A/N: Yeap, I'm continuing this. I can never seem to keep my writing style consistent between chapters, so this one is a bit different. Hope you all still enjoy it, especially all those who reviewed and urged me to keep going. A lot of the plot is still up in the air at the moment, so if there's anything you do/don't want to see in this road(perhaps not road exclusively though)trip, let me know!
And when I look to the shape of the sky,
I give thanks for this hollow chest of mine;
That I no longer feel
The great weight of ordeals
That can make this life so unkind
Oh and if there's any love in me,
Don't let it show.
Elena sat very still, in the chair Damon had rather forcefully placed her in, hoping the strong anxiety she was feeling was at least not showing. She knew it would ruin everything if he realised her uncertainty. The warmth of the fire had started to dry her, but she still felt cold. She wondered, as Damon paced the room muttering, whether Stefan was in the house. She could not afford to have him find her here. She could not see him, or she would never go through with what she knew she had to do.
Damon swung around suddenly and stalked towards her, his eyes ablaze with the force of alcohol and anger. He leaned over her.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking?" He practically spat at her, and she willed herself not to be afraid. She could not afford fear anymore.
"Yes."
"No you don't. I don't know what the fuck you're up to but you need to go home, now."
"Damon, I know what I'm doing. I need to leave, and so, obviously, do you. No one I love will be safe while I'm still here. I can lead Klaus away from this town, we can hide…" Her voice got less and less certain as she spoke, until she trailed off completely, unwittingly shrinking under his incredulous stare.
Damon sank to crouch in front of her.
"What you seem to have some how missed, is that the reason I'm leaving is to get away from you. You coming with me kind of defeats the purpose don't you think?"
She met his gaze, and tried to look as convincing as possible.
"I understand why you're leaving. I understand what you need to be, who you need to be. I won't pressure you to change. But I need you."
"And what do I get out of it?"
Elena sighed, "I don't know…company?"
"Not really my thing."
Both were silent, and Damon got up to pour himself a drink. It was nearing dawn, he knew that if he was going to go, if they were going to go, it would need to be very soon. He could not decipher his own emotions towards Elena's request to go with him. He knew that he was angry at least; this had not been part of his plan. This would not be the clean break he had planned upon. But a small part of him couldn't help but feel like it was right. Maybe it was meant to be. He shot a sharp look at her, she was already looking straight back, her black eyes shining.
"Why don't you ask Stefan? Why me?"
He was surprised by her rising from the chair and walking softly towards him, and narrowed his eyes, silently warning her not to come too close. She stopped a few feet away from him and looked at him with an honesty that made him feel vulnerable.
"I can't answer that. I mean, logically you're the better choice for protection. You're stronger, you're independent, and I'm thinking you'll know where to go. Despite all this, I should still want to go with Stefan, I should-"
"You should be scared of going with me." Damon interrupted. Elena just looked at him reproachfully.
"I trust you."
Suddenly he is gone from in front of her, she feels a rush of wind hit her, and she is the one left dizzy when she turns and finds him standing by the fireplace. He is staring down into the flames, they light up his face in such a hauntingly beautiful way that her chest constricts, and one arm is outstretched bracing himself on the fireplace ledge. The other hand holds the empty glass, and she watches with barely suppressed horror as his hand tightens around it until it shatters, blood and shards of glass dropping to the floor when he opens his hand without looking away from the fire.
"Damon-" Her own hands are shaking, and she finds herself wordless as he turns and regards her coolly, his hand already healing.
"Don't. No more caring about me. That is condition number one." His voice is tight and controlled, but she realises she has won and gulps down a grin.
"Condition two, no trying to change me. No expectations. I will be whoever I want to be, I'm not going to protect you from myself any longer."
She nods, almost imperceptibly, and allows herself to acknowledge that she has been trying to change him, realises for the first time how unfair she has been to expect him to just change for her, and not want anything in return.
"I'm serious about this one Elena," he continues, "I'm a vampire. I kill people. I feed off them. I compel them in order to get exactly why I want. I'm not going to wrap these facts in cotton wool for you anymore. If you're coming with me, you will see all of these things happening. If at any point you can't handle what's happening, or try to tell me to do differently, I will not hesitate to leave you on the side of the road and never look back."
"Got it." The way she whispers it, dread crossing her face before she covers it quickly with carefully manufactured nonchalance, makes him believe her. It also makes his heart twist in his chest and question why the hell he is letting her do this to herself. He quickly banishes the thought. He cannot afford to think like that.
"Third condition, no emotional displays. I don't care if you get homesick, if you miss Stefan, Barbie or witchy, if I run over a bird, if you're sad. Unless we're in danger, I don't want to hear it. If you regret leaving, you find your own way back."
"Is that all?" It is beginning to get slightly lighter, and Elena feels increasingly anxious about Stefan finding them. She wants to get away confrontation free, or not at all. She knows it is selfish, but in the larger scheme of things she is sacrificing her 'normal' life to protect everyone. The least she can do for herself is avoid emotional displays and everyone trying to convince her to stay. Stefan will be okay, he knows she loves him, she has no doubt he will wait for her to return once it is safe. If it ever is safe.
Damon interrupts her inner-peptalk, "One more condition. No acting in a way that puts either your life or 'sanctity' in danger from me. This is the only time I will say this, it's up to you to take responsibility for ensuring your safety around me."
Quirking an eyebrow, she asks, "Does that mean no sexy negligees?"
She enjoys the way he gapes at her, and giggles at his scowl when he realises she is joking.
"Be warned, you're already skating a thin line when it comes to that condition." She stops laughing when she hears the serious note in his voice.
"Okay…sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood I guess." She shrugs apologetically.
"I think the mood is rather fitting to the occasion actually."
"Right," she reluctantly agrees, slightly annoyed that he is being so stern.
"Any more questions or comments?" He asks her sarcastically.
"When are we leaving?"
.
.
.
As soon as she steps outside into the still dark early morning she is soaked through again. Damon has already rushed by her with their bags, and is sitting in the front seat, completely dry, when she opens the passenger door. He is observing his right hand closely, and it would appear from the small lumps in his palm that the wounds have healed with shards of glass still in them. She winces at the thought.
"Are you okay?" She asks, loudly so as to be heard over the deafening sound of rain on the car roof.
"What was condition one, Elena?" He asks back dryly, but when she glances up at his face she is amazed to see he is smiling at her, albeit in a slightly nasty way. She sighs and looks away from him, out the window. She realises she is probably being complete insane agreeing to all his conditions. She has relinquished all control to a vampire. One she thought she knew but isn't so sure she knows at all now. She still trusts him though. She can't not trust him, even though she knows with every fibre in her body that she definitely shouldn't. That's why she's still here. She trusts him to protect her life, and she does not believe he could actually be the threat to her life. She thinks back to what she has been forcing herself not to think about. He loves her. He can say what he will, but if she knows anything about the power of love, she knows he won't harm her.
And she really should know something about the power of love. Or she wouldn't be sitting in this car, about to leave behind everything she knows, with Damon Salvatore.
.
.
.
She tries not to think of Aunt Jenna when the pass the turnoff to her street, tries not to think of her friends when they pass the High School, eerie in the dim light of the morning, tries not to think of Stefan the whole time they speed quietly out of the town. This will be the hardest part, she tells her self as she stops fighting and lets the heavy tears roll down her face. It is so easy to lie to her self.
If Damon notices, he does not say anything. His face is grim.
Trying to take her mind off the feeling of finality she is experiencing, she leans forward and turns the car's CD player on, hoping Damon won't make any 'conditions' about listening to music.
She smiles slightly in spite of herself when the tinny sound of Jimmy Eat World begins to play through the car's speakers.
"A little melodramatic, don't you think?"
"Kind of suits your situation, don't you think?" he counters immediately, not taking his eyes off the road.
"Maybe if it was still 2002", she mutters under her breath, but knows from the dirty look he gives her that he heard.
"You'd do well to just shut up right now."
She crosses her arms and stares out the window at the trees blurring past. She supposes she should get used to him being so cold, but a part of her had hoped he would go back to being a little like his old self once they got on the road. The old Damon could take a joke. He was usually the one making them.
.
.
.
They have already been driving for three hours before Elena realises she has no idea where they are going. She can't bring herself to care. In any case it's probably safer she doesn't know. They stop twice throughout the day, the first time because she needs to go to the bathroom. He sighs so angrily when she asks him to pull over, that she regrets saying anything. But when she begins to tell him not to worry about it he gives her a very strange look and skids to a halt in a gravelled road lip.
The second time they stop for food. It is well past midday and although Elena hasn't said anything, he knows she must be hungry; she's eaten nothing all day. And he's starting to feel a bit peckish too.
They get out of the car and begin to walk towards the roadside diner together, but then without any word he swerves away from her and heads down the side of the building. She continues into the restaurant alone, tries not to think about what is happening. As she is chewing her bacon she glances out the grimy window and spots him talking to a middle age blonde woman, alone in an otherwise deserted car park. He seems to be pretending to be lost. She turns her head away, gulps her coffee to force the food down, and ignores the looks of a seedy truck driver sitting at the table across from her.
When she finally leaves the diner he is already sitting in the drivers seat, waiting for her. She slides in silently, avoids his gaze.
He tries not to, but he can't help it. "You okay?" Jesus, didn't he promise himself he wouldn't do this? He makes himself think it will be the last time.
She finally looks at him, sees a fleck of blood on his neck, and still can't meet his eyes.
"I will be."
He gives her a small smile, but then his face is stony again, as if the smile was never there. The car pulls away so quickly she lurches back in the seat.
.
.
.
It has been dark for hours by the time he finally spots a motel that suits him and swerves in. When he turns off the engine he looks over and is somewhat surprised to find her asleep, her head resting in the gap between the car seat and the window in a way that looks very uncomfortable. Her mouth is slightly open, and she looks very young. He on the other hand feels very old sitting there watching her, mesmerised by the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the barely discernable flickering of her closed eyelids. The jealousy that threatens him is overpowered by his eagerness to just watch, to drink her visible aliveness in.
It is painful, but in a different way to when they were in Mystic Falls. She is with him, she has chosen this, and it numbs the hurt just a little.
And he doesn't have to wish he wasn't the guy who leans over her and wakes her up with the feeling of his fangs sharp against her neck. She jerks awake, which pushes them in and grazes them down the skin of her shoulder, drawing blood. The smell of fear fills the car. Her eyes are wide, she stares at his transformed face, so close to hers. When she realises it is him, he is annoyed to find that she is no longer scared, and growls in the back of his throat. She simply sighs, reaches under his torso, unlocks her seat belt and gets out of the car. She is in the motel office while he is still frozen where he was. Not okay. Now he is just embarrassed. And hungry. Stupid bitch.
The office door has a little bell that jingles when he enters, playing with his nerves. She is looking listlessly through a wall of pamphlets, obviously waiting for him to deal with the room, while the woman behind the desk gives him a fake smile and asks him how she can help him this evening.
He does not pay for the room. When Elena turns around he is gone, and the woman is right behind her, holding out the key with a blank expression on her face.
She finds their room alone, and tries not to think about the car being gone. She doesn't turn on the lights, just leaves the door unlocked and makes her way to the minibar, easily swallowing back the vodka she finds there, to try to quell the panic that is rising in her. The alcohol is well imbedded in her system, making her veins feel light, but her heart feel heavy, before she lets herself cry. She thinks he has changed his mind, has left her here to find her own way home, just like he threatened. She can't figure out what she has done already to violate his conditions, and she the thought of going back to Mystic Falls without him makes her feel a bit sick (well, she chooses to think it is the thought, and not the alcohol, making her stomach turn).
She finally passes out, leaning against the humming refrigerator, dried tear tracks lacing themselves down her cheeks in a way he finds strangely beautiful when he finds her there. She does not feel his fingers ghost across her forehead, or hear his whispered "I'm sorry", as he places her gently between the sheets. And for that he is glad.
.
.
.
She wakes up in the morning hung over, and with a stale, self-deprecating taste in her mouth she remembers from mornings before her parents died. She winces at the light pouring in through the gaps in the blind, and groans upon seeing the empty bottles lined up neatly by the door. She really did go all out. However, there's no way, in her state, that she is responsible for the bottles being so neatly presented, and it is with a rush of relief, and something else she can't pin down, that she identifies Damon's body on the bed next to hers. He has his back to her, and she drags herself out of her bed and tiptoes to the bathroom without trying to see his face. She doesn't know whether to be ashamed of herself, or just angry with him for driving her to it. But there is no use being angry with someone who doesn't care, who if anything wants her to be angry, so she settles on shame and has a shower that doesn't make her feel any less dirty.
When she emerges again he is sitting on his bed, staring at the wall.
"Sorry, did I wake you?"
He doesn't move. "No. I wasn't asleep."
"Oh." She walks gingerly to her bed, dressed again in yesterday's jeans and top, her hair wet and tangled. Her change of clothes is in the car, which she presumes is parked outside their motel room. She feels like she should say something, but she doesn't think he expects an apology. She hopes he understands it was something she just had to get out of her system.
"If you just toss me the keys I can get some fresh clothes out of the car and we can get going."
He throws a car key, attached to a leather Lexus key ring, in her direction. It is not the key to his car. She picks it up off the floor tentatively.
Her breath escapes her in a little whoosh when she opens the door to their room. He is immediately behind her, she can sense his body millimetres from hers, feel his words tickle her ear when he leans in and whispers,
"Much better, right?"
She takes in the very shiny, very black, very expensive car now parked outside.
She swallows. "Right."
She never asks where the new car came from, but she has to fight back the bile that rises in her throat when she opens the glove box a few days later, and finds a picture of a young man smiling at the camera. The little girl sitting in his lap has her father's eyes.
She gets drunk that night, too. The next day the picture is gone, replaced by toffees and a roadmap she never sees him use.
.
.
.
I can't help it baby, this is who I am
Sorry, but I can't just go turn off how I feel
You kill me, you build me up, but just to watch me break
I know what I should do, but I just can't walk away
Music: Noah and the Whale - Shape of my Heart & Jimmy Eat World - Kill.