Author's Note: I LOVE metaphors. It's a well-known fact. I went a little crazy with it in this one, but I couldn't help it! I hope you like it anyway. Also, this whole fanfic wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been OBSESSED with Imogen Heap's new song, Neglected Space. It's soo haunting and beautiful, and in certain ways it reminded me of Damon and then Bonnie. You should definitely go listen to it.
As always, I own nothing from the show.
Find me, cherish me, take me on, or pull me down. You choose.
- 'Neglected Space' by Imogen Heap
Their lives were an ever-weaving tapestry of tragedy, binding them, ripping them apart. Their threads would entangle and bring them closer together, tighter.
Sometimes he wished for air. Sometimes Damon would tear at the seams between them, struggling free, if only for a time. Then, slowly, they would pull him back in, gently, almost as if he had never left.
She wished for freedom, too. But Bonnie was stabilized in the taut ropes that bind, and she could not live without them. So she remained when he rebelled, watching him as a maimed bird watches a falcon kiss the sky. She wished, but she saw how frayed his ends were. She saw how, each time, the threads got a little more worn with the effort of pulling him back in. She became tired, but not because of the effort of weaving, but of watching. For he was too far from her on the tapestry for her to touch him, but she could see him, see his gradual progress towards her.
It was not on purpose. That was just the way it was weaving.
They were all frayed, really. Even herself. Too many cuts, too many wounds. But, somehow, they always tied back together. They became whole again, together. And no other way.
Her arms were tied to so many threads. Some ties faded more than others. Some remained thick and strong just as the day they were formed.
Theirs was a wary connection, but they connected nonetheless. His thread was moving ever closer, and she stilled.
She wondered when a fire was going to send them all to cinders. She wondered when scissors would shred them asunder, leaving them strewn on the floor. Had to happen soon. They would lend themselves too close to the fireplace, too near to sharp edges. But it had not happened yet, and, at the very least, she was careful. She would tug at them when she could, using all of her strength to carry them away from danger, even when they seemed drawn to it.
He was drawn to it. But he was also drawn to something else. Someone else.
There. He was there.
She does not know how and when he grew this close, right beside her. He did not offer his hand first, nor did she. They reached at the same instant, as if they were on opposite ends of a precipice and without the other's hold, they would both plummet to disaster. And so his fingers enveloped hers, and she felt herself meld into him. Balanced. Intertwined.
This was different. She felt herself holding with fervor, subconsciously. With a start, she realized he held just as strongly, their connection snapping tight. The tension was there, evident and fiery and dangerous, but there is stability in a taut rope. The threads pull together, refusing to release. They will either hold forever or tear themselves apart from the pressure.
She watched him now, wondering how they got here, wondering if she can find comfort in such a connection. Such a close, yet opposing, yet deliberate connection. She could see his frayed parts, but she covered them, fusing them to her own, where they fit perfectly. As if every tear in their bodies was meant to happen over the course of the tapestry, just so they could reach this point.
As if they were meant to mend each other all along.
Yes, she decided, there is comfort here.
And maybe more.
END