Disclaimer - I own nothing but the ideas the come from my head. All things you recognize do not belong to me but to the CW and L.J. Smith. I strongly recommend listening to Maroon 5's song 'Unkiss Me' while reading this fic. Enjoy! xx
Unkiss me
Daroline Fic
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She lights the candles and places them around the sides of the picnic blanket, looking out over the clearing into the empty trees around her. It's cold, it's dark, and the forecast calls for rain. When the thunder starts above her, she closes her eyes and tilts her head up to wait for the first drop of rain. She promises herself she'll leave once the candles go out, but she stays for so long afterwards she doesn't remember when the last one tapered away. It's the night he disappeared. The night he 'died,' for lack of a better word. It's been three years, but she still mourns because what else is there to do?
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The days after he died, the day after Bonny died, she cries. It's not hard to call the tears to the forefront, the saltiness stinging her dry skin. She shuts herself away in a hotel room and trashes the place. She waits until the maids come to clean and she drinks from them, compelling away their memories like she wishes she could compel away her own. They don't scream or cry or seem concerned. They're everything she wishes she could be. The blood dries in her golden hair and she's reminded of the first time she brought him home, and the blood dried on her neck when he was finished.
x
She keeps it together in front of Elena, she hassles Stefan until he comes home, she works with Enzo, she tutors Jeremy, and she works towards finding a solution when all the rest decide to give up, that there's no hope in looking any longer. At night she sleeps in her small apartment, surrounded by her thoughts. She feels like she has no right to cry over him, that her tears instead should be for her best friend. And some are, but there are also tears that fall amidst the Bonnie tears that are for Damon and Damon alone. She feels like she's betraying Elena, mourning for someone she has no right to mourn for, but she can't help it.
She loved him too.
x
It's been ten years since he died. She looks into the mirror for the first time in weeks after spending most of her time trying to self-destruct in bed with numerous dark haired men, their wit less than impressive, their blood not as dark as she imagines his would be. Her eyes are wild with blood lust. Her mouth is stained crimson and torn. Her hair is matted and knotted. Her fists clench on the sink, the crumbling of the marble making her feel for the first time in hours.
She turns the faucet on and splashed water at her face, furiously, sending droplets all over the floor and mirror. The blood runs from her mouth into the sink, staining the water red. When it runs clear, she looks back at her reflection. She can wash away the blood, but not the feel of his lips on her own.
She doesn't think she will ever be okay, so she goes into the bedroom, and starts her grieving all over again.