Kol Mikaelson [Narrative]; Just going for a drive...to New Jersey... Very early Tuesday morning, August 5, 2014; His car? PGish (nothing serious, most broody/angsty nonesense?); Complete
He couldn't quite say what it was that drove him to do it. There wasn't an exact, defining moment before he made the decision. He just knew that right now, he needed to get away. He needed to have time to himself, away from this city, away from his family, from Purgatory, away from...everything. He hadn't even mentioned it to anyone. Not Crowley and Anna, not any of his siblings, his friends, no one. He just slipped out in the middle of the night when no one was paying any mind to him. He stopped by the ATM to get a couple grand out, and he left. Kol had considered Vegas, but decided against it and made his way to Atlantic City instead.
Truth was, everything happening lately was just too much for him to figure out how to deal with. His family was breaking apart more by the day it seemed, and he was nowhere closer to any answers in his rather blind search against the Purgatory plan than he had been when he had first started. Of course, there was still Sam's plan to consider. Kol hadn't talked to Crowley about that just yet. He couldn't quite figure out what to do with any of it. Dealing with things had never been Kol's strong suit. He just didn't do it. He ran. All the time, he fucking ran. Even now, that's exactly what he was doing. Only this time it was different somehow. Maybe in the fact that he knew he'd be back, and that he wouldn't be gone for a decade or three before he returned. A few days, a week tops, and he'd be back. And maybe it would help. Or maybe it would just make things worse. He wasn't sure.
The drive from Lawrence to Atlantic City was a long one, but it didn't bother Kol. He figured it would do good to break the new car in with a bit of a road trip anyway. Or that was the rather pathetic excuse he'd made up in his head to explain his sudden need to cut and run. He knew it didn't solve anything, leaving the way he had, and somewhere in the logical part of his mind buried beneath all of his escapist need to leave, he knew leaving without saying anything was probably not the best plan at all. They shouldn't have any reason to panic too badly. Elijah would notice the money take from the account and they would know he wasn't taken by the seal, that he wasn't going back to his death. He was just...gone. Like he always had been in the past. And that was the problem, wasn't it? This was his default, go-to response for every problem he'd ever had in his life. And what did it ever solve? Nothing, and he knew it, he did, but still it's what he turned to anyway. Maybe he needed to figure out why he kept doing it, even when it didn't help matters at all.