A/N: Hey, another first! My first second chapter! Thank you all for all the reviews and help! As I said, I've never done this before, so it really gave me the inspiration to keep on going! Let me know what you think of this chapter! I may rewrite it later, just had to keep going with it.
And no. I don't own the Vampire Diaries. I'm cool, not that cool.
There were things you were supposed to do, should have done, would have done, and then there were things that had absolutely no beneficial value to your own mental well-being, and that was exactly what Damon Salvatore had done. He had successfully managed to do irreparable damage to his own psyche, in a matter of a few hours. It had only been 150 years since that had happened last. Big deal, right?
Sitting in the familiar arm chair of his bed room, he was no longer reading a book, nor staring into the fire in a deep trance. He was in fact, completely and incoherently drunk, having continued his little party from earlier. He had just needed to learn for himself. He needed to know for sure. He had to find out, he told himself so many times, like a mantra. After all these years why, of all times, of all people, did someone emerge themselves into this world as Katherine's long lost identical twin? What kind of sick world did he live in?
The kind of world he was constantly trying to dissolve away with any mean possible.
When he looked at her, he saw Katherine, not Elena. When he thought of that face, it was Katherine's face, not Elena. When Elena spoke, it was Katherine's voice. Stefan may be able to pretend that he sees more behind those eyes. Hell, perhaps he's even convinced himself that they were different. Damon knew better.
It might've been because he was smashed, or maybe he just didn't seem to care at that moment, but he didn't seem to hear the front door slamming. Nor the obviously determined stomps of his brother's footsteps climbing the stairs, following the long hallway to Damon's room.
"There wasn't anything out there, Damon, what were you talking about?" Stefan asked, perching himself on the floor in front of the older Salvatore's chair. "Are you drunk?" His brow furrowed into a disapproving expression, typical no-fun Saint Stefan. Damon didn't even acknowledge him outwardly, but his patience with his brother was slimming quickly, and he wasn't a level-headed problem-solver when he was sober, let alone now.
"Damon, I understand-"
"You don't understand a damn thing." His black eyes glared coldly down to his little brother, and Stefan didn't break that hold. He may be younger, but when you've known someone for over a century and a half, you learn a few things about each other. Damon was hurting and he knew it. But he wasn't going to put up with his pouting for much longer.
Damon had said those words before, far too many times, in far too similar situations. It all came back to her.
"Okay Damon," Stefan sighed, and stood up straight. "Don't send me on anymore of your little wild goose chases." And with that, he left Damon alone to wallow in his inner torment. And oh how bittersweet it was.
"Sweet Saint Stefan," he scoffed, and lifted the bottle sitting between his legs. His brother was completely enamored with that impostor. An idea struck him. Not one of his more brilliant of master plans, but a plan nonetheless. With the bottle in hand, he rose to his feet, and promptly crashed into the floor with a loud bang.
Elena Gilbert was completely and utterly lost within herself. She had no explanation for what had transpired back at the Salvatore estate, and she was not ready to dive into the inner workings of her own deep rooted issues to try and figure it out. No, not in the state she was in. It had only been a drink and a half, and that fact alone wasn't comforting her any either. A drink and a half and she's ready to throw her inhibitions out the window. What would Stefan think? How was she going to tell him that in a moment of slight inebriation she'd completely gone back on her own values and betrayed him?
By the time she'd made it back to her own house she was drenched from the rain that had decided to fall on her as if a sign from the powers that be. They were reminding her of the wrong she'd done, of the actions she'd chosen. They were kind of jerks.
As she sat on her bed she debated writing in her journal the events that had happened. But voted against it. That would make it way too real. Too real than she wanted to acknowledge at the moment. On the other hand, she might be able to work out what had happened exactly and why.
On the other, other hand (which she vaguely thought that expression should be changed to foot or something – which reminded her that she was still indeed drunk), she wasn't sure if she wanted to know why she did what she did.
She shouldn't have kissed Damon.
She kissed him.
And then he just tossed her out! Like an old rug or broken lamp, discarded once there was no more use for it.
"He's got another thing coming!" She exclaimed, right full of piss and vinegar, but as she stood to march on out and back to the Salvatore estate, Elena was greeted with two hands gripping her shoulders roughly. Thrown swiftly onto the bed, she started to scream, but it was cut short as the figure had climbed on top of her before she could think, a hand covering her mouth.
"You have no right to look like her."
And then he kissed her.
A/N: I know, it's kinda light on anything substantial... all reviews and input welcome!!