She feels her muscles ache. Her head feels like someone smashed it with a bottle of Damon's whisky. Yet she still takes her time to take the dishes out of the dishwasher and place them where they belong when she arrives home. She wanted to go back to her house, her bed. She had to pester Stefan until he let her. He finally did, still telling her that he either he or Damon were going to be near and keeping watch over her. At this point, she can handle that. She wants to go back home, to chairs and cups and pans that are familiar to her. That was there before...before…she shakes her head, willing the thoughts out.
Her main priority right now, other than not allowing herself to give into her want – no - her need for blood – is to try and make Jeremy's life as bearable and as possibly normal as she can. Jeremy is all she has left in this world that can pull and anchor her to her past.
As she places the plates in the cabinet, she shakes her head thinking that Jeremy's life hasn't been normal since that day she met Stefan Salvatore. But she won't allow herself to think too much about that fact – she doesn't need to be bogged down by negativity right now. She's lost her parents, her aunt, Alaric, and now herself. She tells herself not to focus on her past but to concentrate on her job at hand, which she does even though inklings of thoughts are pressing into her mind and even her body. She feels these thoughts pulsing through her limbs.
Blood. Veins. Pumping veins. Red. Throats.
No, stop it, she tells herself.
Blood. Veins. Heart.
STOP.
She grabs a glass and throws it against a wall.
Dripping. Flowing. Pumping.
She screams, as if she is being terrorized, even though no one is home and no one can hear her.
She won't allow herself to give into this want. She's better than this. She's more than this. She cannot hurt innocent people – innocent like she used to be.
She grabs the broom and walks over behind the table sweep up the glass. The pieces lay shattered in different shapes and sizes all over the floor. She picks up a piece and holds it in her palm. The thoughts return this time only louder and more deafening: pumping, oozing, hot, scarlet.
Suddenly she takes a shard of glass and runs it across her forearm, slicing the skin. She can see the blood as it rushes out onto her skin and trickles down her arm, and this momentarily quiets her mind and reminds her that she is still herself, not a monster. Blood, cells, and bones still exist underneath her skin.
Human.
She is a human. She must stay a human. She. Must.
As she finishes sweeping up the glass, she goes back to placing the plates into the cabinet. Making sure they are arranged by size, shape, and color. Having complete control over something, even something so mundane, feels good to her in this moment. See I can do it, she thinks to herself.
And then the sound of someone approaching the house registers and she quickly rushes to the door, without thought, without even feeling as if she's moving. She is not used to these new abilities.
She knows who it is before he knocks: Damon. She shakes her head and wonders if she can deal with seeing him right now. Of all people, she knows he won't look down upon her for her momentary weakness. If it had been Stefan, she wouldn't really know how to go about explaining the broken glass and the cut on her arm. But she knows Damon will understand and will probably even realize what she is trying to do and how she is trying to control things even before he pushes her into telling him.
She's past the days of wishing she could stop him from getting under her skin. Now….she chases the feeling, even if she won't allow herself to fully and completely succumb to it.
Opening the door, she sees Damon is his usual jeans and leather jacket. He has a small grin on his face as he walks into her home; he probably senses the madness she is feeling, that is coming off of her in waves. He probably finds it amusing. Cute.
He follows her back into the kitchen. She goes back to cleaning leaving him to lean against the counter, watching her. She can feel his smirk, even though she cannot see it. He is smirking at her trying to pretend that everything is how it used to be. She turns around and gives him a look. He just keeps smirking at her. God, he is sexy, she thinks. She notices that he then glances at her cut arm. She wraps her arm behind her back -as if that would stop him from smelling the blood. She says a prayer to herself that he won't ask about it. Please don't ask about it, she wills him in her mind.
Yet he turns to her, looks her in the eye, and puts his arm around her shoulder. Letting his other arm fall around her waist. He caresses the cut on her forearm with his hand. He looks at it, quizzically, but decides not to ask. Good, she thinks. She lets herself lean into him, knowing he understands without even having to tell him the details. He tells her that things will shape up soon. She will get used to it. It's like riding a bike. Once she gets the hang, she'll be just fine.
Yet, they both know this isn't the truth.
Still, she finds comfort in his presence - the presence that almost terrified her when she first learned of what Damon and Stefan were. She lets the rush of memories float into her consciousness. She was human. She was madly in love with Stefan. She was HUMAN. Jenna was alive. Caroline wasn't a vampire. She was ALIVE. Vicki was alive. Jeremy was okay – well as okay as Jeremy was at that time, at least he didn't have to worry about vampires and werewolves. Alaric was out there somewhere living his life – the main crux being the word ALIVE. She was ALIVE. She had a future. She had a boyfriend she loved and that loved her and would always protect her. She knew herself. Yes, she was in pain because of her parent's death. But she knew that would fade – it would never leave her of course, that is the type of pain that leaves a mark so deep that no one and nothing can erase it. Still, she knew had a beginning, a middle, and an end. Now, she has…nothing….no plan….no end. No middle. No future diploma. No future strollers and dirty diapers. No future morning brunches with Jenna. No…alive.
The thoughts cram into her mind quicker than she can comprehend them. Heaping sobs start shaking her body as she drops to the floor against Damon's leg. Damon bends down beside her and strokes her hair. He doesn't say anything to her. He lets her sob, as his fingers slowly caress her chin and cheek. He rubs her neck and back with his other hand. After a few minutes, after her sobs cease, she tiredly thanks him for being there. He stares into her eyes and tells her he wouldn't be anywhere else. She already knows this. It's not like he had to tell her.
She smiles. He cradles her face with his hand, letting his fingers cradle her chin. They sit there for a moment or two, just enjoying each other's touches, limbs, and gazes.
She wishes he would have told her that they met first, that he told her he loved her – and that he thought he wasn't worth that love even though Stefan was. She wishes he would have told her. Desperately wishes.
She loves Stefan. She always will love Stefan. Stefan represents comfort – represents stability. Represents what she was before she learned of vampires, witches, and werewolves. That sliver in time where she was healing from her parents' death and could be just a cheerleader watching her new, insanely hot boyfriend play football while sitting in the bleachers with her group of girl friends – all jealous over her gorgeous, impossibly sweet and respectful boyfriend.
But now. Things are different. She is different. She has changed so much. That period of time seems like eons ago, not just a year or more ago.
She loves Stefan. She does.
But.
Damon makes her feel alive.
Even when she is technically dead.
Alive.