| runaway (n): a person who has run away, especially from family or an institution |
MERCY WAS WIDE-EYED, staring at Hope as if her sister had just grown two heads. Elijah looked toward her, raising his eyebrows, before he walked to her sister, placing a hand on the young girl's shaking shoulder. Hope was bent on her knees, breathing heavily as the gold in her eyes finally receded, giving her sight back. She was clearly shaken, and clearly afraid.
Mercy didn't know what to think. The sudden surge of power from Hope triggering her curse was exhilarating. It was otherworldly, but Mercy knew—deep down—that it wouldn't last. She could already feel the connection to Hope becoming poisoned, seeping with dark magic and an evil that Mercy knew all too well. She could feel the Hollow, clawing and screaming and desperately trying to reach Mercy's power through the connection.
Normally, the werewolf bond would've felt beautiful, but now, it only felt cruel and raw and ferociously ruined. Mercy could hardly look in Hope's direction, needing to take a few steps back as if to distance herself from her twin and the darkness that lurked inside of her. Mercy didn't want to feel this way about her sister, but it wasn't like she could ignore the sick, twisted way that the Hollow latched onto the werewolf bond. She couldn't ignore the consequences of Hope's curse being triggered. She couldn't ignore the deep dread that danced across her lungs, stomping out the air and leaving her breathless.
She couldn't ignore feeling as if she had just signed her sister's death sentence.
"Mercy," Elijah snapped her out of her thoughts, and he was worried. The concern was displayed like a neon sign, and it only reminded her that she was hanging by a thinning thread. "Are you alright?"
Mercy shook her head, unable to speak. Even if she knew every single word in the English language, she still wouldn't be able to find the right ones to encompass how she was feeling. She wouldn't be able to pick out the right adjectives, the correct verbs. She was mute, unable to communicate and unfortunate enough to be aware of it all. It was like her tongue was non-functional, and all she could do was stare at Elijah dumbly.
Her uncle, as a response, shook his head, approaching her. It was as if the first step he took suddenly shot through her body, and she was able to form words once more.
"Take her to the Abattoir," Mercy told him firmly, and she had to admit that her voice sounded numb even to her own ears.
"And leave you here?" He asked, gesturing around the ruined church. Hope had certainly done a number on the place. "Absolutely not. Not when you are in need of help—"
"Elijah, I appreciate everything you've done and continue to do," Mercy told him tightly, eyes shooting to his and narrowing. "But I need you to take Hope home right now. That's how you can help me."
He looked conflicted, his morals and emotions at war with one another behind his eyes. But Mercy knew that her uncle was aware of Hope's curse being broken, and she knew that he would never let any harm come to her after what he'd done to them. So, it wasn't surprising when he eventually nodded, following her command and returning to Hope's side. He softly rubbed her back, helping her to her feet.
"Mercy, I'm sorry—" Hope tried to say, but Mercy was already shaking her head as she walked with them downstairs to where most of the mess was.
"No, don't do that, okay?" Mercy sternly chastised. "You didn't do anything wrong, alright. This... This was all me."
Hope denied her words. "No, it wasn't," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I knew what I was doing. Don't put this on yourself."
Mercy sent her a tight smile, feeling suffocated by her presence even though she wanted nothing more than to hug her. "Just, get home safe. I won't be long, promise."
Hope and Elijah both looked at her skeptically, but before either could argue, Elijah sped off; just like that, both of Mercy's accomplices disappeared into the night. When they were gone, Mercy felt her legs give out, and she collapsed, gasping and clutching at her chest with clawed hands. It felt like she was dying.
Tears prickled at her eyes as her mind became overwhelmed. Despite the pain, she knew in her heart that she was responsible for everything; she had killed Jordyn, forcing her into a life that wasn't suitable to survive in. She convinced Hope to take the Hollow back from their family members, and then encouraged her to follow after the vicious nature that the Hollow loved to feed off of. She inadvertently triggered Hope's curse with her own hand, and the guilt was so powerful that she felt dizzy.
She lay on the ground, surrounded by dead vampires in a church. She couldn't help but realize just how far she'd fallen. She thought that she had suffered—that she understood the agony that life always came with. She thought she knew what to expect, because she thought she had seen it all.
She'd been chased, hunted down, forced to see her only friend—and the only boy that had introduced her to the feeling of love outside of her family—die right in front of her eyes. She'd been a runaway, unworthy of the power that ran through her veins. She'd been lost, afraid, alone. She'd been envied, and followed blindly. She'd been kidnapped and tortured until her true power finally broke free. She'd been through the ringer.
And none of that compared to what she felt now.
The connection to Hope was so clear, reigniting the bond they once shared as children. Mercy had always felt Hope's presence throughout her life, but now, it was crooked, shifted into a frame that was unrecognizable to her. It hurt, like a splinter in her appendix that pulsed with each beat of her heart. What had once been a comfort, was now nothing but a painful realization that Hope truly was cursed now.
Mercy whimpered, her head falling down as she squeezed her eyes shut. Her hand was still pressed tightly against her chest, trying to ignore the pain. However, she couldn't ignore the way the agony lifted slightly, just before she felt a hand brush her short hair away from her face.
She looked up into blue eyes that calmed the inner turmoil in her chest, and she breathed clearly for possibly the first time since she collapsed. Even from behind the light curls hanging over his forehead, she could feel the blue in his irises like the ocean lapping at her skin, cooling the heat and soothing the hurt.
Once again, she was taken aback by the affect he had on her soul.
"Mercy," he whispered, eyes full of worry and another emotion that she couldn't decipher. "I came as soon as I felt the shift."
She shook her head, crinkling her eyebrows together. "You felt it too?" She asked, referring to the moment that Hope triggered her curse. Silently, Tokala nodded.
"The bond I share with you went cold out of nowhere," he explained, as the hand that brushed back her hair rested on her shoulder comfortingly. "And I know the Hollow's mark. Did Hope...?"
Mercy shook her head, her lips trembling as the guilt came rushing back to the surface. "I messed up," she whispered shakily, tears streaming down her face before she even realized they were forming. "I messed up really bad, Tokala."
"Hey, we'll figure it out, alright?" He assured, but she only shook her head again, pushing his hand away.
"This is different," she told him sternly. "Hope... She's... Goddamnit, and it's all my fault." She clutched the hair closest to her head, pulling on the roots in frustration as she squeezed her eyes closed once more, trying to erase the world around her.
"Mercy—"
"I need to fix it," she gasped, shaking her head. The thought of Hope, and what could happen to her, made Mercy's blood run in the opposite direction, turning her entire world inside out. "I have to fix this, Tokala."
"We will, just," he turned her head toward his, forcing their eyes to connect. Mercy instinctively relaxed at the sight. "You need to breathe, Mercy."
And she did. She took deep breaths—despite how shaky and stuttered they were—to try and force her racing heart to slow down. Her hands were unstable, and Tokala grabbed a hold of them, coming to sit next to her and silently provide the support she needed. She didn't comment on the action, but she knew that he could feel how grateful she was for him.
But, when she calmed down, she started to focus on the emotions she could suddenly feel now that he was close. She frowned, noticing the awkward curiosity that was coming off of him in waves. It was obvious that he wanted to say something, if the way his lips pursed into a small line while he gazed over her face was anything to go by.
"How did you know I was here?" She blurted out, narrowing her eyes.
He seemed surprised by the question, which did nothing to quell the paranoia swirling in her stomach. "I followed the bond I share with you—"
"Don't lie to me," she interrupted, her voice abruptly cold and distant as she pulled away from his grasp. She could feel all his emotions now, and the frustration, the anger, the annoyance, the grief—it was all so unfamiliar in conjunction with Tokala, who was normally full of sarcasm and jokes. She couldn't recognize why he was feeling like he was, but she knew that his words were not the truth. There was something he wasn't telling her.
He sighed, hands falling as she moved away. Mercy climbed to her feet and—although she was unsteady—refused Tokala's help with a sharp glare when he stood quickly to stabilize her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited silently, wondering what he would say.
Finally, after what felt like hours to Mercy's emotionally battered body, he looked at her. The blue in his eyes had turned cold too, freezing like ice over a lake, where Mercy was unsure where to step—lest she fall through the surface. "Before I felt the shift, I was talking to Mavis," he told her emotionlessly, and Mercy blinked, taken so far off guard that she didn't even wait to reply.
"What are you even talking about?" She asked, wondering what he could be thinking when everything in her mind was so confused with what had just happened—not to mention everything else she had ruined since she got to this stupid city.
He smiled, but it was unlike what she usually saw, almost as if he were mocking her with cruelty only he could give. "She told me that you were planning something that was going to get you killed," he said outright, and Mercy widened her eyes, feeling as if she had sobered up despite not drinking a single drop of alcohol in the last day or two. She was severely regretting that choice right about now.
Even when she recovered—needing to repeat his words a few times in order to understand—she huffed, avoiding his eyes. "Tokala, I really don't—"
"Stop, Mercy," he cut her off, and she was left quiet at the tone of frustration and disappointment. "You keep doing this." He ran a hand through his hair, and Mercy could only stare.
"Keep doing what, exactly?" She asked, becoming defensive.
He laughed, but the humor was nowhere in his voice. "You're seriously asking me that?" He questioned quietly, looking like he couldn't believe her confusion. "I've told you time and time again that I can help you with the Hollow and still, you choose to do everything on your own." He shook his head, and Mercy wasn't sure if she had ever seen a person look so conflicted before—which meant a lot, considering who her family was. Tokala had never shown such clear emotion before, without covering it up with something she could laugh at. "You were just going to do it? Without even telling me yourself?"
Mercy gasped, feeling a tug at the bond they shared, like a rope had been wrung around it, straining tightly. His pain was seeping into her own skin, and for once, she felt true pity for what she must've put him through on her side. Feeling his painful emotions, and unable to do nothing, was excruciating. "I didn't—" She cut herself off, hoping that her voice would be stronger the second time. "I was going to tell you—"
"When?" He asked, his voice rising slightly as frustration and pain poured over, cascading through his eyes like a waterfall of knives that cut straight through her. "You don't tell me shit, Mercy. Is this stupid plan what you and Faeryn talked about?" When she couldn't answer, he scoffed, and the sound hurt her. "Of course it is..."
Mercy swallowed the emotions back, hardening her eyes. "I was dealing with it, okay?"
"Dealing with it?" He repeated, his voice louder, and she flinched. "Mercy, you're planning to kill yourself, do you understand that?" She was shocked that he knew the details, seeing as not even Mavis was told that secret. He must've seen the surprise on her face, because he nodded. "I wrote the goddamn books Mercy. And there's some rituals that don't change over the centuries."
She shook her head. "Faeryn said—"
"I don't care what Faeryn says," he cut her off, reaching out and grabbing her hands. "We find another way."
She took back her hands, wanting space between them. "What if this is the only way?"
Tokala looked nothing like the cocky boy she met outside of a club, with raw emotion in his face that pierced lightning into her veins. "I don't believe that, alright, the First Powers..." He trailed off, as if seeing the flaws in his own reasoning. "They wouldn't..."
"Faeryn said the death would be temporary," she tried to say, her voice soft, but he brushed her words off as if they were nothing.
"I don't trust a word that comes out of her mouth," he muttered. "What the hell are you thinking?"
Mercy grew defensive once more. "I'm thinking that I have to save my sister," she growled, stepping toward him and shoving a finger into his chest. "Just like I saved Henry, just like I saved my mom, and just like I saved the wolves." She released a bitter laugh, and she sounded manic to her own ears. "I mean, really, it looks like I'm the only one that's doing anything."
Tokala snarled, shoving her back and away from him. "Yeah, right, you're doing everything," he replied with venom. "Except negotiating with the packs, or checking back in to make sure we have enough supplies, or even visiting Olive—who's been asking for you, by the way."
Mercy's face fell, remembering the young girl and her wide, shining smile. She felt even worse when she realized that she had never checked up on the young girl after the attack at the bayou; she had been so busy with healing the other wolves that it completely slipped her mind. The guilt from everything falling apart around her was bone-crushing—even more so than when she shifted into a wolf.
"Not to mention, it's not like you've even talked to Mavis more than a few passing moments," Tokala continued, waving his hands about. "She told me all about it. Hell, I think she's talked to me more than you since we've gotten to New Orleans."
Mercy shook her head, her shoulders stiff by her ears as she tried to hold back her tears. "Stop, okay, I know..."
He waited for her to continue, but she didn't know. That was the problem. "Do you?" He repeated her thoughts, and she winced, looking away.
Taking a deep breath, she bit her lip, forcing herself to meet his gaze and bury the roped connection between them. It had tightened even more, threatening to break apart at the seams. Mercy felt the same.
"I can't deal with this right now," she told him sternly, forcing her words to be clear. Anger from deep inside poured out of her voice as she became louder, just as he had. "My sister—my twin sister—just triggered her curse, and somehow, you're making this about you?"
"Me?" Tokala shouted back, his hand coming up to his chest as if he didn't understand what she was saying—as if he thought she was crazy. "Mercy, when has it ever been about me?" She couldn't tear her eyes away as he stepped toward her, grabbing her arms in a soft grip. "Please, just... Stay, and we can figure this out."
She looked at him—really looked at him—and realized that she had fallen quite far for the boy. Her earlier question had seemingly been answered, just not in the way she thought it would be. Tokala had done everything right, and she had done everything wrong. She was a loose cannon, and he was the crewman desperately trying to keep her stable. She was a tornado, and he chased her, hoping to get close enough—but too close, and he'd be swept away, never to be seen again. She was a destructive person, and the state Tokala was in only confirmed it.
She had affected him in a way she never thought possible, not when he knew so much about the world and everything in it. Surely, she shouldn't have been the most interesting person, especially when she hardly ever made time to be around him. And yet, he'd done everything he could—from keeping her safe to being the shoulder she desperately needed to cry on. He helped tend to her wounds, but it seemed that the scars ran too deep.
She couldn't seem to escape the family drama, even after all this time.
And she knew she couldn't leave Hope behind in all of this, not when Mercy was the cause for it.
The full moon was only a few days away, and Mercy knew—she wasn't sure how or why, but she knew—that Hope wouldn't survive. She didn't have time to fix the mess that she had made with the boy in front of her. She didn't have time for any of it.
So, she shook her head, biting her lip as the tears finally ran free, burning against her skin. "I'm sorry," she whispered breathlessly, and the rope pulled taught once more, tearing into her chest.
He was shaking his head, tightening his grip on her arms. "Mercy, please—"
"Tokala, I'm sorry," she repeated, not knowing what else to say. Before he could do anything to stop her, she shoved his hands off of her and ran.
She was always running.
Mercy was breaking apart. She was no longer a body made of steel and strength, but of porcelain and glass, and she was shattering. All of it was caving in on her mind—the torture, the fear, the unknown, the death. It was reaching into her throat and stealing her voice, so that not even a sound escaped her as the tears flooded her face, the dam keeping it back finally, finally, breaking apart. She'd never known such hurt, understanding that she'd taken part in causing all of it too.
She had tortured. She had instilled fear. She had mocked her victims with the unknown, tearing apart their insecurities. She had killed. She had done all of it.
She was no better than those that had hurt her, and she didn't understand anything anymore.
She should've been content with being the villain—she thought she'd gotten used to the change in how her family treated her. She should've been happy, causing destruction just as was the Mikaelson way. She should've been dancing, just as was the werewolves' way. She should've been delighted in giving the hunger inside of her all the fuel it needed to remain satisfied. She should've been full.
But she was empty, and hurt, and broken, and she had no one around to blame but herself.
<<>>
Klaus and Jordyn were forced to halt their heated discussion about what to do next when they heard a commotion from downstairs, followed by a silence that seemed too long to be natural.
The Original hybrid had been the first to notice, turning toward the door and speeding to the courtyard. Jordyn—briefly glad that she now had her own speed—followed after him, reaching the courtyard where Hayley and Elijah seemed to take up the entire area. The tension was thick, even with Hope, Kol, and Davina still in the room, staring at the old lovers in tense silence.
Klaus smirked at the sight, raising his eyebrows as he tried to hide the smile by ducking his head. Jordyn, seeing it, slapped his arm, silently scolding him since she knew the history of Hayley and Elijah just as much as the rest of them. She'd heard the stories, but seeing them together in person was a completely different realization. It was hard to imagine that they weren't together by the chemistry they exuded.
But, Hope was crying, and Klaus noticed that at the same time as she did, focusing on his daughter's face with worry. "Hope, what's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked, voice soft, but the girl only shook her head, hiccuping slightly as her eyes shot to her mother's.
"I did something," she whispered, and Hayley's eyes focused on her. "Mom, I did something...terrible."
Hayley shook her head, forgetting about Elijah's presence as she hurried to sit next to her daughter on the couch. "It's okay, baby, just, tell me what happened."
Hope squinted her eyes tightly, her lips trembling as she spoke. "Me and Mercy went after the last of Greta's vampires—"
"You did what?" Klaus asked, eyes wide, since he had never expected her to say what she had.
"No way," Kol muttered, smiling in awe and watching everything as if it were a soap opera.
"Kol," Davina chastised, rolling her eyes in frustration.
Hope shook her head. "It went fine, nothing happened, except..." Her eyes focused on Hayley again, and more tears came. "Someone got caught in the crossfire. And I... I accidentally... I killed him."
Hayley and Klaus looked to one another immediately, but Hayley's head whirled back toward their daughter after a short moment. "Was he human?"
Hope whimpered, nodding her head. "I knew him, Mom. And..." She shook her head violently. "And you did too..."
Hayley's eyes softened immensely, but Klaus was wracking his brain, trying to understand how his daughter had seemingly triggered her curse without him even knowing. Instead, he had been preoccupied with Jordyn, and for some reason, he resented that fact. He had been too blind, too busy. He couldn't be anymore, not when Hope was now a new werewolf, with the Hollow still recklessly inside of her.
"Who was he, baby?" Hayley asked, brushing Hope's hair back with a gentle hand.
Hope took a shaky breath, briefly glancing toward Elijah before looking back at her mother. So quietly that they could hardly hear her, she answered. "It was Declan."
Hayley blinked, as if she couldn't process the words, and then her face fell, and Hope could only cry harder. "I'm so sorry, Mom," she said between breaths. "I didn't mean it, I swear—"
"Love, let's give your mother some space," Klaus swooped in, placing a calming hand on his daughter back and slowly leading her to her feet. Hayley sat frozen, staring at the spot on the couch that Hope had been sitting in as if it were the only thing she could see.
Hope curled into her father, and Klaus didn't hesitate to ignore everything else and comfort his daughter, leading her away from the rest of the world and up the stairs. When they reached her room, Hope was shaking, and Klaus held her tighter, wishing that he could take away everything that had happened, and all the pain that came with it too.
"I didn't mean it," she whispered again. "I thought I did, but I didn't."
"It'll be alright, sweetheart," he told her with conviction, but she just shook her head, pulling away so that she could look at him.
"I triggered my curse, Dad," she told him, biting her lip. "I have to break every bone in my body and turn, and I have no idea what that means for the Hollow." She trembled more, as if her body was buzzing with grief. "And now Mercy thinks it's her fault and I don't know how you possibly think it can be alright."
Klaus felt an ache in his heart at Hope's despair, growing increasingly worried. He didn't have the answers, and both Hope and Mercy were old enough to see that for themselves. He couldn't say anything to ease Hope's fears, because he was afraid of the same things. He was helpless once again, and once again, it was because one of his daughter's was in terrible danger.
He couldn't stop the guilt from flooding in.
All he could do was wordlessly bring her in for another hug, trying to ease her through the heart-wrenching tears that spilled from her lips.
<<>>
Mercy walked home alone, in more ways than one.
She felt like she had left a part of herself in the church, and never before did she feel Tokala's absence more than she did in that singular moment. A hole was left in her chest, a void of nothingness that swallowed everything that she held dear. She felt memories of the boy come to her mind, and she hurt even more at the awful reminders of the happiness that she had carelessly thrown away.
And all in the sake of her family.
Was this how it would always be? Always and forever, Mercy would be forced to give up her responsibilities to the wolves—to Tokala—in order to help her family? Always and forever, she would sacrifice her own happiness for their safety? Always and forever, she would feel this torn about it, ripping a piece of her from either side each time it happened?
Mercy never hated always and forever more.
It taunted her with empty promises and a twisted form of affection that she could never truly unravel completely. The knot kept entangling itself, losing the end within the labyrinth of its internal organs. The Mikaelson family was ever changing, and always challenging Mercy's ability to keep up. She'd barely spent a few weeks with them, and she felt like she was losing her mind.
But what was she supposed to do about it?
She had to help Hope, and in order to do that, she needed to go through with Faeryn's plan and complete the sacrifice that she had run from as a kid. She needed to have trust that the First Powers wouldn't let her die. She needed to have faith that they would give her another chance.
But this was death: the biggest unknown that there ever was, and Mercy—despite her fearlessness in other situations—was absolutely terrified.
She forced herself to forget all of that as she finally reached the Abattoir. The walk from the church hadn't taken long, but it felt like she'd walked for days, and all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry in her bedsheets. The hole inside of her chest throbbed painfully.
She entered the courtyard, finding it strangely empty besides Kol and Davina, who were sitting casually on the couch. When she appeared, they both looked at her, and Kol waved.
"Back already?" He asked, his voice light. But, when Mercy stepped into the light and he could see her face, the humor seemed to vanish from his expression, and Davina's face softened immensely from beside him. "Mercy? What's wrong?"
Mercy shook her head, not having the energy to answer him. What would she say if she did? Everything was wrong.
But, as she moved to go toward the stairs, she saw a familiar book sitting on the short coffee table, and her eyebrows furrowed together. "What's this doing here?" She mused, grabbing the journal quickly, and clutching it to her chest. She never let anyone into these pages, and knowing that they had been laying about didn't make her already shitty day any better.
Davina sighed, shaking her head in disapproval. "Klaus brought it down. He said that it was proof that you didn't just randomly kill any vampire you saw," she answered, and Mercy widened her eyes.
"He read it?" She asked, her voice betrayed. Somehow, this was worse than what he had done just recently with the bracelets. An invasion of privacy felt like an understatement.
Davina nodded sadly, and although Kol added fuel to the fire, he looked forlorn when he spoke. "Just to get it out of the way, Marcel and Josh saw it too."
Mercy bit her lip, looking down at the ground. "What the fuck..." She whispered, not even sparing the couple another glance before she continued the walk to her bedroom.
Unbeknownst to her, Davina and Kol shared a concerned look behind her back.
When she got to the safe confines of her room, she felt numb, like her nerves had been cut off and replaced with foil, completely stopping any connection or flow to anything around her. Even the werewolf bond felt far away, overtaken by the void in her chest. She'd never felt so hopeless, and she was annoyed that a lot of it was over some boy.
But Tokala wasn't just some boy, and she wasn't just some girl. She knew he was worried, but she could give this plan everything she got in order for it to work. It had to work. Mercy had to believe that.
She looked toward her bed, spotting the werewolf books that were still displayed there. She placed her notebook on top of them, sighing softly on her way to the window in her room. She could see the lights of New Orleans surrounding her, but her eyes were drawn to the area of darkness at the edge of town. Just barely visible, she could somehow still find it, like a reminder of where she was and where she had come from.
She didn't know what overtook her. Perhaps she truly was crazy, because she felt like she was having an out-of-body experience without actually having one. She watched herself turn spontaneously away from the window, grabbing the werewolf books and her notebook and shoving them into a bag near her bed. She shoved clothes inside, as well as a hairbrush, a toothbrush, and anything else she might need. She was moving on autopilot, her movements swift and direct and completely out of her control.
She had to fix everything that she broke, but she knew she couldn't do it here. She knew she needed to figure this out in the same place that all of it had started.
She glanced at her phone, debating taking it, but she decided against it, knowing it would only cause more harm than good. And before she could overthink it, Mercy did what Mercy does best.
She ran away.
<<>>
woop! double update!
i really liked writing this chapter, which is probably why i'm having it published so quickly after the last one. as much as i love tokala and mercy together, i also live for the drama. plus, it'll make it better if they do end up together in my opinion, so a little drama is what we're going to have lol.
once again, i'd love to hear any reviews or comments that you guys have about the story! it would mean a ton, but i also appreciate all the support from silent readers too!
love you guys! until next time,
—kay <3