𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 ⟪♥︎⟫ Elijah Mikaelson

XXII

'So where were you going exactly?' Jacques asked as he stuffed his mouth with popcorn, leaning back in the red sofa of Leah's room.

'I'm going for a drink with Marcel,' Leah answered as she tied her shoelaces, 'I met him at the gym, but you don't have anything to worry about, we're hardly friends.'

Jacques shrugged out of disinterest, his eyes focused on the window and Leah found a heavy question filling her thoughts as she noticed the Christmas gift he'd gotten from Elijah. 'Do you... would you like it better if I forgave him?'

His head snapped towards her, a frown on his face, 'No, not really.'

And Leah couldn't help the confusion that dawned over her, 'But- you've forgiven him, wouldn't you want me to do the same?'

There was a sudden shyness that came about the boy, like there was a secret he didn't really want to tell. She'd seemed to have seen that correctly when he answered softly, 'I needed to, when you weren't there... he was all I had. I mean Nat and Dani are nice but...'

They weren't family. Leah nodded, he hadn't needed Elijah, he'd needed family. And apart from her, Elijah was the only family he had, even if he'd hurt him so deeply.

'Elijah is the closest thing to a dad I've ever had and I missed it. But if you forgive him, it'd be like he never left. Like he didn't abandon us as if we were nothing and I can't- it's selfish- but...'

Leah closed her eyes and everything her boy said clicked, if she forgave Elijah, it would be like she denied the pain he'd caused her and Jacques. The only comfort Jacques had, was that she was still pissed and that she would remind Elijah of the things he'd done. If she did indeed forgive him, Jacques would want to remind him of his mistakes. Jacques would be the one to be pissed, the one to not forgive and in doing so he'd lose the closest thing to a father he'd ever had.

It was a destructive and twisted logic that they both understood perfectly, one that they knew damn well wouldn't change them for the better. But sometimes it was easier to hate than to love. Love one can lose by circumstance, hatred only by choice.

***

Odile Renaud sat in the leather leather chair of her new house. A cup of tea placed on top of the grimoire that laid on the side table. She stared at the window, watching the people of New Orleans go about their evening, most walked a bit funny, the alcohol she presumed.

The music drummed in her ears, after all music was a celebration and humans couldn't stop celebrating. Somehow, the music, the alcohol made them feel immortal, or perhaps it made them forget that immortality would never be within their grasp.

She almost pitied them, their self-destructive longings, especially now that she was so close to her own. When she closed her eyes she could taste her victoy, though it wasn't as sweet as she'd hoped it'd be. No, getting to the doppelgänger would only be the beginning.