Resurrection

Hold my liquor

Contrary to how Klaus has so delightedly described Bonnie to Elijah downstairs; she is not a blank slate.

Amid the dense fog of her consciousness are absolutes.

They beam through the haze like the bright white light from a watchtower to shine sporadically on what she knows. Like how she needs air to breathe, that it is gravity keeping her feet on the ground, that if she adds the numbers 2 + 2 it equals 4, and if she wants the color green, then she has to mix the colors blue and yellow.

There is also the knowledge of the different utilities of water.

Because when Marissa had closed the bathroom door behind herself, leaving Bonnie in the stark white room with a tub filled with steaming water, she didn't stand their idly looking at the claw-foot bathtub wondering what the hell to do next. She instinctively had taken off Klaus's shirt, and inched her body in- feet, calves, thighs- until she was immersed into the liquid. She took the nubby hand towel folded beside the tub with the fancy soap, carved as a flower, and had whisked it over her curves and soaped her hair, washing away the dirt and grime involved with coming back from the dead.

And though she can't remember Klaus is a depraved serial killer; she does have memories, and it's interesting; what bubbles up to the surface of her mind.

While she bathed, she whispered words to a rhyme. Pulling her knees to her chest, she had cupped the water and rinsed her hair, singing mentally, 'Miss Mary Mac, Mac, Mac; all dressed in black, black, black; with silver buttons, buttons, buttons; all down her back, back, back.'

Her memories are a scatter of images and sounds. They are independent of each other with no context, like an abstract painting, just red triangles and black squares on a canvas for her to decipher their meaning.

"Thank you," she says to Marissa, who acknowledges her by dutifully adjusting the terry-cloth robe on Bonnie.

Bonnie concentrates on the pale hands tying the robe's belt at her waist and she visions another pair of hands, these are smooth and brown, and they are covering hers, but hers are small and fumbling as she tries to tie the laces of a pair of tennis shoes, and there is a deep voice saying, 'You got it, baby girl.'

"Would you like the balcony doors open this evening, Madame?" Marissa asks, and before Bonnie can think if she does or not, there is a knock, and from behind the closed door Elijah asking if he may speak with her.

She nods to Marissa, and the maid hurries to open the door and asks Elijah if she may retire for the evening.

Elijah breams his straight white smile over to Bonnie, who stands by the open balcony doors, with her arms wrapped around herself defensively. And like with Klaus in the car, her skin crawls inexplicably at his smile, and the more he beams, the more she wonders what he wants from her.

"Would you like a bit of supper before bed, Bonnie? Or maybe tea? He asks, and when she does not respond, but only eyes him warily, he turns to a puzzled Marissa and says, "Bonnie will have her breakfast served in her suite by 8 am. At present she does not have any suitable clothing. We will need to make do with anything you may have that she can wear for tomorrow. I will take her shopping for a wardrobe after breakfast so you will not be inconvenienced in such a way again."

Marissa curtsies goodnight. And after she leaves, Elijah lingers, ever the gentleman, he will not move closer to Bonnie unless he is welcome.