Why haven't you killed me yet? (Kol Mikaelson)

Chapter 11

All I could do was sit there. Sit there and wait for a reaction. Banging my heels against the counter, that I'm still sat on, creating a rhythm while Kol still stood between my legs staring at me. Digesting my confession. Would he be as accepting of my past as Klaus was? There was a pit in my stomach, a knotting feeling of doubt. Whether I should have told Klaus, Cami and now Kol. I mean none know the specifics but I've only been in this New Orleans a little while and I've told more people in this time than have told about him my whole life. And that scares me. I'm trusting. I'm actually trusting. Not once since my mum has died have I trusted someone outside of my grandmother. And they are supernatural.

With one wrong move, or I could say the wrong thing they could kill me in a blink of an eye and no-one would ever know. My Grandmother would be left alone, with no other family in the world. Klaus has his reputation, jeez this man (if you can call  him a man) was his own legend... A mythical creature to some traditional folk. He's the protagonist to every gothic horror story that you are told as a child. He is the shadow in your mind. And if it wasn't for Klaus, Kol would have the exact same reputation... Actually he already does and he's been daggered for decades, centuries. How am I so naive to trust these... These... Nightmares?

However, if you sit here where I am sat, staring into these eyes of Kol Mikaelson. You wouldn't be scared. You could hardly believe that he could harm a fly, never-mind murder villages of innocent people and children. The honey brown with golden drops in his eyes, warms you. Sends shiver down your spine. How even though you know better, and your mind is telling you to flee. You're stuck. Stuck staring into these eyes that have seen more than any one living thing should see. But here he is. Staring into my eyes, with what I can detect as sympathy. Compassion. Who could have thought that his guy that stood before me had a past that even I couldn't comprehend.

"I know one or two things about fathers you know, maybe not in the loving and caring context but the fear... The hatred... The blame. I get." He finally spoke. Relief was a factor that crossed my brain, but his past consumed me. Before the terror of the supernatural, before the betrayal of all the siblings, before the death that they consumed. The life they lived. Did their family have love to begin with? Did Kol ever have a family? Does he remember how humans lived? How he lived? Or had all he felt was pain?

Gently, I lifted one of my hands from my lap, placing it on top of his hands that he leaned on either side next to my hip on the counter. Softly, I stroked my thumb across his hands, it bumping due to his veins. Cautiously, I traced my finger tips along his left arm with my right hand. Creeping slowly up his hand, to his forearm, glancing into his eyes while they travelled from my own eyes to my moving hand. As I reached near his elbow, slowly I lifted my hand. Gradually, I made my way to hovering above his cheek, which inch by inch I dropped until my hand was just touching his handsomely captivating face. He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing shut as he took a deep calming breath almost smelling my skin.

I watched his facial expression, examining the way he was relaxing that my touch. Peaceful, almost. Contentment consumed me. Wishing that he felt the same bliss as I did. That when he was in my presence he felt like this is what was missing. He was missing. That without him in my life would be painful. That in this short amount of time I've grown attached to the dangerous original. And I hoped that if I left, he would feel the same. That the thought of me not being in his life scared him, not because of the moments that we'd had together but the future that we wouldn't.

"Is it painful?" I asked, whilst his eyes opened with reply, a deep frown of confusion crawling onto his enchanting features. "What do you mean?" His charming old English accent ringing through his words, whilst I try to gather my thoughts, and decide whether I want an answer. "This..." I say as I move my hand from his cheek into his silky hair near his ear. "Does it physically hurt you being so near to me, me touching you. Close enough to for you to smell me. Does it hurt you not hurting me?" I question. Both answers ran through my mind, which would I prefer? The easy one that would clearly be a lie or the heart wrenching one, the truthful one. That whilst I was drawn into him, and reeling in his presence. Was I a constant drain to him?