Title: Sunday Panties
Fandom: tVD
Rating and warnings: PG
Word count:
Medium: Fic/drabble
Summary: Elena just can't imagine there being any more laundry to do
Author's Note: I just needed to get this out
Elena Gilbert stood in the middle of her room, clad only in lime-green bikini-briefs and a sports bra. The bra was old and grey, with yellowy sweat stains between her breasts and under her arms. The underwear were worn, the elastic poking out in places; they sagged in awkward places and were too tight in others. She looked at herself in the mirror across the room and sighed as she pulled her hair up in a messy bun.
Sunday panties.
That's what her mother called them. The underwear that you kept tucked away for those lazy Sunday afternoons when you weren't expecting to see anyone or care. The underwear that meant your laundry-pile was so far gone, this was all you had left. Pit stains and bare elastic. No hearts or lace or cartoon characters. The bottom of the barrel. The underwear that said: I have a lot of cleaning to do.
Only Elena was pretty sure she had done a load of laundry every day that week... She was almost sure. Well, she may have had to re-wash Tuesday's load when she found it, still in the wash, late Wednesday night. And it's possible that Thursday's wash and Friday's fold were the same load. But that still didn't account for the fact that she was standing there, on a Saturday, in her Sunday panties.
Saturdays were for black, lacy things. The items Jenna would help her buy and hide from her parents. The items that made Matt blush, Stefan growl, and Damon... well... Elena cocked an eyebrow at her reflection. With Damon she didn't think it would matter much. But still. Sunday panties were for lazy Sundays. Not for fun-filled, sexy-flirty Saturdays. Saturdays were full of promise, full of fun, full of the hope of more fun Saturdays.
Except lately.
Elena threw a pair of loose running shorts and a baggy t-shirt over the offending underwear and tripped down the stairs, avoiding the loose board outside Jeremy's room so he could sleep in a little. Didn't a boy deserve a little extra sleep?
Didn't she?
She threw open the door of the laundry room. Blood. Dirt. Sweat. Her nose was under assault. The room was full of clothes, towels, blankets, everything... as if everything in her house had been commandeered to wipe up a mess beyond anyone's comprehension. Elena scratched the dry skin under one elbow and looked down at the mess.
This was her life now. Days and days full of laundry. Blood and dirt on every piece of clothing. Sunday panties on a Saturday.
She opened the lid to the washer, pulled the start button, and started placing the top of the pile into the running water.
This was her life now.