He stood rooted to the gowned. The sight before him caused an uncomfortable chill to grow in his stomach. As he read the names engraved on the tombstone the chill made its way up to his throat and then attempted to break free from his body in the form of tears. He had met her a little more than a year earlier in this exact spot. She had been sitting on the ground scribbling in her journal. She was weaker then. He had promised to protect her. How could he fail at such a simple task? He kneeled to place the flowers he had collected from a nearby field on the grave. The flowers from the funeral were still draped over the tombstone and scatter over the grave as well. Someone had left a sign as well, WE MISS YOU ELENA.
No you don't, he thought, you have no idea what missing someone feels like. He turned to find Alaric standing awkwardly behind him holding a small bouquet. They stood for a moment in silence, their gazes locked. Finally Alaric spoke, "How are you Damon?"
A small muscle in Damon's jaw clenched, "I'm fine, Ric. How are you doing?"
Ric simply nodded, "I know you're kind of on your own right now, and loss is a difficult thing to deal with-"
"I'm fine, Ric." Damon repeated in an irritated tone. He walked past his friend their shoulders colliding. Damon was unaffected and continued on to the exit. Ric lingered there for a few seconds massaging his shoulder and watching Damon leave. When he was out of sight, Ric turned his attention back to the grave and lightly dropped his flowers in front of it. He didn't want to let on how hurt he truly was. Meredith had deceived him, but he could not bring himself to hate her. She was probably sitting in her prison cell right now, but he doubted that she was thinking of him as he was thinking of her. He couldn't help but feel guilty. Elena had suspected Meredith ever since the murders began. He had been to blind to listen. He whispered a quick apology under his breath before the tears arrived. He quickly walked back to his car wiping stray tears from the corners of his eyes.
x~x~x~x
Damon could not recall a time where he was more relieved to be home. He threw open the door, stripped off his leather jacket and cast it aside. He went straight for the parlor, there was one thing he needed right now and that was a drink. A small white envelope was tucked in between the bottle of Scotch and the numerous glasses. He plucked it from it's niche and tore it open.
Damon,
My brother, I packed up my things while you were away. By the time you read this I will be gone. Don't bother trying to find me. I won't come back. There's nothing besides painful memories and grief left in Mystic Falls. I left for my mental and emotional health. I'm convinced you'll be fine. You'll survive Damon. You always do. You've always been the strong one.
Best of luck,
Stefan
Damon stared at the note for a second before angrily tearing it to shreds and throwing the pieces angrily away. They scattered about the parlor like snow. He used an arm to knock the glasses and liquor from the table in front of him. He then lifted the table and threw it across the room where it shattered and sent splinters flying. He leapt over to the wreckage and salvaged a pointed plank of wood and his reflexes took over. He impaled himself. The fact that he did not die instantly was a strong indicator that he missed his heart. His sudden feeling of weakness was an indicator that he had not missed by much. He collapsed onto his back.
He watched dust swirling in the light filtering in through one of the large windows. For once Damon Salvatore knew what it meant to be completely alone
