The Smiths "Asleep" softly played in the background. It was just noise, noise to fill the silence that frightened the both of them. Nothing was scarier than the silence was now, because in deep silence, anything can be said.
He reached for her, thinking one more time, one more time and I'd be out of her life forever. He caressed her cheek with his finger, slowly grazing her lips. His palm held her cheek just for a second, and a second was all it took for his heart to crumple in on itself. He had felt love before and felt heartbreak before, but never this way, because this time, he felt like not only would he be leaving a piece of himself behind, but he was taking a piece, a piece of someone that was not his to take, and he was afraid that by taking this tiny fragrant, by starting a small hole in a person he'd cause a ripple effect, and the whole being would collapse, leaving her forever broken.
"You look different." He managed to say. He tried looking strong, tried hiding the sorrow in his eyes, but he knew he couldn't and he knew his voice would betray him. His voice was just barely a whisper, a whisper that had cracked, fighting back his tears. He looked her way, but not at her. He looked at the pictures behind her, pictures of strangers standing next to her, people he knew, people who stayed, while he had left. People stood in the places where he should be, people holding her, when he should be holding her. He avoided looking into her dark, chestnut eyes, the light causing gold speckles to reflect back, begging him to look at her.
"Good different or bad different?" Her eyebrows razed, waiting for him to answer. He wanted so much to say bad, bad that she was different, because she had changed, changed without him and he ached that he missed this change, because the person in front of him was so familiar to him, yet he couldn't find the common ground they always had, maybe she wasn't different at all, maybe he was the one who was different. He was angry that he had survived two years away from her, and worse that she had spent the past two years moving on.
"Good different," He did his best fake smile, "you seem happier."
"Because I am happier." She didn't hesitate to tell him this, tell him she was happy without him, but what he couldn't see was that she too was aching, because unlike him, she was much better at faking smiles and happiness, she was good at masking her pain. She wanted to cry for the boy, the man sitting in front of her, the man who she once always promised love to, the man she still would promise love too, but too much had happened, and everything was different. She was happier, and a part of her felt like she was betraying him, because she was happy without him, and even though he smiled, she could see his pain in his eyes. He sucked at hiding his feelings, he wore them on his sleeve, and the crack in his voice, oh god, his voice as he whispered.
"Good, I'm happy for you." His sigh filled her senses, he slowly got off of her bed of white sheets, and his hands left her hands, soft and gently, he brushed his lips against her forehead, stealing a sent of her lavender shampoo, something's would never change he thought. He knew he'd dream of her, her smile, her laughter. He'd remember her when he'd feel the rain against his skin, or if he heard her favorite songs, he'd think of her in the best light and forget about the shadows, the arguments and the anger. He'd slowly begin to forget the way they tested each other's limits. Because, you always forget the worst when it comes to letting go of the people you love, you can only think of what good you had lost, and never how easy you got rid of the bad. He wasn't bitter from this heartbreak, no, because being bitter would have been easier, it would have been an easy goodbye, instead he had become weary, he had become weakened by sorrow, and pain. This heartbreak was actually breaking him.
She watched as he slowly walked to the door, she knew he wanted her to stop him, and she did want to stop him, but she couldn't, two years ago she would have, maybe even a year ago, but she spent too much time healing, but maybe not enough time.
She wanted too bad to push him against a wall, hit him with everything she had, and yell at him, "why did you leave me!" She wanted to yell. "Why?" She was too weak for her own words because her thoughts were over powering and instead of staying as just thoughts, words slowly began to escape her lip and immediately she wished she could take them back, take them back to just let him go.
"We could have been together, you know?" Her words were only whispers, but he had heard them perfectly. He slowly turned around, looking at her. He wore his black v-neck, it was her favorite color on him, black, and when she first saw him that day she could remember thinking that he had worn it on purpose, he never did anything accidently, it wasn't him. He was careless, and never thought of consequences, but a lot of his actions were with purpose, whether it was a good purpose or bad.
"It makes you look sexy." She used to say whenever he wore black.
"I'm always sexy." He used to joke.
"You are always handsome, always, but when you wear black, I cannot keep my eyes off of you, literally." She used to smile, and he used softly kiss her lips, always.
"I know, we could have been." He didn't look her in the eyes because, he knew if he looked at her, he'd fall, and she didn't want that, she was just angry, and tomorrow he'd be gone, and she'd be okay, she'd stay with Arkan forever, and he'd be gone, and maybe in another time they'd meet again, another time far from now, a time where wounds would be healed and they'd share stories of rapture, but for now the wounds still bled and he still had to be careful, because they had more than love. "But you lied, and it was over, it's over." He slowly opened the door, trying not to picture the hurt look on her face. He knew her brows would ark, and the tears would fill her eyes so quickly.
He shut the door knowing he'd live with the image of her face forever, and yet again Damon Salvatore wished he didn't have a forever to think of. He slowly stumbled down the hall when he heard the door he had just shut open behind him.
"Damon?" He didn't have to turn around, because her voice said it all. He slowly looked back, looking at a beautiful tanned skin brunette behind him. She was one of the most beautiful women Damon had seen. Her skin was tanned just enough to illuminate against her light brown eyes. She would spend so much time on her hair in the morning, just to make it silky smooth, and it worked. Her chest length hair fell into the loosest curls against her long thin body. He watched as tears escaped from her eyes, smearing the makeup she had spent hours perfecting.
She had to say no more, he was standing in front of her instantly, his arms locked around her, his forehead pressed against hers. His nose brushed the tip of hers, his hands began to brush her cheeks, wiping the tears, and before he knew it, his lips met hers.
It was slow, and soft, everything Damon wasn't. Their lips danced together perfectly, fitting perfectly together. They slowly balanced, their bodies not leaving each other, backing towards her room, both bodies collapsing on the bed.
His fingers began to explore her abdomen, craving to caress her small, soft breasts. She slowly began to lift his shirt, and only for a fraction of a second did their lips part, to remove his shirt, and then again to remove hers. His lips left hers, trailing her neck. His teeth slightly grazed her porcelain skin, causing a tiny blood stream to trickle, down her neck, and slip onto Damon's lips. The taste of her blood made him euphoric, but he controlled himself easily, because he had her body, her gentle soft body, and just the thought of her bare skin against his made him hard. They both finished undressing themselves, and without a thought, he was inside of her.
"Ugh." He moaned. His lips pressed against hers vividly drowning out the sounds, and again he moaned. "I love you." His voice was steady. His lips pressed against her nipple, playfully tugging on the plain barbell piercing she wore. He loved that about her. Loved the way he'd look at her perfect picture, and deep down she was just like the rest of the world, she had secrets of her own. His lips went back to hers, "I love you." He said again.
He watched her sleep, watching her uneven breaths pushing her body slightly up and down. The sheets had a bit of blood from her neck, but the small wound had already scabbed over. She loved to sleep on her stomach, and he couldn't help but smile at her peaceful state. Thinking of how he'd used to softly kiss her back as she slept, kissing the tiny freckle by her left shoulder, the scar on her right side. But these thoughts and this smile was mixed in with tears, and then quiet sobs. He sat only wearing his briefs and the edge of her bed, a bed she had used to make love to other men in. His head in his hands, Damon sat crying for her, for him. It was over in a seconds, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, he knew better then to wait any longer, he would leave, and she'd known it too. She'd known this was the last time he'd make love to her, and she'd known she had a boyfriend, and her boyfriend would never forgive her if he found out her goodbye with Damon was more then just a goodbye.
So while she slept and dreamt of far away places she wished to go with Damon, he reached for his shirt and pants, but he dare not give her a kiss goodbye, afraid of waking her. He had stayed long enough, and this time he did not hesitate. He did not take his time leaving. He put his shirt over his messy, dark hair slid his black pants and leather boots on. He walked out the door, and ran out of the house. He was miles from the house, and yet the taste of her had still not left his lips.