I try to replace the flowers every day. No one else will do it if I don't. Damon didn't make friends very easily. But that was part of who he was, and I learned to love that.
I used to think I could change him. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could make him a better person; one of the good guys. I guess I didn't realize he was one of the good guys all along. He was no saint, I think that's obvious, but he protected the people that he loved. Protected them - protected me - until his very last breath. It was his protective nature that landed him in this grave that I'm sitting on. It's the only grave, other than Bonnie's, in the whole cemetery that ever has fresh flowers on it. Today I went with blue roses. The blue reminded me of lapis lazuli. I pricked my finger on one of the thorns, and for some reason, it made me laugh. It was sort of like a joke: Damon always held no shame when it came for his love of human blood.
The sound of a snapping twig, along with the crunch of a leaf or two, tears me out of my thoughts. I quickly wipe the blood from my finger off onto my pant leg. While my eyes are still down on the ground, watching as I move to gather my things, I hear a voice. A very familiar voice.
"I've been gone four months and you've already forgotten I'm one of the few people around here that isn't bothered by the sight of blood," the voice - his voice - says, clearly amused with himself.
I am frozen. I realize it can't be possible, and I refuse to give myself hope. My eyes stay fixed on a rather ordinary patch of grass. "Elena." His voice becomes pleading. I look up and see Damon.
This isn't the first time I've hallucinated since he died. I thought the hallucinations had ended a little over a month ago, but I guess I was wrong. I see Damon. I hear Damon. But I know Damon isn't here. The one thing that would make the hallucinations bearable would be if I could just touch him. I just want to hold him one more time. I guess the hallucinations have a rule against touching.
It's when I begin to stand up that I notice how tired he looks. But maybe that's not exhaustion I see, maybe it's pain. Pain mixed with... Joy? The joy of seeing me, I guess.
"Leave me alone," I start. I can't keep seeing him like this. I don't want to be thrown back into the pit of depression that I've only just clawed my way out of. "Please, I'm done with this. You need to get out of my head." I say this with force. He looks confused for a moment. That's when he reaches out to me. I don't shy away because I know he can't touch me. He continues reaching until his hand reaches my arm. He's inches from me now. Closer. Closer.
His hand travels through my arm. Just like the rest of the hallucinations.
I pack my things and head home.