This is something that Caroline's been through more than she ever wants to think about or admit. Not the possession, no, but something else. She's been shot and had her neck broken and her head smashed in and all sorts of things, but this is way worse then the dying, if you ask her. This is the dredging your consciousness up out of nothing and you sort of wish you were dead.
Which defeats the point. She groaned quietly, and barely lifted her head - it hurt, it all hurt, and now was a lot worse than the last time her neck was broken because the healing was a lot slower. It's a second before she can flex her fingers again, and her body's making all those connections - the deep ones, like breathing and heart beat and nerves are rebuilt, and it sort of feels like everything's asleep like when you sit wrong and your leg goes way past pins and needles.
She doesn't cry, though, because if Caroline knows how to do something, it's die - and she just swallows thickly, and stares at the ceiling and it's then that she realises that they're home. She's home, somehow, and her eyes flick to Klaus, where he was sitting across the room. She licks her lips, and tries to think of what to say, and she remembers all of it and the words die in her throat because she doesn't know if there really are any words.
Finally, she comes up with some, as inappropriate as they may be. She can tell what she's wearing, and she's pushing herself up so that she can get it off, even if it's slower than usual and she's still clumsy and things feel weirdly blunted. "Help me," she says without a hello or a what happened or anything else. She's just sort of standing, sort of sitting, sort of leaning, and trying to undo the laces even if she's mostly failing.
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Which defeats the point. She groaned quietly, and barely lifted her head - it hurt, it all hurt, and now was a lot worse than the last time her neck was broken because the healing was a lot slower. It's a second before she can flex her fingers again, and her body's making all those connections - the deep ones, like breathing and heart beat and nerves are rebuilt, and it sort of feels like everything's asleep like when you sit wrong and your leg goes way past pins and needles.
She doesn't cry, though, because if Caroline knows how to do something, it's die - and she just swallows thickly, and stares at the ceiling and it's then that she realises that they're home. She's home, somehow, and her eyes flick to Klaus, where he was sitting across the room. She licks her lips, and tries to think of what to say, and she remembers all of it and the words die in her throat because she doesn't know if there really are any words.
Finally, she comes up with some, as inappropriate as they may be. She can tell what she's wearing, and she's pushing herself up so that she can get it off, even if it's slower than usual and she's still clumsy and things feel weirdly blunted. "Help me," she says without a hello or a what happened or anything else. She's just sort of standing, sort of sitting, sort of leaning, and trying to undo the laces even if she's mostly failing.