It hurts. Everything hurts, but I tried to hide it. Frantically I attempted to straighten my back and suppress the reflex to pull my shoulders up and hide my head between them. Nevertheless I couldn't help to cling to my handbag, seeking for emotional help. My right hand was already white at the knuckles and when I unintentionally bit my lip, I gasped softly and my eyes watered. The dark sunglasses not only protected me from the evening sun, which was still pretty dazzling in July, it also protected me from the prying eyes which would certainly appear as soon as the glasses would leave my nose.

As unobtrusively as I could, I blinked away the tears to prevent them from taking their way down my cheeks. I still felt his hands on me and regretted that I hadn't taken a scarf with me today. I was always out with a scarf, or at least with a light kerchief, even in the summer. Today I would need it urgently. So I could only hope that I would make it back to my flat without meeting anybody and that no stranger would address my marks, which had to appear slowly but distinctly on my neck.

Suddenly somebody called my name and I jumped. Why did anyone have to recognize me today of all days? I wore a pair of sunglasses and a dress that no one would identify since it was new and I had bought it alone. What if it was him? Without thinking, I sped up my steps. The pain became more present, my breathing more hectic and a huge knot in my stomach appeared: fear. Once again the male voice sounded and then, with relief, I realized that it didn't resemble his voice. But still, I couldn't place this voice with a hundred percent. But I didn't want to meet someone, especially in my condition and especially someone I knew. I didn't turn around and went straight on instead. I probably didn't heard the fast steps which approached me because of the roadway noise. It wasn't until someone touched my shoulder that my body produced a panic-fuelled jerk through all my limbs. I broke free and it was difficult for me to suppress the urge of screaming as I realized that someone had come so close to me. As I wriggled out of that hand, I turned around and the pieces of the puzzle came together all at once. Of course I knew that voice, of course I knew him and of course he had to be the one who saw me like that.

With a faint ›Excuse me, you scared me!‹ I tried to save the situation somehow and turned my gaze to the street. Maybe I could hide the injuries from him. As if I was just nervous because I had met him, I played with my long hair and tried to drape it over my neck. I was nervous too, I didn't even have to act. But from his expression, I could tell that he knew exactly what I was trying to do here. His azure eyes stayed on my broken lips and when I—now really nervous—licked it, I tasted that it had begun to bleed again. Probably just the moment before, when I accidentally bit on it.

»I'm …« I tried desperately to explain the situation but found no words for it. He was still silent and looked at me and the fear in my stomach began to bubble. My hands began to shake and beads of sweat appeared suddenly on my forehead.

»I … I'll call you sometime and explain all this, okay?« It wasn't a good compromise, but the sad look in his eyes, filled with compassion, I simply couldn't bear. I clung to my purse again and was about to turn around when he grabbed me by the shoulder again and I cringed, again.

»You can't go through the city looking like that.« That was all he said or what he could say, because there was a hint of suppressed anger in his voice. He exhaled audibly, letting the air escape through his clenched teeth. I didn't have to look at him, to know how his face looked now. I knew that expression; I knew that tone.

»I'll take you home later now you're coming to my place first and I'll have a look at all this.« The paramedic in him appeared, but I dared not to argue. He wouldn't let me run halfway through the city, even if I'd go by bus or take a taxi. He had always been far too good for this world. Solely he himself didn't want to admit it. I didn't answer him, but by my posture and the fact that I turned back to face him again, he would realize that I capitulated with an non-typical short fight for me. When I faced him like this and his features reflected themselves in my sunglasses, I thought of times when everything was still good. At good times that had long passed. For a few moments he just looked at me and I returned his gaze though he could hardly see through the tinted glass. Finally, he raised his hands and slowly took off my sunglasses. Embarrassed and ashamed, I looked down. My right eye had to be swollen and bloodshot. He swallowed and I did it just like him. Then, wordlessly but firm, he reached for my elbow and led me away from that place where we stood for a few minutes and in the direction of his apartment. It was a short walk and not many people passed by. But with every person, he tried to shield me as good as possible and he actually gave me the sunglasses again after just a few steps. We didn't talk about it, but I knew that I had to explain this to him. Later, someday, I didn't want to think about it yet. Not now, when the pain was still on the surface and when it wasn't just the physical pain. I still didn't want anyone around me because nobody should see me like that, but for some strange reason I was glad about his presence. I always had liked it when he was around because I felt good; because I felt safe and secure. This feeling hadn't passed even after all this time. Inwardly, my thoughts spinned over. It was really a long time since I last saw him. It would have been three whole years in September and I would have wished for a better and happier reunion. When he stopped and took his keychain out of his pocket, I realized that we were already standing in front of his apartment door. One rotation, then he opened the door and let me take the lead. It still looked like in those old days, like before, but I forbade myself to think about that time. He closed the door behind him and took my purse and the sunglasses. While I took off my high heels, he went ahead into the living room and placed my belongings on the sofa.

»Sit down!« It sounded like a mixture of a request and a gentle command and I obeyed. After a few moments, he came back with a first-aid kit and silently examined my face and neck. I couldn't stand the expression of his eyes, swallowed and lowered my eyelids. He took a deep breath and finally opened the box. Nervously, I pulled on the sleeves of my light dress and tried to hide the traces on my wrists. Then I noticed that two of my fingernails were broken. Yes, I fought back. But of what use was it?

»May I?« I nodded cautiously and his hands touched my neck, brushing the long and dark curls behind my shoulders. His touch was gentle, but when he cleaned the wound on my lip and took care of the swelling of my right eye, I flinched in pain. He didn't apologize, but the look he wore on his face showed clearly that he didn't want to hurt me. The treatment of my injuries didn't last too long—he couldn't do much—and I tried to avoid his gaze. I knew I didn't have to be embarrassed, but even though I had always enjoyed his presence, this was definitely not a moment I'd like to share or spend with him. I would have wished him to remember me differently. Strong, beautiful and full of life. Not littered with the marks of violence.

»Thank you.« I was incapable of more words and a briefly smile crossed his features.

»I will drive you home now.« Inwardly, I gasped of relief. A nod on my part voiced my silent approval and at the same moment I got up and grabbed my purse. During his careful treatment I had my hands firmly locked in my lap, now I could hold onto my bag again. Again, my gaze fell on my fingernails and I clenched my hands to fists to avoid seeing them.

His car was in the carhouse and we didn't even have to leave the building to get there. As he closed the doors and opened the gate, I got in on the passenger side and closed the seatbelt. The radio was playing some new song I had heard a few times before, but he knew that I wasn't such a big fan of normal pop music.

»The CDs are in the glovebox.« He directed the car out of the garage, down the driveway and joined the moving traffic. The closer we got to the city center, which we had to cross, the heavier the traffic got. The rush hour had probably reached its zenith. Finally, I picked a CD and put it in. Melodious metal sounded softly from the speakers. Luckily we shared the same taste in music, though he had also liked this kind of music. Although it was only because of me that he started to occupy himself with this style. The cars crawled slowly and the music filled the silence between us. I didn't want to start a conversation because it would eventually come down to today's events. I should talk about it, but I couldn't imagine that he could be the right person for such a conversation. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him. He still looked so good, still had that fragrance that made him irresistible then. In short, he had hardly changed in the recent years while my life had taken a rapid turn.

As if he could feel my gaze, it just broke out of him: »Do you want to tell me about it, or not?« I shook my head and sucked on my lower lip, which immediately hurt again. He didn't answer, he solely sighed. His right hand jerked suspiciously, but he then showed no inclination to move it. It wasn't until we were close to my parents' house that I realized that he didn't know that I moved—or better, moved out—a couple of month ago. For the first time in his presence, I volunteered more that I was compelled to speak, the voice sounding very thin and cautious in my own ears, but most of all apologetic because I had recognized this fact so late.

»I don't live at home anymore. I live now on Magnolia Street … sorry.« I almost swallowed the last word. But he simply smiled and looked at me reassuringly.

»That's the same direction anyway!« I hadn't thought of that as I seldom took this way. I had never been the type to drive around the city by car. I liked the public transport a lot better. However, these also made the way a lot more complicated and it took longer distances than if you were driving with your own car. I turned my head to the right and looked out of the window as we drove down the avenue where my family still lived. The thought came to me that he could just let me out here. Then this unpleasant situation would be over. However, a new one would start and I really doubted in the moment I thought about it that my brother would be so tactful to leave me alone. I preferred the loneliness of my own apartment, even if that meant really feeling and being alone. I first realized that we had already reached my street when he stopped the car and looked at me questioningly.

»Which number is it?«

»The 32nd,« I responded simply and the young man at the wheel had to let the car just roll a few feet more before we parked directly in front of the three-story apartment complex that I called my home since last February. He turned off the engine, left the car and went round it to arrive on my side. The passenger door was opened and I accepted his offered hand.

»Miss Elena!« I flinched when I heard the voice of my neighbor, clinging a little to tightly to his hand as I got out of the car. The pressure was reciprocated and gave me the strength to turn and smile with a straightened back towards the pensioner. I could tell on his face that he was terrified to see me in such a state. So I put on a friendly smile.

»How can I help you, Mr. Shane?« I didn't want to get involved in a conversation. Old people were always so terribly talkative and my counterpart belonged to a particularly gossiping sort of person, who liked to get carried away and nearly bottled you up when his story wasn't finished yet. However, today I seemed to have a radiance that made it impossible for him to speak in nebulous sentences and express himself mysteriously. Not according to his species, he replied without further adornments.

»Your boyfriend—« I drew in a sharp breath between my teeth and tried to prevent a painful gasp. »—asked for you. Mrs. Flowers has told him you are not home.« It was barely possible for me to keep smiling and my fingernails clawed themselves into my purse while the other hand still clutched his.

»Thank you for the information, Mr. Shane,« I choked out. The old man took a step backwards and I was on the run immediately. Confused, he looked at the young man next to the car, but he couldn't give him any information either. Without having achieved anything and with unresolved curiosity, the pensioner retreated to his small front yard while my paramedic locked his car and followed me. Breathless, though I hadn't really run, I leaned against he wall beside the front door. If the wall hadn't been so rough, I would have let myself slide down on it. And so I hung around like a pile of misery, trying hard to ban my tears.

»Your keys?« He sensed that I wasn't able to release myself from this rigidity at the moment, so I just held out my bag without saying a word while I continued to struggle with the rising water in my eyes. It wasn't allowed to spill over. I didn't want to cry. Many years ago I had sworn myself that I would never cry again over a man. Actually, I had sworn it to myself because of him. And even in this terrible situation, all I could think about was my promise to hold on and to stay true to myself.

He accepted my bag and purposely pulled the zipper at the back. The water level rose as I registered this and suddenly I asked myself what else he had remembered. I had always kept my keys in there.

After he had unlocked the front door, I gently pushed my body away from the wall and tried to walk upright, despite the knot in my stomach which tempted me to move in a crooked position. He followed me to the top floor and took also over unlocking my door. Fortunately, I was already in control by now so that I could look at him with a weak but thanking smile.

»Thank you.« The question, or rather the desire for him to come in, was obviously written in my face. I pulled the door close behind us and as a precaution, I put the door chain into its place. My keychain landed on the small dresser in the lobby as if he had known that I always put it there. I slipped out of my high heels and immediately put them on the shelf, watching my rescuer out of the corner of my eye. Finally, I dared to take off my sunglasses and my eyes automatically fell onto the round mirror above the dresser. I took a deep breath and refrained from sucking my lip. It would just start bleeding again and I could still taste the metalish taste in my mouth. I hated blood. At least my own, because my education required the sight of blood. But to so one's own is far more worse than that of a stranger or patient.

»Do you want … a coffee or something?« My voice broke the silence almost shyly as I avoided his gaze and fixed an indefinable dot on the wall behind him. I couldn't look at him at all. Not with the knowledge that pity would be shown in his eyes.

»That would be nice.«

He followed me wordlessly in the direction of the kitchen, but stopped a short distance in front of it. I knew why. It was a photograph that showed me with him. It wasn't quite old—we had made it last winter. Everything seemed so wonderful then. We had only been together for a few weeks and we were head over heels in love with each other. I heard him exhale controlled and waited only for him to speak and ask me the questions which had to haunt his head. But he remained silent. On the one hand, I was relieved, on the other hand, I knew that he would eventually ask and at the thought of it, a shiver ran down my back. I didn't know if I could talk to him about everything.

As the first cup was filled slowly with hot coffee and the smell of freshly grounded beans filled my apartment, I started to take a second cup out of the cabinet and gasped sharply as a stinging pain shot through my side. He was immediately at my side, gently encircling my hips and almost tenderly pushing me back to the floor. Then he reached up and grabbed the cup for me. As he touched me, the hairs on my lower arm rose, it made my skin crawl and I held my breath. Not because the pain overcame me, but because I wasn't used to that kind of loving gesture. It was only when I heard the noise that I noticed he had placed the cup onto the surface and only moments after this, soft hands covered my face and turned it in his direction. His thumb traced a wet trail on my cheek. I didn't realize that the dam was broken and I cried silently. I had broken my promise, but unlike I expected, I didn't feel bad about it.

Without saying a word, he bridged the short distance and enfolded me into his arms; into his strong arms which hold me securely. I didn't want to give in, I wanted to stay strong. But my head found it's way to his neck and my tears soaked his black shirt. I felt his hands caressing my back reassuringly and imagined him breathing a kiss on my hear. I couldn't tell exactly, because I tried to use all my remaining strength to not sob loudly and embarrass myself even more in front of him. I cried silently. I cried for my self-control, for the failed defense against violence. And I cried out of pain. It hurts so much.

We sat opposite each other and each of us had the hands clasped around a hot cup of coffee. His eyes wandered curiously through my little living room as if he was wondering how much of my personality was in this apartment. The answer was simple: I had tried to put my stamp on the flat, to realize myself in here. It was simple, almost minimalistic. Likewise, the decor also showed style. Dark wood dominated, paired with warm colors.

»His name is Liam.« It broke explosively out of me. I didn't want to hear his questions and since I knew that I had to talk about it because he wouldn't leave before I did, so I took it into my own hands. For the first time since we came to my apartment, I dared to look into his deep blue eyes. It was terrifying how this sight calmed me. At that moment, deep inside I knew I was safe with him and that he wouldn't judge me.

»I met him at my first day at the university. We attended the same class and started to talk. It quickly dawned on us that we both had a high goal that we wanted to achieve and this connection made us learning partners … friends. And eventually there was more.« I took a deep breath. My memories of that day were undimmed, but only a short time later, everything went south. He didn't say anything yet, just looked at me and took a sip of his coffee. Inwardly, I had to smile. He was still drinking it with so much cream and sugar that I just felt sick at the thought. The content of his cup was light brown, mine was the deepest black. That was also how my heart felt. Black, dead and bled-out.

»Just before Christmas last year was the first time we went out together.« I thought I recognized a brief tinge of pain in his blue irides and hastily lowered my gaze. I didn't mean to hurt him but our time was gone so long. In fact, he had no right to be hurt when I talked about other men. It had finally been his decision to leave me, not mine. And yet, it hurt me even when I thought of hurting him. Some things would never change. There was no point in denying that he was still important to me, that I had still feelings for him deep inside of me. They would never go away. He had been my great love.

»You don't have to tell me that!« His statement was intervowen with a strange tone, as if he had suddenly a change of heart. I studied the little bubbles on my coffee before looking at him. When I raised an eyebrow questioningly, the pain twitched through the right half of my face and I inhaled sharply. I couldn't even react so fast because he had already put his cup down onto the coffee table and taken mine out of my hands. With gentle touches he scanned my swollen side, a worried expression in his beautiful deep blue eyes. Stop, where did this thought come from?

»I really should take you to the police and then to the hospital.« Seriously he studied my scared mask and I shook my head abruptly, ignoring the pain. As his fingers left my skin, I immediately missed them. I didn't want to talk to the police. I didn't want the attention which came with it. I just wanted it to be over.

»Please don't.« The whisper that escaped me was so filled with fear that he frowned at me. As if wrestling with himself, he opened his mouth and then closed it again without saying a worth. He backed away and eventually got up. Determined, he turned at the direction of my phonograph and went to his knees to inspect my collection. After a few moments, he pulled one from the shelf, opened the cover of the music device and carefully set the record on it. Unshed tears shimmered in my eyes. Why did he still know me so well? Music had always calmed me down and I could only guess that he wanted to take away my fear. When the first notes of the song sounded through my living room and I immediately recognized the melody of the guitar and the bass, I couldn't do anything against it. The tears streamed down my cheeks as Axl Rose sang the first words and as he voiced ›And please don't cry‹ I sobbed aloud and buried my face in my hands. I don't know if it was his intention to make me cry, but when I felt his strong arms again, pulling me to chest, I let go. A tremor shook my body. I didn't understand what words he mumbled into my curls, but for the second time in that short time, his hands brushed reassuringly over my back. The pain, caused by the injuries, receded into the background and I was only aware of his presence, his touch. One of his hands wandered up my back and he buried it in my dark hair, hugging me and giving me the safety his hugs always meant. And without wanting so, I didn't solely cry because Liam was out of control and I hadn't been stronger; that I hadn't pulled the ripping cord months ago. No, I cried for lost opportunities, for a ›what if‹, for a lost love. I cried for us and for the last few years I had to spend without him. And only because he thought he wasn't good enough for me.

»Damon, why?« A soft question and a broken, weak voice. I slowly pulled away from his arms and slid backwards to look him into his eyes. In those fascinating, beautiful, blue eyes that I once loved so much. Mine were teary and certainly dull and empty. His expressed concern, compassion, but also shame but for what? And there was something that I couldn't dedicate. His hands hung down on his body, almost powerless, but he lifted one and his thumb tenderly danced over my cheek. He wiped the tears away and looked for a moment at the black crumbs, which were the remnants of my mascara, before his gaze met mine. And then I realized it. Love.

It struck me like lightning and I backed away, eyes wide open. No, this couldn't be. His hand fell weakly back into his lap. An expression of regret and apology appeared on his face, but he didn't try to approach me again. He gave me space, didn't say a word. My breathing became faster, the breaths shorter and more violent and the edge of my field of vision blurred. I heard a rushing sound in my ears … and then everything went black.

Beep. Beep. Beep. It hurts. Everything hurts. I woke up because this steady beeping was unbearable. What happened? I could make out the mumbling voices near me but I couldn't understand a single word. A puff of air. Someone passed by me. Why was I here? A shiver ran through my body and I groaned. Suddenly a presence, a calming and familiar but concerned voice.

»Elena? Can you hear me?«

I tried to open my eyes and blinked. Suddenly bright light came in. Another moan made its way to the surface and I closed my eyes as fast as possible. A warm counterpart joined my hand and I sighed. For a few moments, I merely tried to regulate my breathing before I tried again and raised my eyelids. I looked into blue eyes and I was confounded by the sight.

»What happened?« My words sounded like croaking. My throat was too dry to talk.

His face showed relief when I spoke and his hand squeezed mine.

»You fainted and I didn't want to risk anything … with your injuries. I called 911, I'm so sorry. I know you didn't want to go to the hospital, but there was no other way. An when they saw your marks and injuries here, they sent one of my colleagues.«

I looked at him without a slightest hint of understanding.

»Elena, I'm a cop,« he told me quietly, squeezing my hand again. »My colleague is waiting outside for your testimony. I can invite him in if you feel good enough to talk to him.«

I hesitated and I didn't know if it was smart to talk to the police. But actually, I already had that since I had already entrusted parts of the story to him. I looked at him, taking his face, framed with dark hair, in; the prominent jaw bones; the defined eyebrows under which lay the two most beautiful, deep blue lakes I had seen in my whole life. He looked questioningly at me and I exhaled and sighed. I nodded hesitantly, indicating that I would be talking to his colleague.

When did he started his duty? When did he started the training? When did he decide to go to the forces? He had been so hesitant then, if he really should follow his father's footsteps, even though it had been his wish. Was it really the right thing for him? Was it difficult for him to be compared to his father? Is he satisfied and happy now? Is he proud of himself? In which department does he work? So many questions were buzzing through my head. And even though I couldn't show it right now, I was proud of him that he could bring himself to follow his dream.

He squeezed my hand again before he got up and left the room. During his absence I took the opportunity to inspect my surroundings. There was a catheter in my left hand, but no tube led away from it. The beeping sound came from a heart monitor and only then did I notice that electrodes were attached to my upper body, which sent my heartbeats directly to the monitor and recorded it there.

There was a knock on the door and a man in his mid-fifties entered the room. He was in uniform, so he had to be the colleague Damon had talked about. The cop wore a slight smile on his face as he came up to me, pulled a chair near my bed and sat down next to the hospital bed.

»Miss Gilbert—my name is Matthew Donovan and I was sent by the department to take your statement. Do I understand correctly that you want to file a report?« Did I really want that? Wouldn't a report make things worse? On the other hand, maybe I could finally free myself from him.

»Yes,« I said softly, then cleared my throat and forced myself to look the officer into his eyes.

It didn't take long to tell him my story. My appearance contributed to a compassionate expression the policeman sent towards me. Meticulously, he noted my injuries in his notes: the swollen eye, the broken lips, the marks on my neck and wrists. But also the invisible injuries, which the treating doctor had already told him about, were recorded: the two bruised ribs and the bump on the back of my head, hidden under the dark curls. He also wrote down that I had heart rhythm disorders, which were probably only partly due to the injuries. I successfully suppressed the other cause. I had no strength to deal with it and him. Actually, I expected him to come back to my room after Detective Donovan left. But he didn't come back. Not that day, not even the next day or the day I got released.

A taxi took me back to my apartment. The nightfall had already begun and although I knew that my body was still exhausted, I felt nothing of it. They had given me painkillers so I could move freely, even though they told me not do to. I dragged myself into my apartment and I hardly could do anything against the feeling of disappointment. I had hopes up to high and they were ultimately not fulfilled. Maybe I had also misinterpreted everything and my savior was no more than a savior, who now went on his way again.

It was almost midnight when there was a knock on my door. Immediately my heart rate quickened and a mixture of nervousness and anxiety spread through my body. How could someone be at my apartment door? Was the front door not completely closed or even really open? I decided to keep quiet, to not respond. Maybe the nocturnal visitor would disappear again. But what if it was Liam? He wouldn't just run away like that, I knew that. He would wait and then … it knocked again. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Automatically I reached for my cellphone and typed the number of Detective Donovan's department in, but I didn't press the green button yet. I felt my hands starting to sweat. Slowly I got up, careful not to make any quick movements and to keep quiet. Carefully I put foot in front of foot until I stood in front of my door. I pushed the spy's cover aside and looked through with my good eye. The right one was still too swollen and the vision impaired. It was useless for the moment.

It took a few moments for my eye to get used to the dimness in the hallway. I didn't notice that I had held my breath. It was only when a relieved breath left my lungs that I realized. With more nimble fingers than expected I removed the door chain and unlocked my apartment door. I took another deep breath in and out before opening the door and facing him. Mysterious blue met warm chocolate brown.

For a few moments we just looked at each other and stood in passing without moving. Finally he spoke: »I'm sorry, Elena!«

His shoulders slouched. I realized at that moment that he was standing in front of my door in uniform and a hot ball formed itself in my stomach, sending its warmth slowly through my entire body. There was no point in pretending or denying. I desired him … still. But I didn't know how to deal with those awakened feelings. Unconsciously I began to chew on my lip and was reminded by a pulling that I shouldn't do that. Finally I sighed and stepped aside. I looked at him questioningly. I didn't know what he would read in my eyes but I really tried to hide the nervousness.

This time I pronounced the words aloud: »Do you want to come in?« He hesitated for a moment and the warm feeling inside me changed. But then he nodded and the fire was burning hotter than before.

I locked the door behind us and replaced the door chain again. One couldn't be too careful and despite the restraining order which Detective Donovan had requested for me in court, I wasn't sure that Liam really would stay away from me. He stood almost timidly in my lobby, his cap in his hands. I gave him an encouraging smile at least I hoped that me hurt face could express something in that direction. He finally put the cap on the small dresser and slipped out of his black boots, which he placed carefully next to my shoe rack. Turning away from me, he spoke again: »I wanted to come back, but I couldn't stand your sight.«

The fire was burning too hot now. It burned. And in addition, it felt as if his words had been a wooden stake that he had rammed deep into my chest. I gasped and the heavy inhalation triggered a real pain in my ribs. The sound made him awake from his rigidity and he turned on his heel. Regret lay in his eyes.

»No, that's not what I meant.« He reached for me. His fingertips hardly touched my skin and yet, I felt this tingeling on my cheek, my lips. Involuntarily my gaze fell on his full lips and my breath caught.

He breathed: »You're beautiful. Even in this condition.« He cleared his throat and continued in a more steady voice: »I couldn't stand the sight and the thought that he did this to you. I wanted to come back, but it hurt too much. Elena, I'm so sorry I left you alone.«

»You saved me, Damon. You don't have to apologize for not staying with me. That's not your duty anymore.« One corner of my mouth raised a few inches and I tried to show him that I wasn't angry with him. Maybe disappointed but not angry in any degree. It was the truth that it wasn't his duty to sit on my bedside, but it was similarly the bitter truth. Nearly three year I had forbidden myself to think about him. I had banned him from my life like he had wished. Why shouldn't he leave my side now?

»I'm really grateful that you took the time for taking care of me, but I didn't expect more.« Lie. I had expected more, but I would hardly tell him that. I still thought that I was wrong. I had interpreted something into his worried looks that hadn't existed for nearly three years. He was a police officer and had worked as a paramedic for years. It was in his nature to help people and it was pure coincidence that he had stumbled upon me. His instincts had told him to help me. Not love.

»So please don't worry about it.« A change of subject was really urgent. Otherwise I would go crazy. I let a friendly but distance smile appear on my lips.

»Are you still on duty or do you want a beer?« I tilted my head slightly and looked at him questioningly, but he didn't answer my question. Instead he slowly took my hands and confusion showed at my face.

»Elena …« He sighed profoundly and a deep breath left him.

»Elena … I can't stop thinking about you.«

Abruptly, I withdrew my hands and folded them defensively in front of my upper body. I shook my head in disbelief.

»I'm fine.« My response sounded nearly rough. »You don't have to worry about me anymore. Believe me.«

He sighed again and I thought I could see a gentle smile on his lips, but then it was gone again. Did my good eye played tricks on me? Were the painkillers to strong?

»I didn't mean it like that. Let me try to explain it differently.« I expected that he would take a step towards me, but he turned around instead and walked purposefully into the living room, heading towards my phonograph. Glued to the spot, I stood in my lobby. Then it dawned on me he didn't find the right words, so he let the music and others speak for him. When I finally followed him into the living room, a phonograph record was already laying on the player and he carefully set the needle down. He turned around and looked at me. It rustled and slowly the first chords sounded through the air. The feeling of a lump appeared in my throat and unshed tears shimmered in my eyes as I recognized the song. The time stood still while Bryan Adams sang and he put the words, which he couldn't find or say out loud, into Damon's mouth. It was the last song on the phonograph record and after it had finished, none of us even moved a millimeter. I was scared to do so because I didn't want to cry again and I knew that the tears would stream down my cheeks if I took just one step towards him. He hesitated for another reason. I saw it in his eyes. He, the most confident man I ever knew, was unsure. Almost shy. Since my reaction wasn't really responsive, he didn't know how to react. Even if he hadn't spoke a single word, Bryan Adams had poured out his heart for him and I was left in disbelief about his choice of song. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I was dreaming. It felt like a dream; a wishful dream, an utopian dream. So long I had waited for a confession like this and now that I heard it, I didn't know how to handle it.

»I am dreaming, am I? You aren't really here and this isn't really happening, is it?«, I whispered while I tried to prevent me from blinking. One blink and the tears would fall.

»Elena. This isn't a dream. I am really here …«, he bridged the distance between us and came closer, »… please forgive me. I can't stop thinking about you. I love you. I can't stop loving you!« A sob escaped my throat. He looked down on me and I never saw a more beautiful expression in his face. Pure love beamed at me. He put a finger under my chin and lifted it gently up. His hand wandered then softly to my cheeks and he leant slightly towards me. Urgently, he looked into my diluted eyes.

»I love you, Elena.« And with those words he kissed me. As light as a feather, as sweet as sugar and with so much affection. The steamy ball in my stomach exploded and before I even realized it, I threw my arms around his neck, ignoring the pain of my ribs, and buried my hands into the dark locks at his hairline. Lips on lips, he murmured ›I love you‹ again and again and among my sobs sounded simultaneously relieved laughter.

»Please forgive me for needing nearly three years and this bad situation to finally tell you about my feelings.«

Tears of happiness mingled with those I cried for the last years without him. My hands wandered to his chest and I pushed him softly away, looked him in the eyes; crying and smiling at the same time.

»I love you too.« And that was the truth.

AN: Dear readers!
The beginning of this story gathered dust on my laptop and when I stumbled upon it I had to transform this short story to a Delena story. I hope you all liked this little piece of our favorite couple. I'm no doctor and I don't work as policewoman so I hope you will forgive me any mistakes in describing those things. Artistic freedom, you know. The songs I used (as inspiration) are ›My Selene‹, ›Kingdom for a Heart‹ and ›Alone in Heaven‹ by ›Sonata Arctica‹ during the ride, ›Don't cry‹ by ›Guns n' Roses‹ before the hospital and ›Can't stop loving‹ you by ›Bryan Adams‹ in the end. Check them out, they are beautiful. And as always: reviews are love.
Love ~Ria

Disclaimer:
All characters belong to their rightful owner. I'm just messing around with their lives.
Though I'd like to own some mysterious dark-haired guy named Damon Salvatore.