imprisoned in you | k.p • b.b

XX

Kai's palms were sweatier than they'd been in years.

Kai knew he was a good cook, and if his ego wasn't so biased towards his more lethal abilities, he might be able to convince others of it too. Usually though, people assume knife skills of one variety do not apply to the other, so he simply has to demonstrate. Tonight was one of those nights.

When he was trapped, cooking was one of those things that helped take up hours of his time. At first, it was exhilarating... as exhilarating as cooking can be to a serial killer witch, at least. Kai learned every recipe that existed back in 1997, and after that, began experimenting with his own food ideas.

The worst part of the prison world, though, was that after a while, food lost the usual spark it has when you're in the real world. It lost even its taste. Kai could remember the few times he'd had his mothers cooking when he was younger, and after a few stunningly crafted creations, it become clear he couldn't replicate something like that on his own.

Food, like most others things, was only good when you could share it with someone. This sentiment is what made Kai so excited to cook for Bonnie. And for himself, too.

Those pancakes this morning were good, but Kai wanted to make something even better. And working with the limited pallet of the Salvatore home would get boring soon, but for today it was fun. A new opportunity, or puzzle that he had to solve. And he was just starving, so tasting a little here and there was also a guilty pleasure.

Every growl in his stomach reminded him that Bonnie was also waiting, so whatever he made, it had to taste great. Speaking of Bonnie, he'd heard the water shut off about a half hour ago. Was she coming down soon?

He was almost done, but she didn't know that.

Kai picked up a kettle, looking at his reflection and sighing. God, he looked like a maniac. Maybe he'd be able to fix this mess he calls his hair before she came down... maybe if he left the sauces simmering... Wait, are those footsteps he's hearing?

-

Bonnie had underestimated how badly she needed to shower. After finding the only suitable pair of bottoms she could find, a pair of mid-thigh shorts that fit perfectly on her (but would have been so loose it required suspenders on a young Stefan) she ran a hot bath and scrubbed at... well, everything.

For once in her life she was extremely grateful for the wealth of the Salvatores. According to her Mystic High history lessons, most homes in the early 1900s didn't heat up their water with steam. This house certainly did, judging by the near scalding temperature of the water when she dipped her foot in. She took her time, and after scrubbing at everything inch of skin, the water had cooled to lukewarm before she even considered truly climbing out.

She stepped out, methodically patting herself down section by section. Starting with her palms, forearms, shoulders, moving up to her neck and face and then moving down for the rest of her body. With a glimpse in the mirror, she caught sight of the scars she'd slowly began to collect since high school.

After near constant confrontations with death, Bonnie had eventually accepted the constant reminders of her friend's adventures. If you could call them that. Usually, for Bonnie, it was more like battles. The life and death variety.

She had to learn to respect that she would never be the girl on the cheerleading team, ever again. Not just because she was a witch with magic, but because of these glimpses in the mirror. She had more scars than an army vet, and unlike Elena and Caroline, she didn't have the vampire blood to heal it.