Consumed » Kai Parker | Rewritten

Ten

Kai returned to the boarding house twelve hours after our failed escape, disheveled and a little wild-eyed.

However he'd chosen to work through his eruptive anger, I was glad I hadn't been privy to it.

A part of me almost believed that he'd left, really left, and was piloting yet another aircraft to a place where he could refresh the prison world monotony. The possibility of his permanent absence should have been a silver lining amidst today's setback. But when I heard the front door creak open and thick-soled boots thud across the hardwood floors, I'd let out a trembling sigh of stupid, stupid relief. And I hoped the mortifying fear of loneliness wasn't emboldened in my expression, when we exchanged a long, silent look in the kitchen that evening.

An entire week unfolded at the Salvatore home, uneventful and unchanging. Whichever way the clocks turned, whichever direction the Virginia sun tilted, it was May 10th and it would continue to be so for the foreseeable future.

I tried maintaining a routine, as if my brain could possibly be tricked into thinking this way of life was normal. I went grocery shopping, halfheartedly tried on outfits in the town's boutiques, purposely parked far from virtually every destination so I could walk and soak in the outside.

I spent a couple nights in my childhood home, dreaming of the days Elena and I would have elaborate slumber parties even though our rooms were right across from each other. It's the sense of occasion that matters, we'd insist to our parents, while dragging our comforters through the hall. If we just share a room all the time, what's the point? To be boring?

The haphazardly structured solace didn't last. I returned to the boarding house with a air of defeat. Kai had been preparing dinner in the kitchen, without his usual humming, and I made a beeline for Stefan's room to collapse under the weight of hopelessness.

I lose track of what day it is in the real world, but I'm certain that the first chills of fall are fast approaching. The Mystic Falls autumn festival must be stringing together preparations–a role that Caroline oversaw dutifully for years. Is she there now, flagging down florists to request more wreaths?

Is this the part when my friends and family mourn, before life carries them back into a new rhythm?

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. I tuck the blanket close to my chin and watch the green trees sway gently through the windows. I'm too tired to pretend it's autumn here, too.

Another week drags, much slower now that the foolish routines have been crushed by reality. My only change of scenery from Stefan's bedroom is the inside of his shower, when I try in vain to let the cold water shake me out of this funk.

I catch fleeting glimpses of Kai when I'm forced to procure food from the kitchen and every time it happens, I feel like a ghost haunting the halls.

He's less empty than he had been that first week, when the wounds of a failed spell were fresh and the bleeding was poorly staunched. The first time he tried to start up a conversation when I'd been assembling an inefficient snack bowl, I noticed that there was light in his eyes again. Merely a spark, perhaps, but preferable to the void.

"Is that...your dinner?"

I just looked at him silently, but held my bowl of hastily cut fruits and bitter granola a little more protectively.

Kai supported his weight against the fridge and folded his arms over his hoodie, blocking the most convenient exit back to my room.