This is the new story I've been hinting at for a while. The great thing about this one is that it's totally finished, so I'll be updating on a regular basis, not sure how often that'll be just yet, but you'll know I'm not going to abandon this! Woo!
A GIANT thank you goes to Layla Reyne for beta'ing and sound boarding everything for me. She's probably read these chapters more than I have. Also to Kate (This Is My Escape) for pre-reading and giving me some seriously awesome feedback.
I would highly, HIGHLY recommend reading both Layla Reyne and This Is My Escape's stories. They are so phenomenal.
I have been so excited to share this story, so here it is! Finally!
"Checking in, please," I tell the lady behind the counter. I am so ready to get these boys into their rooms and get my ass to bed. I've been dead on my feet for the past twenty-four hours. My body is shutting down, and I am thankful Phoenix is one of the last stops on our tour. We've been on the road for almost three months now, and I am so looking forward to escaping to the after-tour vacation home the band has rented.
My brother's band, The Mystic Republic - a homage to our hometown of Mystic Falls, Virginia - hit it big a few years back when I was still in high school. Since then, they've recorded three more albums and won five Grammy Awards.
My guys hold a special place in my heart, world-famous rock stars or not. They all stepped in to raise me when my and Jeremy's parents suddenly passed away six years ago. At twenty years old, my brother made no complaints and asked no questions; he and the rest of the band flew home from their first world tour to take me in. I finished high school online while I traveled with them, and now, at age twenty-two, I am their unofficial band manager.
"What's the name?" the woman behind the hotel reception desk asks, looking bored.
"Gilbert. Elena Gilbert," I reply, glancing around the lobby. It is significantly less upscale than most of the hotels we've stayed at, but it's clean and so far I haven't spotted a single photographer or crazed fan girl. Thank God for small miracles.
"Five rooms, all on the fourth floor. You can use the elevator to your right," the woman says, sliding the key cards in individual paper slips with the room numbers handwritten on them across the counter top. I thank her and trudge back out into the parking lot and onto our tour bus.
"You have a radio interview tomorrow morning. The car will be here at 6 a.m. so no funny business tonight," I explain to the boys, eyeing each of them as they file past me, taking a key card and biding me goodnight. They are such large men, all of them tall and muscled. They look like typical rockers, each sporting some sort of piercing, tattoo, or both, but I know they are all big softies at heart. Jeremy drops a kiss on my hair, the ring in his eyebrow reflecting the low lighting on the bus. Matt Donovan, my childhood best friend and the newest member of the band, having joined as their drummer after graduation four years ago, gives me a hug, and Stefan Salvatore, our bassist, ruffles my hair and gives me a sweet smile. Stefan, while the largest of the four, has to be the least intimidating. His green eyes dance with innocence and he spends way too much time coiffing his hair to be taken seriously. I watch Stefan trot down the tour bus stairs before stepping out of the doorway and back into the common room, falling gracelessly onto the couch. My head feels like it is going to implode and just thinking about the trek to my fourth floor room with my bag dragging behind me is painful.
"You okay?"
I jump at the sound of his voice. I'd figured he was already off the bus and searching for the nearest bar by now. Instead, Damon Salvatore, Stefan's older brother and the love of my life, is leaning in the doorway to the back bedroom. The man is a god in a mortal world. His porcelain skin is perfect despite the ink I can see peeking out of the collar of his T-shirt, his blue eyes shine bright against the dark frame of his eyelashes and his perfectly imperfect midnight hair falls carelessly across his forehead.
This is the first time in two days he's spoken to me.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I murmur once I recover from my shock. I toss him his key and stand to grab my bag.
He looks like he wants to say more, but simply nods and watches me exit the bus. I know because I can feel his gaze burning holes into my back. To say things between us have been strained would be an immense understatement, but it's the last thing I want to get into tonight. All I want right now is a bed, a real bed that isn't attached to a moving vehicle. That sounds heavenly.
The moment my head hits the pillow there is a pounding at my door. I groan and crack open my eyes, squinting at the bright sunlight streaming in through the window.
Damn, it is morning already?
My name now accompanies the pounding, and I roll out of bed, fighting waves of nausea and dizziness with each step.
"What?" I bark as I swing the door open, revealing Stefan waiting in the hallway, dressed in jeans and a band t-shirt, hair perfectly coiffed and ready to go someplace I can't seem to remember at the moment.
"It's 5:45 a.m. We're supposed to be in the car at six and you look like shit," he says, eyeing me with concern.
"Thanks, asshole," I mutter before turning back to my room, leaving the door open for him to follow me in if he wants to.
"Are you okay, Laney?" he asks seriously, hot on my heels. Anytime they use my childhood nickname, I know they aren't messing around. "You're always so on top of this stuff."
"I'm sorry, Stef," I say while digging through my bag for a fresh change of clothes. "I guess I'm just burnt out."
Stefan opens his mouth to reply as I stand up straight, but I cut him off with a hand to his chest, steadying myself as a wave of nausea hits me hard and then sends me bolting past him to the bathroom so I can heave my guts into the toilet. Having dealt with plenty of puking people, Stefan reacts quickly, following me into the bathroom and pulling my hair out of my face. Once my stomach is empty, I slump onto my ass on the cold tile, and it feels so good that I decide to lie the rest of the way down and press my cheek against it. Germs be damned.
Stefan wets a washcloth and carefully wipes my face. "What's going on, Elena?" he asks softly.
"Please don't tell the other guys about this," I croak, taking the cloth from his hand and slowly rising to my feet. Stefan watches me the entire time with his arms outstretched like he is waiting for me to collapse into a heap on the floor.
"Elena," he warns, but I hold up my hand, not wanting to hear any more from him.
"I'm fine, Stefan. Like I said before, just burnt out from traveling. I'll be down in ten minutes," I tell him, trying my best to act like I have it together. He seems mollified and makes a quick exit, leaving me to take the world's fastest shower, brush my teeth, dress and call down to the front desk to check out. True to my word, I am downstairs in exactly ten minutes.
The boys are all gathered around the car signing autographs for the few dedicated fans who showed up at the crack of down. I load my bags back onto the bus, which will meet us later at the arena.
"Sorry, guys. I dropped the ball this morning," I apologize as I join them by the car.
Matt shrugs before tugging me into his side. "It's okay, Laney. You work too hard anyways. You deserve to sleep in one day. My God, you are burning up!"
I try to pull away, but it only makes him fuss over me more. Shit, this is not my morning.
"I'm fine, Matty. I'll take something for it, okay?" I say in a low voice, praying he'll just let it go before the rest of them notice. I hate when one of them goes mother hen on me, because when one goes, they all go.
Thankfully, Matt, like Stefan, is easily satisfied, but I'll have to do a better job of keeping my shit together. If Damon or Jeremy suspects anything, they will see right through my excuses. So I gird my loins, so to speak, and corral the boys into the waiting car before jumping into the passenger seat.
The day drags at a glacial pace. I often find myself asking what I've done wrong to deserve feeling this shitty. We go from interview to interview and then straight to the Arena for sound check. I've puked twice without anyone noticing and that alone gives me the strength to see this day through. After tonight, I can sleep until our show in Vegas two days from now. A small coma sounds really good right about now.
I sip my water while the boys rehearse and the stagehands set up the other bands' instruments. This tour boasts four bands, including The Mystic Republic, who are headlining. It is a rocker's wet dream. All of the bands that are touring with us are amazing, even the opening band that Damon discovered down in Tennessee. They have a bright future, and it won't be long until they are chart toppers like TMR.
When my head starts pounding to the beat of Matt's drum solo, I decide it's high time to hunt down a couch backstage and crash for a few minutes in peace and quiet before the actual show begins. I search for Jeremy's dressing room and when a buffet cart full of food wheels past me, I lose the battle with my stomach and heave again into the nearest trashcan. Fuck! As much as I want to convince myself that I'm not coming down with something, I clearly am and at the worst possible time. Why can't it hold off until after the tour? We only have a few more stops. Once again, I question who upstairs hates me so much.
I finally hit the couch Jeremy always requests in his dressing room and find that I am more nauseous lying down. Fuck, I repeat again to myself.
I decide I better make myself useful instead and set off to make sure the boys are ready to go on. Sometimes I wonder if I wasn't around how they'd remember their own pants. I chuckle at my own joke, but quickly stop when it makes my stomach turn.
Matt, Stefan and Jeremy seem to all be doing alright in the green room, though if they keep on eating, they'll be miserable after the show and they know that too. I just give them a pointed look that reminds them of that and tell them that I don't want to hear about their belly aches later tonight on the bus.
I wander down the hallway, dodging equipment cases and random roadies. To be honest, I'm not looking forward to checking on Damon. I don't know what to say to him and it's clear he doesn't know what to say to me either. Knowing I need to suck it up, I knock lightly on his dressing room door before pushing it open. He's on the couch, drinking water and flexing his fingers, warming them up.
"Hey," I say with a half-assed smile.
"Hi," he replies, only sparing me a glance.
Really, that's how we're going to play this?
I take another step into the dressing room. Another step closer to him. I tilt my head, taking him in in all his badass glory. "So, are we pretending it didn't happen?"
"Elena," he sighs, dropping his head into his hands. All of that perfect raven hair falls forward, begging me to touch it, to smooth it back, reminding me of how soft it was last time I felt it. How silky it was when I fisted my fingers in it while he was thrusting into me.
Whoa, Elena. Getting carried away there.
"I thought we were on the same page," I say softly. Have I misread everything that has happened between us the last few days? Have I misread everything that has ever happened between us? I suffered in silence while he slept with everything that moved, waiting for him to realize that I've been here all along – to realize that he is it for me and I could be it for him. "I thought you felt something for me." I cringe at how needy my voice sounds.
He sighs again before pushing himself off the couch and pacing in front of it. "It's not that I don't feel something for you. It's..." He waves his hand in the air before shoving it through his dark locks, seemingly searching for the right words. "It's that I've had a line of women in and out of my bed for the better part of six years, but with you it all means... It all means more. There's so much more at stake, Elena."
I reach for him, unable to stand the distance between us. Cupping his face in my hands, I force those baby blues to focus on me. "Damon, we can take this slow. Test the waters and see where they take us."
He stares at me, wide-eyed for several moments before he sighs and rests his hands on my waist. I could explode with happiness right now. "What would we tell Jeremy?"
I shrug as well as I can manage without letting go of him. "We'll just have to tell him the truth."
"The truth?" he laughs, raising an eyebrow at me. "You know damn well how fast Jeremy would kill me if he found out I took his baby sister's virginity." His infuriating smirk only makes me smile and pull his face towards mine.
But our lips never touch. We are startled apart when a bellowing voice echoes through the dressing room.
"What the fuck?"
Oh shit.
There is a side of Damon that most people never see. All that the groupies see is a sex god, all that the producers see is a walking dollar sign, and all that the world sees is a ridiculously hot, cocky, asshole rocker. But the Damon I see, that I know, is sixteen years old. He's tall and lanky, too skinny, and his skin is plagued with acne.
And even at the ripe age of twelve, I loved him – my Damon. He's been my best friend since the day he and Stefan moved in across the street. It didn't matter that we were four years apart; he took me under his wing, he talked to me like his friend, he listened to me, and he held me when I cried about Matty pulling my hair, or about my now-best friend, Caroline, making fun of my glasses. He told me I was beautiful. He was my knight in shining armor before I could even comprehend the full meaning, the reality, of that statement.
I watched him from my bedroom window, lounging on our porch with Jeremy and Stefan, laughing and playing their guitars. I was watching the day Damon came home from school after not making the football team. The team he didn't even want to be a part of. From where I was sitting in my open bedroom window, I heard his daddy yelling at him. I couldn't make out the words, but the slam of a door somewhere inside their house and the crack I heard after would be ingrained on my brain for the rest of my life. Tears stung my eyes as I sat there, watching and waiting. I prayed for Damon's safety; that his daddy wouldn't stay angry too long, that he would realize Damon didn't love football, that he loved music instead.
When Damon stumbled out of his house a half hour later, I knew the swelling and blood that even I could see from my window wasn't from playing football. I never ran so fast in my life, flying across my yard and catching up to Damon just as he yanked his car door open. He saw the tears in my eyes and told me not to cry for him. I wasn't sure how I convinced him, but I pulled him across the street, snuck him into my house and up the stairs and locked us in the bathroom. I cleaned every cut, iced every bruise, and kissed each of his bandages, the whole time with tears in my eyes. I didn't understand how someone could do that to my Damon, to the Damon that read me bedtime stories, the Damon who walked by the elementary school on a rainy day so I wouldn't have to trudge home without an umbrella.
I cleaned Damon's cuts for years. Every time, I kissed his bandages and after, he held me and told me he was okay. I both loved and hated every year he was closer to turning eighteen. Being eighteen meant Damon could break free from his abusive father's house. Being eighteen meant he didn't have to suffer any longer, that he and Jeremy could finally start the band they dreamed of and travel around the world. But being eighteen meant Damon would leave me. That he wouldn't be around to glare at my dates with Jeremy and my dad. That he wouldn't be around to hold me after Tyler Lockwood told the whole school I was a virgin and later hunt Tyler down and teach him some manners. I loved Damon since I was twelve years old. From the moment I saw the gangly dark-haired boy hop out of the back of that U-haul across the street.
The night before Damon's eighteenth birthday, he became my first kiss. I was upset that he was leaving, but I was trying to hide it from him. I had made him a strap for his guitar, working on it endlessly with my dad. He loved it, genuinely loved it. When the tears filled my eyes, making the room blurry, he tilted my chin up so I could see the tears in his. He promised he would come back for me - that there would always be a place for me with him and Jeremy, no matter where they were in the world. I only nodded, unable to utter a single word. I just closed my eyes, forcing a tear down my cheek, and then I felt his lips softly press against mine. My eyes flew open and just like that, it was over. But I didn't care. However brief, it was a moment I would cherish for the rest of my life.
The day my parents died, Damon, Jeremy and Stefan were playing a show in New York. According to Jeremy, a techie came on stage between songs to tell him the news - that his parents were dead and his baby sister was an orphan. The three of them were on the next flight back to Virginia. I was only sixteen - alone in the hospital - the lone survivor after my parents' car went over Wickery Bridge. Damon stayed in my hospital room for two days while the doctors ran tests and kept me for observation. He held my hand, kissed away my tears, and combed my hair. He did everything. He took care of me so my brother could handle the funeral arrangements and fill out all the necessary paperwork to become my legal guardian. At twenty years old, Jeremy was responsible for his sister's life on top of a band that had just celebrated their first number one single.
None of them batted an eyelash when Jeremy announced that I would be coming on tour with them. They all smiled and helped me pack, distracting me from my grief by telling me stories of places they'd been, people they'd met. Tour sounded like a magical place where nothing bad ever happened, where the crushing grief and survivor's guilt wouldn't be able to touch me. I realized later that it wasn't the Tour that made breathing easier for me; it was Damon. He made me talk, made me face the guilt I was feeling rather than hide from it. It was Damon who saved me.
And now, as Jeremy looks to be about ten seconds away from killing Damon, it is my turn to try and save him.
"Please, for the love of God, tell me that what I just heard isn't true," Jeremy seethes, steam practically coming out of his ears. Neither Damon nor I respond, which only fuels my brother's rage. I try not to flinch when he turns his angry glare onto me. "Of all the people on this earth, you give up your first time to Damon? Are you insane?"
"Jer..." I say softly, trying to diffuse this bomb as quickly and safely as possible, which by the looks of things, isn't likely to happen.
"And you, fucker," he snarls, turning his death stare back onto Damon. "Is it not enough that you can have and have had any slut you want? You just had to stick it in my only sister?" He huffs out a big breath and digs his hands through his hair. "God, Damon, did you give her an STD too?"
"Jeremy, please," I try again, hating the way Damon tenses next to me. Despite the fame and fortune, his self-worth is still in the toilet after all those years of abuse and never being good enough for his father. It slays me that he is still so easily convinced that he is unworthy. "I want to be with Damon and he wants to be with me." My hand reaches out and I tangle my fingers with Damon's. I want to show him that we are a team united on this front, that I don't think he is undeserving.
"Yeah, that's rich," Jeremy snorts, eyeing our hands in disgust. "How could you be so stupid, Elena? He's only going to hurt you. We all know he's not capable of a faithful relationship." He takes a step forward, jabbing a finger in Damon's direction. "Don't you dare lead her on, Damon."
"Jeremy, stop!" I cry, angling my body so I stand between him and Damon. "It's different with me." I look over my shoulder at Damon. "Tell him, Damon."
"Yeah, Damon," Jeremy says sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest. "Tell me how it's different with my sister. How are you, a man who has never, ever been in a monogamous relationship, going to make her happy?"
"Jeremy," Damon's voice is pleading. He drops my hand and steps around me, pushing me behind him.
"No, it's simple," Jeremy states calmly, but I know he is anything but. "You stay the hell away from my sister. She deserves a hundred times better than you, better than any of us, and I'll be damned if I stand by and watch you break her heart."
I stand smug in the silence, watching Jeremy's face over Damon's shoulder. He has no right to come barging in here after eavesdropping on our conversation. What I do with Damon is between Damon and me only. The silence is deafening while we wait for Damon to respond. I know he is just finding a way to gently tell Jeremy to fuck off.
But when Damon's head drops, my heart sinks to my stomach, knowing something is wrong.
"Damon?" I ask softly, grasping his upper arm but he won't turn to face me.
"Jeremy's right, Elena. I'll only hurt you. I don't know how to do anything else."
"What? No!" I gasp and tug harder on his arm, struggling to turn him toward me, but he shakes my grip off. "I meant what I said, Damon. We can go slow, take it day by day-"
"Elena!" he interrupts, still facing away from me. He takes a deep breath before shattering my world. "It's over. End of discussion."
Pain blasts through me. Never in my life did I ever think the first person to break my heart would be the one it had cherished for over ten years.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I cry from behind him, grabbing his arm with both hands now and spinning him to face me and my wrath. Anger floods my system because I refuse to be heartbroken. Not yet, not until I can be alone. "You're a coward, Damon! A fucking coward. I hope you rot in hell."
I am seething as I push my way past Matt, who just appeared in the doorway, probably to tell everyone that they are taking the stage soon. I blow past everyone in the halls. Most of them jump out of my way, sensing that if they don't, they'll be run right over without apology.
My tirade doesn't last much longer because the universe sees fit to remind me that I haven't already been taken down enough today. I veer off my path in time to spew what little water is in my stomach into a nearby trashcan.
This shitty day just keeps getting shittier. Great.
Not only do I feel like death, my heart is splintering into a million pieces and what little energy I have to be angry, disappears into the trashcan with my puke. I can't get much more pathetic.
I feel tears stinging my eyes, my heartache manifesting itself physically. My pride has been sufficiently shattered and while I usually stand on stage right and watch my boys kill it, I instead stumble out the back doors of the arena. My salvation sits in the form of a big empty tour bus. A place where I can cry and barf all I want without a single soul witnessing my destruction.
I know something is wrong when I step outside, and I don't feel the residual heat of the Phoenix sun. I need some Nyquil and a bed STAT. I drag myself up the stairs of the tour bus while my body continues to war with itself. The heartbreak and my illness are fighting for priority. I trudge into the kitchen, my shivering getting worse as I search the cabinets for that precious box of medicine. When I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, I call out to our bus driver, Frank, and ask him to come find the Nyquil for me. I don't even bother turning around when the steps come closer. I just close my eyes and wait, fighting the waves of nausea.
"Frank?" I croak just as a hand wraps around the back of my neck and slams my head into the edge of the cabinet. I cry out as pain ricochets through my skull and down my spine. My arms shoot out, knocking everything off the cluttered counters, trying to grab ahold of something, anything to keep me upright.
I fall to the floor and a pair of arms wrap around me, dragging me toward the steps. I claw at the floor, at the furniture, at the door, trying to fight off my attacker in my feverish haze, but I can't win against the funny smelling cloth that's pressed over my mouth and nose. It takes only seconds before the darkness pulls me under.
*evil laughter* You thought you knew where this was going!
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