Note: I was able to put my hands on a pc and write this little installment for Preludio. I hope you'll like it. The song I used in this chapter is "Lost cause" by Imagine Dragon.
#
When she was a child she loved a wood carillon with a pretty ballerina dancing in the middle. Her tutu gown was made from a blue veil and she liked the feeling of the fabric under the skin of her finger. The box had painted stars on it and because they glowed in the dark she thought it was magic.
When it stopped working and no music came from it anymore her dad had tried fixing it, only managing to make the damage unfixable. He had thrown the music box away so that she was not reminded of what she had lost. Her mother had left three months ago, already.
Now, sitting in the dark in her father's bedroom, as she watches him sleep, she can't find anything significant to say, no wise words to light up his path, nothing that would make sense; words do not come, but that old welsh tune does, and she finds herself humming it.
Her voice is a whisper. It weakly carries the few words she faintly remembers. I my loving vigil keeping, all through the night. She must bite her lower lip to stop herself from crying and when her dad calls her name in his sleep she can barely keep it together.
"Yes, dad, I'm here," she says, "I'm always here."
Her dad will find peace when he wakes up, he'll know deep in his heart that she is still there with him and, in time, it won't hurt that much.
Oh, dig my shallow grave
It's not me you'll save
'Cause I'm a lost cause
Bonnie curls up in a ball, on the chair where she sits. Hides her face, muffles the helpless sounds she makes against her will.
She's a trembling mess and a ghost and it's not even half the story, is it? Her breathing is labored and she can feel a weight on her chest. It suddenly hits her that those words should be for her and not from her. Why is it always her that fights and sacrifices the most? Why is it her that waits to disappear from this world, from the life that awaited her? And yet, she made the choice, and maybe she would make it all over again if given the chance. After all, she's been abandoned enough times to know how it feels, to loathe the very idea of being the one causing that pain, to be unable to turn her back on something when she knows she can change things.
I'm a lost cause
A lost, lost cause
There's a little voice, sarcastically male, speaking in the back of her mind, asking her, "you're still scared it won't be enough, aren't you?" It's annoying and suffocating, and for a moment she wants to take it all back, if only to deny him the satisfaction of knowing the truth, that it's not only nobility that brought her here. She wants to go back, and be seen and be held.
Bonnie doesn't know how exactly this thing works, but she wishes for it so hard that she finds herself in Jeremy's room. She's ready to wake him up and tell him that she's still here, that she wants to come back, and yet, at what price?
He sleeps soundly, his face is tired and she knows she would only put guilt on his back. She longs for the sound of his voice, for his clean eyes on her, but he sleeps. Jeremy sleeps when all she wants in the world is someone to be awake for her, someone to tell her that they are still here, always here.
Wait, no one said what's lost cannot be found
You are here to make it safe and sound
She wants to scream, she wants the world to see and feel the hole she left, and be as desperate as she is. She feels so selfish, because a tiny part of her needs the pain of her friends, needs to know she was part of something and she still is.
But truth is, they are going to forget her, sooner than later. They all are survivors, and survivors are bound to leave behind burdens that can slow them down. Only a few days ago she was the town witch, their secret weapon, the one that ensured their survival, but now she is a liability. They are going to forget her, sooner than later. After all, she felt forgotten so many times, long before she was a corpse in a pretty dress.
Bonnie wants to hold on to this life with all her might, with the bare hands that tremble in front of her eyes, but will her friends hold on to her as strongly? She doesn't want disappointment to be the last strong emotion she feels before she leaves, and she fears the pressing of that feeling against her heart.
Oh we, can make it, out alive
Fate, hath its way when all that's learned is sin
Bonnie walks away from Jeremy, from his closed eyes, from his too-often wandering heart. She deludes herself she can breathe better away from him, when she can't breathe, period.
Outside his room, leaning with her back against the wall of the hallways she tries to muster her courage, her strength. It's like looking for a switch in the dark when you don't know the room you're locked into.
Nothing really matters in the end,
As long, as you, are with me, friend
The dark lights up briefly at the end of the hallway. Damon comes out from his room, closing the door behind him. She can see his defined chest from his open black shirt. His pants are unbuttoned and his zip is halfway down.
She's so dazed by the sudden change of situation that she realizes too late where her eyes have fallen, where she's openly staring. The muscles of his abdomen are lean, his stomach is flat and strong, she can see the tension in them as they lead to the perfect chiseling of his pelvis, a glimpse of his sex, half hard and tucked inside his dark jeans.
She jumps and covers her mouth with both hands, crying out "Oh my God!"
She doesn't know where to hide her eyes, cursing inside her head at his awful timing, at his fucking uncaring attitude that makes him walk around the house half naked (nevermind that the place is his and she's not exactly there), at how easily she can be embarrassed before she remembers that he can't actually see her.
Bonnie calms herself down, as he walks towards her. Her embarrassment drops considerably and yet she's uncomfortable, excited by having suddenly something to focus her attention on other than the disgraced fate she picked for herself. For once, Damon can be stalked. Maybe she can give him a taste of his own medicine. Who knows?
The idea makes her grin, until he stops in front of her.
His blue eyes are on hers, if she had a real heart it would go racing right now. Damon licks his lips, and once again for a short moment she finds herself wondering if he can see her, or feel her presence, if the tension in the air is just a product of her imagination.
"This has got to stop," he says, his tone lazy and yet dark, like the sound of a frustrated lover.
"Headache?" she ask ironically, annoyed by the thought that her body is hardly cold and they are already going at it.
"You need to get out of my head," he decides and then walks past her, fixing his jeans.
She blinks, surprised by his words. Lately, surprising her it's all he seems to do. Following him comes instinctively. "Wait!" she says. "What does that mean?" she asks as she follows him down the stairs and inside the living room.
Of course, he doesn't answer, and out of frustration she tries to grab his shoulder. For one single instant a shiver shakes her. It's like electricity is flowing through her and it makes her breathless.
Oh, dig my shallow grave
It's not me you'll save
'Cause I'm a lost cause
Bonnie sees him turning around startled, his blue eyes searching around the room for the trace of an intruder until he asks, tentatively, "Judgy?" like he's ready to call himself crazy for that thought.
"Yes, it's me," she says. "Can you feel me?"
But he gives no answer as he looks at the open window and sighs.
"Why don't they put up a welcome banner too? I'm sure thieves would appreciate it," he mutters as he walks to the window to close it, and then goes to pour himself a glass of bourbon.
He lets himself fall sitting on the sofa and massages his temples.
She observes him quietly, and then sits on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
No one can understand me
Like you can understand
No one can fill your shadow
'Cause you are all I am
He's looking at the empty bottom of his glass when she asks, "What are you doing?" but she really can't tell whom she's asking that question to.
Loneliness makes people insane and she's one step away from rattling chains and wearing a sheet with two holes on the front.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he says after a moment, making her pin her eyes on him. "Aside from being fucking angry at you and thinking of you at the most inopportune times, like when I'm about to get laid."
"Ew," she's disgusted, and embarrassed and a tiny bit flattered. She doesn't believe for a moment that he meant that in a sexual way, not when Elena is around, and yet it's flattering that his uncaring ways are hampered by her, the monolithic, righteous, full of shit girl he says he doesn't care about.
She always loved to be a pain in the ass to him, and this hasn't changed now that she's dead. It's true what they say, some things will always stay the same.
Damon relaxes against the back of the sofa, closes his eyes resting his head, and she's left staring at his chest, and the way his Adam's apple goes up and down when he swallows.
He really is beautiful, for a centenarian murderer, but she'd rather die than admit it out loud. Well, that's not really a problem now, is it?
She reaches out her hand, her fingers trace the muscles of his pectorals in the air and she catches herself right before touching him once again.
She touched people before but nothing like that ever happened. Maybe she was channeling her powers because of the storm of emotions she felt, or maybe it was a combination of both of their powers, or maybe it was all a coincidence and he didn't feel a thing and she imagined it all. In any case, she's pretty sure she's not been given her forty days to fondle a jerk of a vampire. Not that she wants to. Only, Damon is more interesting than being bored to death as the rest of the world is peacefully asleep.
As her hand is still in the air Damon speaks again. "Since you probably really know-it-all now I suppose I should apologize for the… mental picture I had before… and the other times before that."
She gasps, pulling her hand away, holding it to her chest with the other one, and stares at him – well, his Adam's apple and his chin - with eyes wide open, mouth gaping, outraged. "I can't believe you were really thinking-" she can't even complete the sentence, "You are unbelievable!"
"Are you mad?" he asks.
"What do you think?" she asks back, bewildered.
"That's good. I want you mad, and offended, wherever you are, up there, while you play arpeggios with the angels."
His tone is bittersweet. "And I want you here," he adds, his eyes shout tight, swallowing his pride, "so that I can stop thinking of you. I want to go back to not giving a fuck." His abandoned, perfect figure against the leather cushions of the sofa, under the soft glow of one lamp, reminds her of a kingdom in ruins.
"You were such a pain in the ass," he says.
"Thank you very much," she says, sarcastically.
"And pretty, among other things," he seems to dwell on this admission, "I never bothered to tell you but I suppose you know that too, from where you are, don't you?"
She's not going to reply I'm here, I'm always here, not to him, but the words are there on her tongue, heavy and bitter, and she must bite herself to hold them back.
And yet there's something tender about this fucked up confession. She never knew he thought of her as pretty. She never knew he thought of her as a member of the female gender, really, and now he's open and brutally honest and she feels a bit like she's spying on a private moment. It's funny, because his private moment is with her and yet not.
"I know now," she tells him, unable to leave, addicted to his stream of consciousness, attracted like a moth to the flame. Burning was always scary but, right now, when the world is lost to her and the boy she died for sleeps and dreams of his future without her, not burning is terrifying.
He raises his head looking ahead – looking at her – "I'm telling you, you'll get bored out of your mind with all the singing and praising, and you'll regret me."
"Not a chance," she replies, rolling her eyes. But lowering her eyes, she swallows a doubt.