A/N: Well, I'll say this, you guys can skip this chapter if you want, it only serves the purpose of setting some clear boundaries for the future development between Rebekah and Darian.
But man if this wasn't hella uncomfortable...
I swear I was second guessing every word while I was writing this one.
Anyhow glad that this is over and I can go back to writing, literally anything else.
To those who want to see me masterfully avoididng FBI...
Good reading!
[Blood Diary Entry – Rebekah Mikaelson]
I bid my farewells to the witch Louise—and for the sake of etiquette and politeness—I nodded to Rickard on my way out.
Isolde followed me silently, clinging to the box of vials as if it were her lifeline, and I guess it kind of is…
Or maybe not, since her son and I can protect her. So that box is mostly for the sake of saving ourselves the trouble. Though some unexpected events may happen, those may yet come in handy.
Only time will tell…
We made our way back to the hotel to drop off the crate.
While we were walking, I felt a stinging pain assault me. I looked around alarmedly, wondering if some witch was using that nasty aneurysm spell that they are so fond of.
Isolde looked at me worried, wondering why I was acting like that; maybe I had heard or sensed something dangerous. Her hand was midway to one of the vials before I stopped her.
That annoying pain was already diminishing. And I hadn't found a single person near us that could be the cause of it.
Though rather strangely, that diminishment I felt wasn't actually of the pain stopping but rather of it getting harder to feel.
I wonder why that is.
Something felt wrong… like I was missing an important detail, but by now the pain was entirely gone, and I couldn't do much else about it.
I wanted to find Darian, to see how he was doing, and spend some time with him, but then I remembered he wanted to be alone, and I decided against seeking him out.
Soon enough, we arrived at our destination.
We made our way up, using the elevator, to the floor where we booked our room.
It was luxurious as always, since I didn't wish to sleep in a mediocre—or god forbid, a shabby room. So, we—or rather, I—always picked these kinds of hotels.
Isolde placed the box in a corner so it wouldn't be in our way, no matter what we did.
I looked towards the door, then back at her.
"Isolde, I am going out. Do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay here?"
She eyed me curiously. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to a bar."
"You want a drink? Just grab something from the cabinet there, why go out to a bar? I don't think a bar would have more fancy drinks than this place."
I shook my head, amused. "It's not about the drinks."
"Oh…" She raised a brow in curiosity.
"I used to frequent this place back in the 1920s; I hold some fond memories." I gave a small smile.
"And you want to revisit those memories with little old me? I am honored." She joked, and I giggled a bit before shaking my head again. "Then what is this about?"
"There are some things mixed in those memories that I need to clear my head of."
"You mean to forget them?"
"No, no… I just… I don't know. I want to go back there and give some goodbyes to the past. Start anew, you know? They are kind of holding me back right now."
Her gaze turned into a knowing one, and her eyes narrowed. "This isn't just about letting go of the past, is it? No… this is about Darian."
I nodded, though I felt ashamed and guilty about it.
"Rebekah…"
"I-" Before I could say anything, she raised a finger to silence me.
"My son is a child. Albeit a mature one, he is still a child." She spoke with a serious tone.
"I know that! This isn't-"
"Let me finish, please."
She interrupted me, and I nodded meekly, because no matter how I spun the story, I was still kind of in the wrong in this particular situation.
"I can't hope to presume the connection you two now share due to my son's reckless actions. I cannot hope to understand what it means to the two of you. My best guess is that it is confusing to anyone else, and I will leave it at that.
I can understand that you lived in an era where it was normal for people to marry at a tender age. I can also understand that you were raised with different morals than people of my time. Heck, maybe your long life has even dulled your senses to ethics. I don't know…
What I do know is that I am his mother, and I will not stand for my son being taken advantage of. No matter by whom. And that is final.
But I can't deny the consequences of my son's recklessness, and that it has put the two of you on a collision course. I won't interfere with the results of such a collision, but I will put limits to its aftermath.
So, Rebekah Mikaelson, tell me… what are your intentions towards my son?
And I want a clear answer from you. Because if your resolve is halfhearted, no matter what, I will NOT let you be anything more than a close friend to my son, even if he hates me for it."
The weight of her words hit me like a truck. Every time I tried to come up with a response, they all felt lackluster.
I sighed and clenched my fists.
"Much like you said, the nature of my relationship with him is confusing. I can't even find another term to define it other than that.
And every time I think about it, guilt coils in my stomach. I hate that I even have to question myself.
But I can say that your son, in a span of a few weeks, has been kinder and given me more comfort than I have felt in centuries, perhaps my whole life.
He has been honest throughout. He also makes me smile by just being who he is. He is also funny and can make me laugh without even trying. Not to mention I feel safe—which is both ironic and amusing—by just being close to him. He has been the only one I have ever been able to relax around.
I can't stand the thought of losing that.
I can't imagine anyone else by my side.
So, to answer your question, I know what the results of that 'collision' you spoke about are going to be. Even if I'm not quite ready to admit it.
Even by the standards of my time, he is much too young, so I can't actually be physically attracted to him.
But I guess I would like to be close to him overall.
Ah, I feel so wrong saying that…"
Isolde laughed, hearing my last words, but afterwards she gave me a warm smile.
After her laugh stopped, she spoke in a serious tone again. "Supernatural ties complicate things, but they don't erase responsibility."
"You're telling me…" I looked upwards to the ceiling.
"As long as you never harm my son and keep things within limits, I won't interfere. But just know this, Rebekah… I will be keeping my eyes on you."
She was right in everything she said and did. I honestly wouldn't do anything different, were I in her shoes.
I nodded. "Now I know what Darian felt when you teased him about being a pervert."
She laughed once again. "Well… I have to get my fun out some way, don't I?"
I waved my hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah… can we just be done with the uncomfortable topic?"
She moved her eyebrows up and down teasingly. "What is it? Does speaking of your inappropriate relationship with my sonny make you uncomfortable?"
I shrieked a little. "Ah! Stop that! Please… Let's just drop it."
"Fine. Also, I'll be taking that bar offer. I could use a drink right now."
I sighed. "Honestly? So, do I…"
Thus, we made our way down.