Prologue
The wood at the end of the bench was decaying. It was damp and darker brown than the rest of the wood – the healthier wood. Elena Gilbert occupied the healthier wood. She sat in the middle of the bench, staring at the wooden edge that splintered in desperation. Give it a few more years; it'll fall apart.
The sky held clouds and the air was chilly. Her own mind felt cloudy. No thoughts passed through her head. Only the image of the sad, tearful end of the bench occupied her brain. She tore her eyes away from it after what felt like ages and instead settled for a black spot of gum on the sidewalk in front of her.
Where was she? The place didn't even look familiar… How had she gotten here?
The questions nudged her mind, but that was it. She didn't care to find out the answer. She just felt good, drowsy, and… well, there was a feeling rushing through her body that she couldn't quite place a finger on. Something foreign yet familiar ran through her veins along with her blood. She was pretty sure she liked it.
Time passed. She didn't know how much.
"You want another hit of this?" a male voice filled her ears. It sounded like it came from the opposite end of a long tunnel. Who was that?
She slowly turned her head to the side, away from the moldy end of the bench. Matt sat next to her. When had he sat down?
"Huh?" she mumbled, breathing in the details of his face. Everything was magnified. She could see the smallest blond stubble on his jaw line. He needed to shave, but just barely.
His expression changed from nonchalance to something else. His eyebrows did a funny thing. "Um, earth to Elena." He waved a hand in front of her face.
She leaned back from him. "What?" she asked slowly, irritated. He was the one who had materialized out of nowhere.
"Actually, I think you're on a good level." Matt drew back and brought the foil piece toward his face. He held a lighter to the bottom of the foil. The top began to darken to a rusty brown, and smoke formed. It floated up into a foil-made straw that Matt held to his mouth. He inhaled. Elena watched, her eyelids heavy.
That was right: she had just been doing the same thing moments ago. Or ages ago. This realization relaxed her. How long had she been sitting there?
Upon reaching this new, yet dangerously fickle level of awareness, the environment changed. It morphed into something else entirely. The wooden bench she occupied became a red, tacky leather couch. She was in a room; someone's living room. The walls, which once seemed white, were now a light grey. They were dirty. The carpet was stained sporadically, and other people sat around in the room as well.
Elena's heartbeat increased at the sudden, yet agonizingly slow transition. Her senses came back to her, but only slightly. She remembered now: she was high. How had she forgotten that she was high?
She looked at Matt again. He was still inhaling the smoke. Heroin; it came in all types of forms. She felt giddy and excruciatingly fatigued. But in a good way. Always in a good way.
She mumbled something incoherent to herself. Matt exhaled and some of the smoke drifted into her space and into her own lungs. She felt light-headed.
"What?" he coughed. She felt his eyes land on her.
She tore her eyes away from the dirty carpet and glanced at him. His pupils were dilated. "I forgot that we were here," she said quietly, explaining. I thought we were outside, she mentally added. She didn't have the energy to say it. She was pretty sure that her hallucination wasn't a normal thing, either.
He laughed. "Here? Oh, jeez. You really are on a good one." This seemed to amuse him. Elena found that she couldn't understand what he way saying.
Was this normal? Her brain felt so wired that she couldn't tell. She didn't know if she had ever felt this way when she'd gotten high before. Something was off; she couldn't bring herself to care.
"Mmm," she responded slowly. She started to lean back on the couch. Leaning, leaning, leaning… almost there. It took an eternity for her back to finally brush the backrest. Her head followed accordingly, and her neck muscles relaxed. She had a pleasant, sinking feeling as her body melted into the couch.
From this angle, she could see everyone else in the room. There was Tyler. This was his place, she recalled dimly. He had a buddy with him that Elena wasn't sure she recognized. They were watching the TV that Elena had also forgotten about; it sputtered gibberish. They found whatever it said funny and laughed together.
Elena closed her eyes again. Her world spun. Some other people were in the room, too. She only knew this because she could hear conversation. It sounded distant. She felt the couch shift. Someone was sitting on the other side of her now.
She cracked her eyes open and glanced to the side. She didn't have the energy to turn her head. At least she felt nice, though. She laid eyes on a denim knee. "I wouldn't sit there if I were you," she muttered quietly.
"Why?" a male voice asked. It sounded familiar, too. She was almost positive she knew the speaker.
"The wood is about to break," she explained, closing her eyes again. Let him do what he wants with the information. At least she had told him.
"Wood? Elena, you feeling alright?" the guy asked. He sounded concerned.
Elena waved her hand dismissively. Or thought she did. She realized her arm didn't feel like it had moved at all, but she could have sworn…
"Elena?" the voice cut through her thoughts again.
"Hm?" She felt so tired. Little colorful spots began to fill the black space behind her closed eyelids. She let out a small, nearly inaudible moan. What was happening to her?
"You've done some stupid things before, but this sure takes the cake."
Elena's eyes shot open. The sarcasm the dripped from the words could only be achieved by one person: Damon. And surely enough, he stood in front of her now in his classic black leather jacket. He seemed out of place in this room. In fact, what was he doing here?
"Damon?" she croaked. She blinked, and he disappeared entirely. Was that another hallucination?
Her eyes shut on their own accord, though she did catch a glimpse of blurred figures making their way towards her.
She heard some more voices. She thought they were directed at her, but she couldn't be sure. She did catch a "Who is she talking to?" and a distant and confused "Damon's not here..." Her world was fading. She had a dreadful, yet peaceful feeling of sand slipping through her fingers. She tried to hold onto it, but it continuously found gaps in between her fingers. The sand sprinkled over her body.
It felt nice, at first. But then the sand began to fill her lungs like dust, and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. Everything was numb and quiet. She opened her eyes and saw black. Then she was unsure if she had even opened her eyes at all. She felt peaceful, but real peace was in a country as far away as health.
"Fuck. Someone call an ambulance."
She did manage to catch that, though. Then she fell into non-existence.