[Trilijah Drabble] The Devil Inside

15

Every single one of us, the Devil inside

The Devil Inside

Elijah’s eyes were gluing on Hayley’s form as it faded and faded until in front of him was a glaring empty white space. A part of him, a huge part, had wanted to cross a few inches separating them, catch her hand, pull her into an embrace and whisper apology after apology to her, begging for her forgiveness until she gave it. Another part, a bigger, more rational part, a part that made up Elijah Mikaelson had screamed no at him. Give her space. Give her time. She needed it all to recover from the horror he had inflicted on her today. That Hayley and him were separated by a firm line dividing the living and the dead, Elijah thought it would help. Then another part, a smaller but profound part where all his guilt and self-loathing resided, had chuckled at him. It had mocked him with a truth he himself had already been aware: that even if Hayley might eventually forgive him, she would never look at him the same as she had done prior this incident. There was just no fixing for something that had been shattered, something like trust. So, as a deep, sharp sense of resignation planted in his heart, he had planted his feet firmly on the pristine white marble floor, watching the woman he loved vanish from his mental world.

A creaking of a door shook Elijah out of his train of thought. Alarmed, he whipped his head to where it had come from, one of the doors perfectly distanced from each other along the endless corridor. It sounded old, like the sound you expected a heavy oaken door in an old castle, ravaged by years and rotten by the mites making their nest inside, would make. Light, even footsteps came next, which simultaneously piqued his curiosity and flooded him with wariness. Had his memories overflown, burst the doors and were now roaming the corridor of his mind unrestrained? Had him, after centuries of postponement, finally gone mad?

“It seems the little mutt isn’t able to handle your ‘naughtier’ side,” mocked a voice. “Look how she was scared witless, scurrying back with her tail between her legs.”

The languid footsteps halted. Elijah stared at the figure in front of him with narrow eyes, his expression a blend of suspicion and disbelief.

The newcomer was clad in the same attire as his own, every little detail down to the pattern on the dark-colored tie identical. But the visage was not his; it belonged to someone Elijah hadn’t seen for five years long. Someone he had tried to erase from his mind but had always managed to sneak back in. Someone who should have been dead by now because he himself had died for a while.

“What are you?” he asked, straight to the point, no need to beat around the bush now there were just the two of them in this closed-off world.

However, the man had different idea. He chuckled dryly, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets whereas Elijah stood with his back straight as a pole, his hands by his sides and curling into fists. “I’m quite certain you know the answer better than anyone else. After all, it was you who made me what I am. Or was.”

“It’s precisely because I know what you were that I have to ask. By now you should have been–”

“Dead,” the man cut him, “and buried a thousand feet beneath the cold blue tides, courtesy of your hand. I’m no more alive than you are in this chambre de chaise. Such pristine white! I have to say it is very aesthetically pleasing to the eye, although not quite a match to your soul, isn’t it?”

“Tristan,” Elijah said, stalking closer until they were close enough that Elijah could smell the cologne on him. Same as he remembered. Same as his.

“Yes and no,” Tristan replied, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “The real Tristan died with you – his five-year torment came to an end at last. I am the Tristan on your mind, the one you cannot sink to the bottom of the ocean and seek to forget.”

“How?”

We made each other, didn’t we? Your mind created me, same as it had created the Beast you tried to hide behind the Red Door. You cannot delete me, no more than you could stop the Beast from going after your mutt.”

“You came out to taunt me,” said Elijah with a sneer. He crossed the few last steps, his shadow looming over the ghost of his first sired. Crimson dyed the whites of his eyes and dark veins were slithering underneath his skin. He heard the Beast’s low growls behind the Red Door.

“No,” Tristan answered, startling him by placing a hand over his breast pocket, “I came out to appease your Beast…” His hand moved and tugged at Elijah’s tie. “… as I have done so for the the last millennium, with or without your knowledge.”

The Beast’s growls became louder. They sent a rumble through the bleach-white corridor.

“Is that so?” Elijah asked. His hand grabbed the back of Tristan’s neck, pausing or a while to savor the warmth seeping into his skin. Without so much as a sign, he pulled Tristan in, and crashed their lips together.

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