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New Orleans was your home. At least, it had been, years ago. You'd like to say it was full of nothing but happy memories, the best times of your life, and it was. But it also held memories of the worst times in your life. Because of that, you stayed away.
After Klaus broke up with you by letter, with some poor excuse about protecting you, you left. Everywhere you looked held a thousand different memories, each one like a small cut, killing you slowly. Leaving New Orleans was your escape from death.
So when you thought you had finally moved on, and you returned to the city you had once loved enough to call home...well, you supposed it shouldn't have been such a shock to run into Klaus again.
He called your name. Just the sound of his voice reopened the wounds you had fought so hard to heal. Seeing him was like rubbing salt in those wounds.
Your expression immediately mirrored the emotions rushing through you: shock, anger, pain. You sneered at him. "Fuck off."
"How are you alive?" He asked, reaching out to touch you, like you were a ghost. You slapped his hand away. The hurt that flashed in his eyes was equal parts painful and delightful.
"Turns out I don't need protection when I'm a vampire," you replied coolly.
Anger crossed his face. "Whoever harmed you--"
"Shut up," you snapped. "I asked to be turned. No one hurt me without my permission. I've got somewhere to be. I'd say it was nice to see you again, but I'd be lying. Stay away from me."
You turned on your heel and walked away.
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Coming back had been a mistake. You thought you could handle it. Maybe if you hadn't run into Klaus, you could've, but now all those memories were running through your head again, and it felt like you were bleeding out here in the middle of Rousseau's.
You were glad you had picked a corner of the bar to sit and drink in. It gave you the perfect view of the door while staying out of sight. When Klaus walked in, your throat went dry. You waited until he sat down, seeming distracted, before leaving some money on the table and booking it.
You were halfway to your car when he caught up to you.
"Where have you been all these years?" He demanded.
"Everywhere," you replied.
"You never came back."
The way he said it, like everything that had happened was your fault, broke whatever dam had been holding your tongue. You stopped walking and turned on him.
"After your stupid little fucking letter, I couldn't stay," you snapped. "I have flashbacks waking me up, I get drunk and it's not enough to get you off my mind and out of my heart, even after all these years. I'm still trying to find a part of me you didn't touch, I gave you so much but it wasn't enough. You said it was a great love, one for the ages, but you gave up on me like I was a bad drug. You managed to break me, and just when I thought I had finally fixed myself, you come in and do it all over again. So no, I never came back. Coming now was a mistake. I wish I'd never met you, Klaus. And just so we're clear, this is goodbye."
The regret in his face simultaneously pissed you off and broke your heart even more. You stormed to your car and drove off, ignoring him as he called after you. You pulled over once you'd passed the New Orleans city limits sign, and you cried.
Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts.