The Art Of Hiding Your Death

Chapter Sixteen: A Tiny Spot Of White In A Sea Of Black

Disclaimer: This is an Originals fan fiction and I do not own any the Originals/ TVD. This story though, and specific characters are my own. Any characters that are my own shall be specified, otherwise, I do not own them. 

5:01 AM

Bleu House Paris

My eyes flutter open slowly from the nightmare that I do not even react to anymore. Checking my watch, it is only five AM, and I breathe out slowly before unwinding the blankets that have tightly cocooned me from my thrashing in my sleep. The sky is dark and grey, and it looks like it will rain, and I make a note in my head to plan accordingly.

I gave up the fight of lying in my bed and thinking of dark and depressing thoughts long ago, and slowly rolling back over and rubbing my eyes, I am transported back to the first few days when I was brought to Paris.

TWO MONTHS AGO

Bleu House, Paris

Mikael left me alone for what I gauge is a day and a half after I left, and I did not move an inch, lying in that bed and sleeping, or crying. I could feel the need for blood growing stronger, and I refused to relent to it, enjoying the feeling of something other than grief. But a day and a half later, my door banged open and he stormed over, pulling a nurse with him. I still did not move, and it appeared as if I were paralyzed (which I was coming close to, at this point). He held a bag of blood over my face and opened the cap slightly to let me smell it.

"I'm giving you one last chance to do this on your own." He said firmly, and though I could feel my fangs shoot out and my eyes darken at the scent, I did not move, only fixed my hybrid eyes with his, staring blankly up. The nurse gasped slightly at the changing of my face, but did not react further, obviously compelled.

Mikael sighed. "Fine then, if you want to do it the hard way then you've made your choice. Do it." I hear unwrapping and then rolling, and the strong smell of antiseptic hits my nose. I still do not move. A second later, the nurse is bending over me, and I feel a prick in my arm. Then, she wheels an IV hanging rack over to beside the bed and hangs a blood bag on it. I suddenly feel energized, full and I can tell that Mikael has hooked me up to a blood bag, so that I won't starve.

How considerate of him.

He stares at me. "I get how you're feeling." Like hell you do. "But this cannot continue for much longer. You won't starve like this, but you aren't up by the end of this week, I am coming back in here."

Present Time

Bleu House, Paris

Scoffing slightly at the memory, I slowly sit up and then get out of bed, walking shakily to my bathroom, where I take a shower, and then comb my wet hair in a tight topknot, foregoing anything else.

Five minutes later, I am dressed in a black sports bra, black leggings, and black tennis shoes. I wrap my hands in tape as I stride through the halls to the training room. When I have reached it, I immediately head over to the big blue punching bag and begin to throw endless punches and kicks at it. All of my pain comes to the surface like it always does when I do this and I only use it as fuel. I'm not trying to get stronger or improve my training, only make myself exhausted. After some time, I move to knife throwing a few feet away, and start throwing knives at the target, hitting the mark every time.

When I hear the door open and click closed behind me, I don't think, I whirl around and throw a knife straight at whoever is standing there. Mikael catches the knife a split second before it impales his forehead with deadly strength and pulls it away, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. I stand there breathing hard and shuddering and it is now that I realize I am shaking so hard because I am sobbing silent tears. I quickly stamp them down and wipe away the tears that are falling fast and hard down my face and lean against the table behind me that displays the array of knives.