ѕσ ƙơƖɖ|| Kol Mikaelson

Chapter XIII

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They were talking about bringing Rebekah back, about taking the dagger out of her chest.

Klaus and Ric had both woken up at the same time about ten minutes ago and they had immediately started to yell each other, of course, Elijah had put himself between the two to stop them from attacking each other physically, but the insults were flying in the air nonetheless.

Kol was still off somewhere in the mansion and Alaric kept pushing Klaus with death threats, but it turned out that Elijah had checked him -whatever that meant- while he was 'dead' and apparently he hadn't been stupid enough to bring the white oak stake with him.

Caroline had left about five minutes into the fight and I could tell she wasn't feeling well. I would have liked to come with her outside but she'd assured me she was fine, even though I could clearly tell she wasn't.
I didn't think she wanted to talk to me now anyway.
I didn't even know why I cared... Caroline and I weren't even... that close.
Before we got into this mess I didn't think I've ever considered her as a friend.
My list of friends had already been short.
There was Bonnie, Bonnie and... Rebekah.

Before Rebekah, it had always been Bonnie and me, and her friends of course.

And of course my cousin didn't understand why I wanted to be friends with an original, an enemy while I had other friends, well joke was on her, they weren't my friends.

When Rebekah Mikaelson had first come to crash our prank night at Mystic High, I had been the first one to be annoyed because pranks were literally the only thing I was good at, that and I was in the middle of putting red solo cups filled with cold water in the gymnasium when she had bust in with her dear brother.

At first, we hadn't talked much if not at all and just like everyone I despised her. She was mean, blond, rude and super annoying... wait who was I describing here? Anyhow, we didn't speak to each other until the day Esther had tried to kill her and the rest of her children. Like, I wasn't one for emotions but a mother wasn't supposed to kill her brats... or was she?

Well I wasn't a specialist in the whole motherly thing.

Gran's had done her best to give both Bonnie and I a mother figure but it had never worked out completely.

At least, Bonnie knew her mom, I didn't know mine. I had seen one picture -the one gran's used to keep in her bible- on which my mom was wearing a blue spring dress, her curly blonde hair flying in the wind and blending perfectly in the beach background. She was smiling at the camera and photographer who, when I was a child, I liked to imagine as my father.