Hello there. First TVD story I've written and the first piece I've submitted in general on this site for nearly two years. This was written hastily in the space of an hour or two(not that I'm trying to excuse bad writing). Some parts don't make sense in terms of continuity or likelihood but I was going for more of a psychological, character driven story. Anyway, feedback is much appreciated.
Tabula Rasa
It may be Elena Gilbert that charms Matt Donovan with her doe like eyes and modesty, but it is Katherine Pierce who stalks the Salvatore brothers and seduces them mercilessly. Tatia Petrova is another story all together- something larger than life that captivates another pair of brothers effortlessly.
Elena can't remember which girl she is when she looks in the mirror every morning. The eyes denote one that is blind to her own beauty, the upturned mouth betrays a crooking smile of arrogance, while the high brow and aristocratic nose inspire nobility perhaps of a predecessor who has long surpassed this face and body. She is full of contradictions and she wishes she had never begun this game.
It begins a year earlier when she turns seventeen. She gives herself to Matt as a gift to them both. It is awkward and sweet and tender with someone she trusts - everything a first time should be. And yet it leaves her the same as she had been beforehand. She had hoped she would emerge from the bed as a woman. She'd imagined descending the stairs of her house with a better knowledge of herself, with a more acute sense of belonging. But as she lies cushioned between Matt's broad chest and his strong arms, his breath pouring rhythmically into her ear, she is left completely void.
The following week her parents bring her and Jeremy on vacation to New York. The city is abuzz and she hopes that some of its vitality will transfer to her. After two solid days of sight-seeing she almost gives up hope and resigns herself to returning to Mystic Falls the same girl who had left.
She half-heartedly pokes at her food as she sits in a bar waiting for her parents to come back from the Empire State. They text that they will see her at the hotel and she suppresses a sigh of annoyance at the change of plans.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?" a voice oozing with confidence whispers in her ear.
She knows he is attractive before she turns around. The arrogant lilt betrays a history of successful conquests, not merely a creep with a single one-liner.
She doesn't know what possesses her to don the wicked smile, flick her hair and turn to him, uttering, "She encouraged it, that way I'd never get eaten." The accent that comes out is a mild Southern drawl. She doesn't question it, just keeps inventing as the flirting escalates.
Her alter ego is Katherine Pierce- sassy, seductive Southern belle who conveniently shares none of the qualms of her other half. Elena fits into her easily, lets Katherine take her over. It is the most natural sensation in the world. Where Elena would have blushed and spluttered, Katherine spars and conquers. The seductive eye movements the stranger makes only fuel her bravery.
The tall, dark stranger is Damon Salvatore, bad boy extraordinaire. Despite his bravado and innuendos she has him wrapped around her finger by the end of the evening. After multiple tequila shots and teasing dancing they attack each other and pay enough attention to their immediate environment only to find a room upstairs.
On the lumpy, too-soft mattress, Katherine Pierce loses her virginity. It is hard and fast and desperate and she loves every second of it. No intimacy, no tenderness, just pure sensation and it banishes the reminder of Matt.
Elena returns to herself afterwards and feels unsatisfied yet again. Can she only have polar opposite experiences? Is it too much to ask for something in between?
When she wanders downstairs the bar is closing up, a reminder of how much time she has spent upstairs. Damon had been worn out and fallen asleep afterwards. For that she is grateful. It gives her the opportunity to forget and collect herself. She isn't counting on encountering another Salvatore.
Stefan Salvatore bumps into her as she steps outside. He apologises and mutters something about having to collect his drunken brother. She knows immediately who he is referring to. She knows intimately. She feels a familiar stirring in herself, the need to covet veering its ugly head.
Katherine smiles at him and gives him her number on a napkin from the bar before he has the chance to ask for it or refuse it. A jolt of electricity passes through their fingertips. She smirks seductively and he returns the gesture hesitantly. She feels his eyes on her as she walks away.
As she lies in the family suite with her parents and Jeremy that night, she anticipates the phone call. She feels high on power, high on this part of herself that she has unleashed.
The following day the younger Salvatore doesn't keep her waiting. She excuses herself from the breakfast table when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket.
He is outside. Her heart leaps.
She can barely contain herself and all but sprints outside. He is waiting and although they have not exchanged more than thirty words between them since meeting the night before, both know what is about to unfold.
He leads her into an adjacent hotel and pays cash at the reception desk before whisking her upstairs. She feels giddy and hopes he will sate her appetite the way the others haven't.
As they lie sprawled across each other afterwards, she believes that her prayers have been answered. She feels that perfect combination of erotic and emotional unity and believes that she can cast off Katherine forever.
Again, she slips out quietly and returns to her family. She feels the familiar gnawing in her lower belly- that flame that refuses to be quenched- and knows that she has counted her blessings too soon.
She puts Katherine to rest once they pass the state line into Virginia.
Matt's kisses taste like ashes.
She pretends not to notice.
Jenna offers to take her away for what she assures her parents is a "good clean fun" weekend to Berlin. Elena knows from the glint in her eye that it will be anything but.
They're both dressed scantily in a bar in the centre of Berlin. After three shots of green absinthe, Elena doesn't feel as tightly wound. She's dancing with Jenna and giggling when she stumbles backward and feels a pair of hands around her waist steadying her. Her heart descends a few steps to a more intimate place.
The hands swing her around and she's looking at a gorgeous sandy-blond haired god.
"Careful, sweetheart," he all but purrs.
She should be sated after her escapades in New York, but the undeniable need to try him on and see how he fit is too much to bear. She feels like a compulsive shopper- Cinderella going through men and tossing them aside until they fit perfectly.
His name is Nik and quite out of nowhere it transpires that her name is Tatia. The name falls naturally from her lips. She's so overcome with insecurity over being a simple American that she tries something exotic sounding.
Her voice is deeper and huskier and bears no trace of her conditioned twang. She feels the need to combat his English accent with something Eastern European. She feels regal and vibrant and strong. This man is the most vibrant she's met but she feels the need to bring him to his knees.
Twenty minutes later in a bathroom upstairs she does exactly that. His breath is a whispered vigil against her inner thigh and she feels like he is worshipping at her altar.
He has a brother whose suits can barely contain his broad chest and she feels a childish need to tear off the dapper exterior. She tries him on too but she feels condemned never to find the perfect fit.
Back in Mystic Falls she tries to forget but her own face is a constant reminder of her inconsistency and fickleness. She knows she cannot trust herself.
Every time Matt is inside her she can't look him in the eyes lest she see herself.
She looks outside her window. Five men have gathered and none look happy. She wants a clean slate, a new character that hasn't brought about her own ruin yet. But her imagination betrays her. No new names roll off her tongue, no new disguises wave at her encouragingly from the mirror. She tries to think clearly. Elena would run outside and protest that this is all a huge misunderstanding. Katherine would attempt to enslave all five infatuated suitors and bend them to her will. Tatia, ever the diplomat, would go outside and explain rationally and apologise. The girl takes one last look at her fragmented reflection and bolts into her brother's bedroom, out the back window and runs from the turmoil she's wrought.
Thank you for reading.:)