Torn
….
Summary: SPOILERS FOR 3X22. The last moments of Elena Gilbert's human life.
….
The first thing that hit her was the ache.
The ache of being slammed forwards at a terrifying speed; it took some adjustment, but even as she pulled her body back, bracing herself for the (second) dive into the water.
Nothing can prepare you for that moment, not even if you've already lived it.
The loud cacophony of sounds – the truck plunging into the water, the (last) terrified roar of the engine, the bellows bursting from her and Matt's mouths – deafened her; she tried to grab hold of something (anything) for stability, but there was another large jolt as the truck (which had been veering at an angle) levels itself, and her head snaps back.
She knew at that point there was going to be tragedy here.
The only question was, who would survive, and who would succumb to the tragedy?
….
Sharp flashes pierce her brain; little moments which didn't seem significant at the time resurface, vivid in colour, clear and in high definition.
She remembered instinctively knowing her mother was gone, felt the absence before she'd even seen it for herself, before the grief stricken look in her father's eyes had given it all away. She didn't remember feeling sad about it, not right away, but there was resignation in the way her hand slipped from the window, after trying to beat it open, and there was a quiet determination in her father's eyes which gave her a quiet sort of hope.
If we go, we go as a family.
Of course, thoughts of Jeremy had filled her head, but she knew he'd be in the bathroom, or tucked in his bedroom, headphones glued to his ears, some obnoxiously loud song blaring through the ear pieces.
As the past blurred back into the present, she knew there was something she was meant to be doing.
Escaping.
She tried to stir Matt, who was frighteningly still – barely breathing – her shakes bordering on violent.
I can't do this alone.
She cried, but the tears were lost, invisible to everything else.
She didn't want to die, didn't want to be here, trying to fight for survival. Matt wasn't conscious, wasn't helping, and she didn't know what to do.
Break the windows. Smash the doors down. DO SOMETHING!
Her motions were weak, constrained by lack of oxygen and a slowly vanishing strength, but she gathered what energy she had (what life she had) and tried again.
Don't let this bridge claim more lives, she'd silently plead, aware her breath (and life) bubbled away in front of her, reminding her she is living on borrowed time here.
They both are.
….
She remembered mouthing 'I Love You' to her father.
She'd cried a river inside knowing she would never hear those words spoken aloud again. Not between them anyway.
Her hand had slid from his.
The final goodbye.
….
Stefan was a kind of superhero.
At least, that was how she'd built him up in her head the night he'd told her this story for the first time. She often tried picturing how he'd plunged effortlessly into the water, to save a family he had no connection to or with, tried to visualise how he'd saved her the first time.
In the end, she found the re-enactment brought a new light to the story.
A new meaning.
She was going to be her father's daughter (and this could've applied to either father she'd briefly known; both had shown enormous courage, enormous sacrifice, to enable her to live) and not be the first to climb the figurative lifeboat.
Matt was normal, he was good and pure and innocent. He would go to college, get a scholarship, find a normal, beautiful wife, and have a family. He would have everything he'd ever dreamed of having, everything he'd once claimed they would share together.
Fate, as it turned out, had a rather different plan for her, a different life story to construct.
This (apparently) was how it was to end.
So when Stefan broke open the door, immediately soaring towards her like he was flying, she stopped him, shook her head violently, pointing to Matt insistently.
He didn't get it; not at first.
Please her eyes had begged of him. Save him. Come back for me if you can, but get him out first. This is my choice, Stefan.
And he'd respected it.
And she'd died (figuratively, at first) watching him swim away.
Beyond her reach.
Beyond her life.
….
There was a surprise burst of bubbles from her mouth as she felt her heart clench to a stop.
Everything simply...stopped working, gave up on her.
Lost cause.
Her eyes froze, surveying her lonely surroundings.
She ached to cry.
But her broken heart had simply insisted enough was enough.
There's only so much pain a human can take, after all.
….
Darkness.
It was all she saw, all she felt.
Cold.
It wrapped around her lithe frame, working its way up towards her head.
She could hear crying.
Who is so sad?
Then she remembered.
It's me. At my parent's funeral.
The flashes before her eyes grew steadily more depressing, showing not so much a life littered with happiness, but a life cursed with darkness, tragedy, death.
It's funny, but sacrifice sounds so good on paper until you actually get round to doing it.
She decided it was a rather lonely path to take.
She wished she'd fought harder for her right to live, though if she'd relived the situation over and over, she wouldn't have changed a damn thing. Matt would still have been first on the lifeboat out of the wreckage, the first to stumble into the light after fumbling in the darkness for so long.
She loved him. So much.
Just not enough to give him the life he'd wanted with her.
….
Memories fell on memories. Names jumbled with other names.
Faces morph together, until the only difference she could see in each face was the level of sadness in each pair of eyes.
In an azure pair, there was anger, grief, loss beyond accountability.
In a darker pair, a shade just a touch lighter than hers, there was pain, and so much guilt.
She focused on the faces, because they were all that were keeping here there, anchored to the moment (whatever moment this was).
She hovered between life and death, surveying life as though she was death, but yearning for life like a child yearning for a long wished for gift.
In the corner of her mind, an old lullaby – a haunting melody sung to her when she'd been in her cradle – resurfaced to sing her to sleep.
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away...
She closed her eyes...and felt herself let go.
….
Rebirth was painful, like resurfacing from the ice only to be plunged into lava without a second thought.
Her body ached. She inhaled the air greedily, her chest rising and falling too quickly, every sense brought to life, like it had been digitally enhanced.
She looked around, saw two men (brothers) standing there, wearing identical expressions of grief, relief, pain. They both folded their arms, searching for words, looking more lost than she feels.
The memories returned fast and furiously, hitting her hard and heavy.
She blinked, processing each one in turn, waiting for the recognition to sink in (because she already knew how she was alive when she felt her life being physically sucked from her body), for the grief to hit her...
For, to put it crudely (and accurately), the shit to hit the fan.
"Elena..."
They breathed her name as one, surrounding her, their very auras pulsing with love and warmth.
But she still felt cold. So cold.
And that's because she knew when she'd finally tried to lay down her cards, to fold her hand and accept her feeble winnings, fate had dealt her (another) lethal hand altogether, and she was intensely aware folding was no longer an option.
And even as a stronger (more powerful; intense) feeling burst into being, she became aware that maybe she was meant to stay alive, that maybe this was the chance to fight she'd missed before.
Stefan held one hand close to his chest, breathing deeply, and she could feel the relief pulsing from his chest, as strong as a heartbeat.
Damon's head rested against hers, his soft, warm breath tickling her skin. She could almost taste the mingled joy and anguish emitted from between his lips, in the form of a single sigh.
Maintaining contact with both, she stayed there for a moment, silent as a graveyard (probably not the best analogy to make), contemplating the various twists and turns her life has taken.
Before her heart gave out (figuratively), she could hear one last deafening crack, severing her heart in two permanently.
And somehow that was the perfect way to symbolise her entire life.
She'd always been torn; torn between the perfect life she could've had with Matt, and freedom; torn between moving on with Stefan, or clinging to the safety that came with numbness; torn between two brothers, who loved fiercely, but were two very different characters; torn between living and dying, staying and leaving.
She was torn.
Always torn.
But maybe that was okay.
After all, only when our wounds bleed, do we know there's something worth protecting, worth saving.
….
The extra memories (the ones she'd had no idea existed) came later.
She couldn't quite look at Damon the same way afterwards.
Ever the hero.
Ever the gentleman.
Ever... Damon.
She cried when she'd turned. Cried when the first drops of blood had fell down her throat. Cried when she'd realised Damon had compelled her to find the passion her life had lacked.
She felt broken. Worn out. Confused.
Torn.
And now she had no idea what to feel anymore.