Reading Notes: Damon is being held captive in an unknown house that resembles the Originals' mansion thanks to Rebekah. Or, if you want, you can picture him being tortured IN that mansion. Whatever you want. Please avoid commenting on his location. :) Enjoy.
Metal. That is what this place smells like. Dirty quarters. A black penny. I can't put my finger on it exactly — the smell, I mean — but money is pretty close. I also believe that the smell is blood which proves a very bad thing for everyone right now. I do not know where Stefan is nor do I actually care. Today, only one person is on my mind. This person means more than anything to me right now. This person happens to be the reason this place smells like blood. This person is all I care about. This person is in grave danger.
This person also happens to be Damon.
When I was first informed that Rebekah had stolen him away to torture him as a form of revenge against his failed plan of staking her, I knew that the possibility of his death was at large. Maybe she was killing him slowly. Or maybe she would be quick and thorough.
Maybe he's already dead.
Don't think like that, you idiot! I scold myself. He's alive. He's alive. He's alive. I'm trying desperately to convince myself of this. The idea of Damon not being alive weakens my knees. Just now I've almost collapsed. I steady myself by remaining optimistic; Whereas he may be bloody and bruised, he's still breathing. His heart still beats for Stefan…and maybe for me, too.
The goal tonight is to find him, so my legs stumble through each room in the house searching for him. It isn't an easy task due to the fact that this house is very large and very complex. Each hallway leads to another room with a door that leads to another room and back out to the hallway and so on. Multiple times I find myself in the same rooms. Each are empty with white walls except a few of them hold marvelous paintings of beautiful, ancient people and landscapes. My hands sew themselves through my brown locks for fear that I will never find them. Or worse, he isn't even here at all. It is only when I start shouting his name, my eyes peering through the dark hallways, that I hear the slightest notion that he could be here. It is a grunt, so soft and low but just loud enough my human ears could detect it. With my heart pounding in my chest and blood rushing through my veins I sprint down the long, marble stairs and practically throw myself into an awkwardly positioned door. It's pitch black and damp that I think is a basement. My dry tongue presses against the roof of my mouth as I hold my breath and then cry, "Damon?"
No response and my heart sinks. I am in a low place, so low that I haven't seen it before. All I can think about is where he might be and what Rebekah has done to him. I know Rebekah isn't here - no, Stefan's job was to deal with her. I'm here for Damon, where I want to be. In fact the only place I want to be ever. So my chest tightens in grief and the tears roll off of my face. I'm normally a strong girl when it comes to this but the idea of Damon in pain, longing for release, makes me want to physically harm the thousand year old vampire that did it to him.
I thrust forward, fists tight by my sides, and carry myself deeper into the basement. I find that this isn't your ordinary basement where the walls support the house and there are boxes and clothes and other strange sorts down being held for god-knows-what reason. This basement turns into stone, much like the Salvatore basement, and seems to take on the form of a dungeon. As I venture further I keep myself from retching. The smell of blood and sweat fills my nostrils and I hurriedly push my legs down the long catacomb. My mind isn't so much focused on why this basement seems to be so unusual but more that Damon may very well be at the end of it. My head aches with the thought of what I might find.
And then a light shines through the dark tunnels except it radiates from the ceiling. The light is not artificial and I'm sure there is a window somewhere if only I could look and confirm my guess. But I cannot look, for beneath that ray of light is the one person I very much wished to see more than anything. I am utterly aware of my entire body shaking as I stumbled over to him. His name falls from my lips, "Da-mon." It comes out a little screwed up only because I can hardly find my voice. I take in the scene before me.
His arms are extended unnaturally in the air where two shackles lock around his wrists, his legs falling limp beneath him. He was suspended off of the ground and I half expected him to be nailed to a cross due to his position. However, Damon is surely no saint of the sort. So with two large strides I ran to him feeling like couldn't breathe if I wasn't closer to him.
I avert my eyes to Damon's bare chest and see nothing but bright red liquid. I know from experience that a vampire's wounds are often healed quickly. His, however, look like they were not healing at all. The smell of it makes me very sick but at this point there's nothing I can do but take his face between my hands and frantically cry out his name, begging for him to see me. Begging for him to be alive. His eyes flutter open and he struggles for coherency. "Elena?" he breathes. A heavy weight lifts off of my shoulders.
"I'm here. Look at me. Damon, open your eyes and look at me." I beg. My brown orbs try desperately to keep hold of his baby blues, but it is horrendously difficult as his lids close on him without permission. He's fading.
"…Rebekah…" he whispers.
I hate her more than I have ever. I hate her more than I did when she ran her ancient claws all over him thinking he was hers for a night. But she was horribly, horribly wrong. Never could he be hers, even for a day or an hour. He is and has always belonged to me — whether either of us knew it or not. That right there pisses me off. The fact that she thought she could take him away from me. Ha! We surely had our differences but I knew that nothing so little as to their sleeping together could pry us apart. Cause a wedge? Yes. But not forever.
"Stefan's handling Rebekah. Damon, listen to me. I can't break the chains." I inform him, my eyes already scanning the strong bonds that wrapped themselves tightly around him and kept him dangling.
He didn't say anything - or maybe he did and I just couldn't make out the deep sigh.
"Only a vampire could probably break these…" I murmured. Click! A vampire. A vampire could easily break the chains. Problem was that Damon was a vampire. And the only one until Stefan came around. Which, I think, would most likely not be any time soon. This left both of helpless for Damon was far too weak to break the own chains that held him prisoner.
The next thing that popped into my mind was dangerous and stupid, but perhaps one of the most important decisions I'd ever make in my entire life. I knew that it was just the two of us and that this action was a very private and intimate thing between human and vampire. That is, under the right circumstances. When a vampire did not look to you for food, but for health, there was something beautiful in the idea of saving him. I know because I had done it before.
I squeezed Damon's face between my hands and willed his eyes to mine. A useless task, really, because his eyes were closed. Still I spoke to him with certainty. "You need blood. Damon, you need to feed off of me."
These words woke him up. His eyes opened and his forehead crumbled. "Elena?" he questioned, sweat pouring from his temple. Part of me knew he would not refuse and part of me knew that he would at the same time. I stretched out my head, exposing my neck, and guided his mouth down. He struggled against my grip and protested.
"Elena, no-"
"Damon." I hissed, looking at him again. "You need blood. You need to get out of here. I can't free you. You need strength. So please." I whispered. His eyes bore deep into mine before his lids began to droop again. "I trust you. Remember that? I trust you."
I never stopped whispering I trust you even when his sharp fangs pierced through the delicate skin of my neck. It came as a shock to me, the bite, but I knew he was not the type of vampire to hold back. He sucked greedily and I couldn't help but feel a little exposed. He sucked his strength back greedily and even groaned once or twice. My blood, to him, would taste like heaven. I was sure of it.
He stopped easily (something I'm not used to and never have been. I have to remind myself that Damon has control over his bloodlust.) and pulled back to stare into my eyes. I imagine I looked very distressed and confused but I still saw the same Damon Salvatore I knew looking back at me. Even with the deep, dark circles around his eyes he didn't stray far from himself. He pulled back with a quick jerk and his body fell to the floor in the pool of his own blood that had puddled when he was being tortured. I knelt down to embrace him, my hands still locked tightly around his neck.
Tired and disorientated, he looked up at me and frowned at the two puncture marks on my neck. I just stared back. My forehead leaned against his and there we sat on the floor just huddled tightly together. I found myself never wanting to let go of him.
There is another thing about offering your blood to a vampire to save him. There is a certain bond that forms when both of you are enjoying yourself. Imagine your veins being ripped open, exposing everything you've ever felt between this person. Damon could taste what I felt for him on his tongue. I could feel what he felt for me with every flow in my body. Once you share blood with a vampire like this a feeling of intimacy is shared between you two and it does no matter that this was a serious circumstance. It didn't matter. I felt everything.
And looking into his eyes, I know he did as well.