Stefan came into the house; the door was left wide open. He knew where he would be. He went up the stairs, turned in and saw the door shut. He tried the doorknob and found it was locked. Damon didn't want anyone's help and he was going to try and make sure that would not happen.
He sat at his bedside, or rather, her side of the bed, in front of the bedside table. The edge of it propped his back up instead of falling out from behind him. He'd raged enough in this room for it to collapse into dust a hundred times over. He had the blanket around his shoulders from his closet, embracing the warmth and pulling it closer sometimes. He took a swig of the bourbon from the bottle and set it down, its glass sounding on the wooden floor. He ran his hand through his hair and remembered he hadn't showered in a week, plus hadn't combed his hair for even longer. He wouldn't be surprised if he ended up with dreadlocks before he could get up from that spot in the room. Their room. He turned his head towards the bed, to where Elena used to sleep. Her body laid out against the mattress, the blankets over her. She'd be facing towards him, her hair spread out against the pillows and her hand curled up in front of her. But Elena wasn't here. She was gone. She turned and pressed her body into the mattress, and then her brown eyes set upon his. He was frozen. This wasn't real, why could she move? Every other time he'd tried to turn her body towards him he'd find her lifeless, her eyes open and staring at him in love. She didn't know she was going to die. She couldn't even have said goodbye to him.
"Stefan!" He yelled in warning. Stefan sighed and turned away from the door. Elena disappeared from the mattress and Damon resisted the urge to call out to his little brother, bring her back. He stared at the wooden floor, the bourbon before him as if it was waiting.
"What?" he snarled at it, and stood up with his vampire speed, grabbing the bottle and the blanket flying off his shoulders, and he smashed it into the ground.
He continued staring at the half-empty glass of bourbon and thought with despair that he'd have to leave the room soon. People would be pouncing on him to tell him to let Elena go. He picked the bottle up and downed it, then put it to the side. It fell over and rolled away from him, its glass sounding on the wood louder than ever before.
It was his fault. It was his fault she'd died; he didn't make her get out of the damn car. He would go down to the driveway to smash it to pieces but he'd done that already. It was his fault she died, he didn't make her get out of the car, he was supposed to die, no one else, not her. Not her! He got his brother back but he lost the love of his life. Now whenever he saw Stefan, he saw Elena's face. It wasn't right. He should've left Stefan on the other side to die.
No. He heard her voice and he stood up, looking around wildly.
"Elena?" He asked gruffly and received no reply. "Elena?!" He cried out. Stefan knocked on the door frantically.
"Damon? Damon let me in, please!" Stefan cried.
"Why should I" Damon snarled at the door "I don't wanna hear anything you've gotta say." He growled.
"You do." Stefan replied desperately. "You need to look down deep inside, and you're gonna know I'm right." He said. Damon glared at the door, found the bottle and threw it at him.
"Get the hell away from my room." He growled.