Burn This Out

"So this is it," I say, and my lips are cold. Hayley's biting her lip, pulling the sheet up around her chest, but she looks guilty, not sorry. Tyler won't look at me. His head is in his hands and then up again, down again, up again.

"Caroline…"

"So this is it," I say louder. "Dreams really do come true."

They smell sweaty and vital, animal and alive. I gag on it, actually gag, and have to press my hand over my mouth and breathe through my nose. Tyler gets up, and the sheet falls away, and I want to gag all over again. He's beautiful naked, and I've seen all of him, and now she's seen all of him too. I imagine she's beautiful too – in fact, I know she is. I know from the way her clothes fit, from the way the bedclothes cling to her body. He comes towards me but then takes a step back, afraid of vomit, afraid of tears.

"Caroline, please."

"Please what?" I wipe my mouth, I wipe my stinging eyes. There are panties on the floor, black lace. Of course they're black lace. "Please forgive me for banging the werewolf babe I swore to you was just a friend? Please don't tell Klaus all of this was a lie, except now it isn't? Please don't be mad that I cheated on you when you put your life on the line to keep me safe and help me out? Please what, Tyler? What can you possibly have to ask me to do?"

He takes my hands, curled into claws. "Please don't give up on us over this."

My veins fizz, my teeth bare, and he tenses in response. I might kill him, but he might kill me first.

Hayley's gone, which is maybe why he says, "I don't love her. I love you, Caroline."

"Then why?" I'd much prefer to throw up on him than to cry, which is what is happening. The tears are fat, fast, ugly, dripping down my cheeks and off my chin. "Why, Tyler? After everything we've been through? When you could've had me? I haven't cut you off, I haven't been the one who's never free to talk or spend time together anymore. The worst I've done is been on one date to save your ass!"

"I've been breaking sire bonds, you know I couldn't –"

"I know you couldn't keep it in your pants!" It starts as a shriek, ends as a sob.

Thank God he can't run faster than me.

I make it home, change tack, storm to the Grill because it's better than nowhere and I don't want to get into bed and hug my pillow right now. Bourbon. I need bourbon, because it burns on the way down, and so what if I'm sitting on Alaric Saltzman's stool? Damon's not here to pitch a fit, and no one else cares. My wallet is in my purse, which is in the entryway at Tyler's – shit. Compelling the bartender makes me feel guilty and better at the same time.

There are three empty glasses in a row in front of me before someone dares to intrude.

"Drinking alone, love?"

"Go away."

"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you've seen to that already." He sits down beside me and indicates the dazed bartender. "Been playing rough, have we? You'll be lucky if he can remember his own name."

And there's more guilt, like a stab and a flame. "Shut up."

His voice has an edge to it. "What can I have done to arouse such ire?" There's another bourbon on the bar, but his fingers close over it and drag it away before mine can snatch it up and wash away the bad taste in my mouth. "I thought you enjoyed our date."

"Not everything's about you, Klaus."

"Ah. Tyler." Now he sounds pleased. I gesture for another drink. "A reconciliation was attempted which ultimately failed, and now it's over for good. You're drowning your sorrows while he buries himself in Hayley's low-rent embrace." It arrives, and he lets me have this one. "Am I right?"

"Not at all."

"Caroline." He puts his hands on my knees and turns me to face him, even though I glare and grip the edges of the barstool. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: if he were still sired to me, I never would've let him hurt you."

"You let him bite me," I counter.

"That was before I knew you."

"I was still innocent! I still could've died!"

"And you're still alive because of me. Come on. Let me take you home."

"I don't want to go home."

"Then let me take you somewhere else."

I put my hands on his chest, somewhere in the region of a heart I doubt actually exists. He cocks his head on one side and looks cool and curious, but all that changes when I kiss him. He's a better taste than bourbon, a better taste than the disgust and despair clogging up the back of my throat. My thighs slide over his and I feel him shift into me – here, in the Mystic Grill, a few feet away from a table full of freshmen eating fries with ketchup and mayonnaise and laughing. Their chatter suddenly stops as I loop my arms around his neck, and I bite his bottom lip and draw it into my mouth. Klaus snarls and lifts me to bring me closer, and I lock my ankles behind his back. I can't believe this. We're practically dry humping in the middle of the day, moving our hips on a single rickety stool…and I like it. I like the way he smells, like cologne and old folios, like he's been elbow deep in something historical and nefarious all day. I like the way his chest rubs against mine, harder, smoother. I like the way he kisses, which is skilful, which is intense but which still seems to be coaxing me to take the lead and show him what I want and how I want it done.

"Don't bite," I whisper, in case he forgets.

He groans and pushes his head into the crook of my shoulder. "Caroline Forbes, please let me take you home. I really would rather not start anything here that any and everyone can see me finish."

"Fine." I hop down and sigh, like it's some great sacrifice. "Take me home with you."

My blouse comes off in a room that's not his room, too many cushions, not enough art – although there is an iron maiden, so maybe…oh God, he's everywhere. Is that an Original thing or a Klaus thing, I wonder. He's on his back then I'm on my back then he's on his back again. My foot just went through a section of wall. His shirt is in ribbons, I don't think he even tried to take it off before I shredded it with my nails. The muscles in his shoulders are firm and all of him feels firm against me, me on my back then him on his back then me on my back again…he stops, one finger hooked beneath the part of my bra where the cups join together, and I'm panting into silence.

"Caroline," he says, quietly. "Why are you in bed with me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why?" There's that edge to his voice again, even though the tone is perfectly civil. "How do you feel about me? Tell me."

"I…" I don't know how I feel. I might be drunk. I can't be drunk. I might like you. I can't like you.

"Right." I can't even begin an excuse because he's propelled me off the bed, which has mocha coloured sheets and an embroidered comforter, and stood me upright, jaw set, looking like he doesn't want to look at me and then he's not, inspecting the debris of scattered clothes and the destruction of what up until a few minutes ago was a neatly made up, elegantly furnished guest bedroom. "In that case, I think it's time you left."

"What?"

"Need I be more succinct?" Where he's got a new shirt from, I have no idea, but the buttons will fly in every direction if he's not more careful. "I don't want Tyler Lockwood's sloppy seconds, Caroline, I want you, Caroline, who comes to me of her own accord because she wants to spend time with me and who sees me as more than a momentary distraction from her misery." He catches me to him and I gasp, but it's only to force my arms through the sleeves of my blouse, to spin me around and tug it straight so fast the room blurs. "You're a fool to treat your body like currency, to use it to get what you want while you want it and then regret your impulse purchases later on."

I don't believe it. He's using a shopping analogy.

"Klaus –"

"Out."

Thunder and lightning might as well crash over our heads.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. Now get out."

I have to go back to the Grill, fix things, make those freshmen forget they ever saw what they saw. For now, I sit on the porch steps and stare blankly into the distance.

I have to forget I ever felt what I felt.

So now there's Tyler and Klaus, both sitting heavy on my conscience. I do what needs to be done, and then I go home and get into bed and hug my pillow.

I love you, Caroline.

I want you, Caroline.

Bourbon. I need bourbon.

Fin.

I realised as I finished this how similar it is to a scene in season two of Gossip Girl, but I can't claim that as my inspiration - this drama is all mea culpa. Apologies for the Tyler character assassination, I have nothing against him save the fact he's Klaus-blocking my ship.