A little something I've been sitting on for a while! Written very late and very early in the morning, so I apologise for the mistakes and the confusion and everything that may not be exactly how I originally planned it.

Set in a world where Vampires aren't. Stefan is emotionally manipulative and abusive.

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I pull up the handbrake and try to settle my thoughts. Stefan text me fifteen minutes ago saying he needed to see me, and that it was urgent. Of course, I left the house right away, drove all the way to the Salvatore Boarding House to find out what's going on. From my usual parking spot just beyond the garden, I see the front door is closed and there are three or four rooms lit with the regular lamps and clinking chandeliers. The light is just about necessary, as the sun is just beginning to set against the pale summer sky, hanging restlessly on the horizon.

Already, anxiety is filling me. What does Stefan want? What's going on? Heart thumping against my ribcage, throat halfway to closing, a chill spreading through me from inside to out. It's a feeling that has been present and consistent in all of my recent ventures to the Salvatore residence. I know the thing that is causing my discomfort. It's Stefan, my boyfriend. Causing my inability to sleep, eat, or breathe right.

I can barely admit it to myself, let alone any others. Certainly not the person who opens the door as I'm about to knock.

Damon Salvatore. Customary smirk adorning his features. Far too good looking for his own good. He's cynical, and cruel, but he can be warm and funny. And he has this ridiculous constant of black t-shirts. Banterous, reckless, always looking out for his younger brother, Stefan. Flirtatious. I couldn't possibly ever tell him what's going on, especially with the small piece of me that is ever so attracted to him.

"Elena Gilbert, a pleasure to see you," he says with a smirk, casually sweeping on arm aside to invite me through the enormous doorway. I smile politely, feeling sick. What does Stefan want with me today? How am I going to feel after I see him? Damon stands, one hand placed on his hip, eyes searching mine. I beg for them not to seek the secrets and fear in my own, clutching my messenger bag closer for some semblance of comfort. The wide space of the house today feels far too small, enclosing, suffocating me. Senses heightened, eyes sore, stepping further into the lion's den. "Here for Stefan? Or have you made the wise decision to jump ship?" Damon raises a suggestive eyebrow.

"Stefan," I manage, uncertain how my voice coped with the acidic word in my mouth. My eyes dart around the hallway for a sign of him, blending in with the shadows. Nothing yet. He makes me so nervous. I don't want to do the things that he doesn't like. Today, I may have just entered wonderland and, by inclusion, the eye of the storm itself. What am I doing, oh god. "He wanted me here. You didn't ask."

Damon pauses, his confidence faltering.

"Just because I didn't ask," he breathes, leaning so close that I can smell the sweet bourbon on his breath, "doesn't mean that I don't want you here."

The moment between us is like frost, hanging in the stolen air. But then it dissolves into mist, and then nothing.

"Anyway. I'll leave you two love birds alone." He whips about, looking for his jacket. Suddenly, the world is spinning. I don't feel safe. My body jolts forward of its own accord, heart thrumming a thousand times every second. Nausea overpowers me as the fear settles thickly and fast. The thought of Stefan and I alone in the house together is awful. For the past few weeks, I've managed to get away with other people being around without asking. But Damon wouldn't stay unless I asked him to. "Hey, Elena, are you alright?"

I nod quickly, swallowing back the bile, trying to force the panic back to a safe distance. The world is blurred before me. Not thinking, not censoring as I usually do, I utter, "Don't leave," in a whisper. "Please."

He looks confused, almost odd in the light as the shadows attempt to reshape his sharp features. Red glowing sunlight burns hard against his pale face, blue eyes piercing into mine, attempting to decipher whatever message I might have accidentally let slip. I make the first move away from the battlefield, brushing my hair back from my face, standing up straight again. I didn't realised he had clutched my shoulder until he let go. My words fallen heavily between us, I don't know what the next move is. Damon frowns, brow furrowing.

My stomach clenches and I'm drowning again, sick with panic. Am I going to have to tell him everything?

"Elena, what is it? Is it Stef-?"

"Elena!" Stefan calls, bounding down the stairs with a ridiculous grin on his face, interrupting the moment he didn't know was happening. "Didn't realise you were here. You didn't text me." He shrugs nonchalantly, as though this an inconvenience to his otherwise delightful day. I'm halfway to the words of an apology when he turns to Damon, a cold glare in his eyes. "Brother, I thought you were going out?"

His tone is challenging. But Damon is stronger. Older. He glances in my direction.

"Nah. Gonna catch up on some reading."

Stefan's face tightens. "Could you not read later?"

"Nope, sorry brother," Damon replies with finality. "Moby Dick won't finish itself for the third time. Captain Ahab waits for no man."

With one more look towards me, he disappears down the corridor, and out of sight, leaving Stefan and me in the hallway together, alone. He remains on the stairs, and I am suddenly enwrapped in this thought that I am like his prey - lower, less important, ready for whatever he needs. And I hate that. Breaking our gaze, I close the door behind me, its crashing reverberating my fragile bones. Stefan shifts his eyes upwards, towards his bedroom. Swallowing thickly, hating myself, hating him, and thinking the worst, I follow.

The house is silent.

Bedroom door closed. Stefan's room is decorated lavishly, as though reminiscent of the Victorian era he loves so much. His door frame slams into my back as I'm pushed up against it, his hot and greedy mouth ravaging my own before we can speak no more than ten words to each other. I let it happen, allowing my bag to drop to the floor, not feeling enough fight in me to tell him that I don't want to. Not today, not ever from him. Hinges rattle at my hips and poke into me. It should hurt, but I feel numb to it almost. Suddenly, Stefan backs off, wiping his mouth.

"What did my brother say?" he demands, pacing anxiously towards the middle of the room. I attempt to follow, but am frozen to the spot.

"What?" I respond, vacantly, lips bruised. "He didn't say anything." Stefan glares back at me. "Sorry. I feel really queasy. I think I'm gonna -"

"We don't have to have sex. A handjob will do."

I'm not sure which emotion is more appropriate; offended, angry, upset, or relieved. Thinking again, the last one is probably not one regular people in healthy relationships think. Sex shouldn't be forced upon me, nor persuaded. I feel dirty and raw every time I leave. Like I went in thinking totally different things, and expected different things than what happened.

"I've had a crappy morning. Cheer me up?" he asks, as though all he is wanting is a hug and maybe three rom-coms.

Three sharp knocks on the door and the sarcastic voice of Damon Salvatore interrupt us. "Anyone want a cookie? I just opened them." He opens the door to our scene of disarray. Stefan's face in his hands, me slowly inching towards him, and our clothes wrinkled. "Elena?"

"She's trying to lose weight."

Rude.

"Really?" Damon asks in mock confusion. He knows something is up. Stefan knows that he knows. "She looks great as she is. Ravishing."

"She's broken. You know nothing." The brothers scowl at each other. "Get out, Damon."

For a moment it looks as though Damon is going to hit his brother, fury burning across his features, fire in his eyes. I watch him, feeling bare between the two of them. It's as though I've been exposed. Broken. Because Stefan said I was fixable. He wanted to make me better. But Stefan is strong too. I know that. When he's held me up against the wall, seeking something in my eyes, a truth that I hadn't told him, or a mistake he assumed I had made. I don't want Damon to get in the middle of this, even if he is stronger, and even if he can help. I can't do that.

His eyes are boring into me. It's like I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. Standing on a precipice, the three of us, in this singular moment, caught in a breath of air. It's so uncertain, and so incredibly weighted. So it takes every ounce of my dwindling resolve and strength to say the next three words.

"Damon, get out."

Two seconds, half a minute, fifteen years. I have no concept of time. He stares back at me, a swirling confusion. My eyes are misty.

The door slams, Damon on the other side.

"I can't help you, Elena, if you can't help yourself," Stefan starts, as though this is the beginning of some excellent lecture. "I don't want you to be this person anymore - this weaker, less responsive, less passionate version of yourself. You can be so much better." He starts closer to me, suffocating me. "I gave you this promise ring so that we could assure our lives together, Elena. Stop crying." I wipe my eyes furiously, scarred by the watery tracks coursing down my cheeks. "Fucks sake, stop it!" He grabs hold of my shoulders, shaking them. But I can't stop shaking.

My head hits the floor first, legs crumpling next. Stefan is pacing, not even looking down at me. My wrists are already red from his hands there. Is he going to hurt me this time? Will it be physical? If I can keep other people out of my business with Stefan, then I resolve that they won't be hurt in the crossfire that there is between us. Jeremy will be safe, Damon will be safe- not that he needs protecting Bonnie and Caroline will be safe. If he hurts me and stays away from others, then it won't matter.

"You have to learn, Elena."

He's a mess, pacing the room. Stretching his arms out. Stuck between options.

"People aren't going to coddle you forever. You have to get over things, deal with them, face real life. You have to stand up for yourself. You can't just sit there and wait for the good to happen, because it won't. The good never happens." The first blow comes then, foot contacting with waist. "Get up, Elena. Or learn to take it."

At this point I don't understand what he's talking about, or what he's doing, I just know that it hurts. I don't know what he's trying to say. His words are confused and jumbled, as though a hundred thoughts are propelling him forward all at once. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. After he's certain I wouldn't stand up if I could, he leaves the room, wiping false tears from his face.

Damon is there hours, days, weeks later. His soft hand brushing the hair from my face, whispering words of comfort I can't hear.

I don't want Stefan to hurt me. I don't want Stefan to come after people I love, because this point I am almost certain that he will if someone dares to help me. No one can help me if I can't help myself. I have to be strong. I can't be saved.

So why does it feel so good to be saved? When I know it's so wrong.

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Thanks for reading!