the basement of the apartment.

As I walk, I realize how utterly fucked I look in the reflection of the glass door leading to the washing room. My hair has morphed into a rat's nest due to the likely tossing and turning of the nightmare, makeup from the night prior smeared down my face with the bright redness of tear tracks, and my clothes on me looks like a drunk preschooler picked them out.

Never better, Grace. Looking like a real 10/10.

I flunk the sheets into the washer, press start and make my way back up to my apartment. I pass through the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and an apple before walking back into my room. My nose scrunches at the smell of vomit, booze, and sweat and I open a window, shocked to hear jazz fill the air. Classic New Orleans.

I chug back the water and search for my phone, finding it in a mess of last night's clothes. The screen illuminates and my stomach drops reading Charles' text message. We need to talk, don't make me come and find you.

Good morning to you too, sweets. I think bitterly, replying with an on my way text. After finding a decent pair of clean and suitable jeans and hoodie to wear, I head out, locking up the apartment and making my way to the streets.

As I walk, I can't help but really like the city I've found for myself. The jazz that sounded so annoying earlier now makes the walk peaceful and enjoyable. Although I see a soft glow of sunlight in the distance, the streets remain dark and I only see an occasional shop owner pass by, on their way to begin their day like I am.

A group of boys come skipping out of an alley and my body tenses but soon I relax as they begin to pass by. A tall man with darker skin and a hoodie smirks my way, nodding his head and leading the men away, eyes lingering on me in the process. I glare his way as he turns his back to me, fucking creep.

I grumble to myself as Charles' head apartment grows only a block away. My feet grow slower and I prep myself for the lecture I'm about to receive and the pissed off attitude I'll get for a week all because of one missed night. I arrive and press my finger to the buzzer, waiting for the soft click of the door to the apartment building. It really should just be an office by now, with all the men that come, sleep, eat and party here.

I make my way up the stairs to Charles' small studio, not even bothering to knock as I hear his Marvin Gaye CD blast through the unit. I open the door and peer at him sitting at the counter of the breakfast bar, sipping on black coffee and eating plain oatmeal.