Each coming night.
The rainy weather had not stopped. The dull of the spring had set in. The promise of light and pastel colours in the clouds, on trees and in people seemed to obliterate with the minuscule and sometimes heavy showers that fell upon the unsuspecting. Elena awaited the sun. When the sun was out she would sit upon the floor of her apartment and write. And read. And drink coffee. It pleased her greatly to be able to enjoy herself in her own company once in a while, because most of her time she spent with Damon. She had not seen him yet, after their night together. Elena still feared it might be slightly uncomfortable, but knowing that Damon would probably be ignorant of the event, she decided not to pay too much care to fantasizing about it either.
There was a bird's nest right outside her window. Behind the framed and dusty glass there chirped small birds of light brown and grey. Elena's mind was dulled and bored by the pasty sky, the lack of excitement and her poor prospects. A day came when she decided to spice things up. Still having no word from Damon, despite it being a Saturday, she decided to put effort into herself and her surroundings, to cheer herself up. It had most certainly worked for Damon. She moved her furniture around; now her bed stood right beside the window, so she could see the dawn and sunset colours, which she always regarded so prettily, at all times, the window sill now served as a night table, her books now took on the role of books instead of furniture and were all huddled together in piles, upon the small table which she had, where her bed had once stood. The wall looked spectacularly intelligent. Elena decided to take it a step further and went out and returned quickly with a pot of a rosy colour and a perfectly round cut out of a circle. She spend the whole of the day, while it remained light, working away at painting small circles on her walls turning them from the creamy white to a pattern, to the sound of a musician playing outside right beside their house. The sounds of blues filled her room and made her sway delightfully in rhythm and it made her glad to think that if Damon was home he also heard the magical notes in the air.
Knock. Quite reluctant. Knock. Elena roused herself and looked about her. It was seven on a Sunday morning and the sky had but not one cloud obscuring it. She noticed her new apartment and smiled delightfully. Elena walked slowly and calmly to the door, with great poise, yet growing warm and rosy with happiness.
"Morning," Damon stood there. In a light cardigan, with small grey buttons. With a black beret. "I thought we might stroll around the Louvre today,"
"Perhaps, we could. But I still don't see why it has to be so early,"
"So I could paint later. I would like to see the paintings to make my momentary inspiration thrive,"
"Plagiarism?" Damon smiled.
"Come now. Don't stall," Damon moved inside her room and close to her, "I know you want to," He made no romantic attempt, yet his voice had turned seductive and his eyes were piercing wild. Elena closed the door on him and tried to find something suitable. She had a sudden desire to impress him, but after looking at her ten articles of clothing that she thought were pretty, she realized that Damon would probably find them dull anyway. And so she chose the first dress she could find; apricot with an accented bustier and took her trench coat, feeling entirely absorbed by spring. Elena also had a beret, which she was fond of wearing in spring, but she did not wish to put it on now. He looked foolish enough by himself, she thought. She found Damon sitting on the stairs beside their apartments and as she came outside she saw the glitter of a profound smile upon him. He then stretched out his elbow for her and they descended the stairs and were soon upon the quiet and refreshing morning streets.
Upon their walk to the museum Damon took her hand in his.
"You're cold. Freezing even,"
Elena smiled happily, "I know. And I don't mind. It's part of what I love about spring so much. The cool air. It hides behind the sun and confuses you. I find it lovely," He caressed her hand in his, warming it as he was tepid. Elena's eyes fell upon him as he walked decisively forward and she felt her heat skip a beat just at the look of him. She did not look at him often. It was insecurity and fear more than anything else.
"If you say so," Damon finally muttered.
They reached the bank of the Seine. Only a short way off was the museum. And yet they walked slowly; as slowly as was possible. Damon was telling Elena of the painting; what it was and what it should be.
"I am never satisfied with my work," He said seriously, "It's most certainly a fault, but if you are a perfectionist, you will remain one,"
"I hardly pictured you as a perfectionist. A procrastinator, maybe," Damon squeezed her hand ever so lightly.
"How are your stories coming along?" Elena felt a little stunned. He had never inquired about her. In any manner really and now he was asking her of what was most important to her.
"Quite good. I am at a loss for ideas at the moment, but soon something will spark up,"
"You are creative. I can tell,"
"You've changed your tune. Some weeks ago I was boring and passive,"
Damon stopped them and turned to her with a smile. It was not quite warm, but held something honest.
"Ah," He said excitedly, "But I didn't know you then, did I?" Elena laughed brightly. They turned to their stroll again and she moved a little closer to him, pressing lightly against his cardigan, imagining his skin beneath it. She liked the way his eyes upon her made her shiver, the goose bumps his touch made her form. It all seemed like love, but she didn't believe it. It seemed too unbelievable that someone she despised so much at first had become so worthy and wonderful in her eyes. Besides she knew he was a truly grand friend, but she knew that their relationship would be doomed from the start. And more yet, he had the false impression he knew her, was in accord with the knowledge she had of him, in terms of her, but that was not true at all. Elena had barely told him any aspect of her life.
Their time at the museum passed well. Damon observed all the paintings in their technicality and did so methodically, whilst Elena whizzed through the halls grasping hold of the colours and atmospheres of the unique pieces. Damon would stop her and bring her to a painting and then begin to go into detail why he admired the work or how he would improve it, or how a painting had become entirely worn, but as was visible; you cannot cage a bird and so Elena just disappeared from him again and again. Finally when it came to midday, they left the labyrinths of the Louvre and joined other people in luncheon in the crowded French brasseries.
Upon Elena's initiative they entered a small bookstore. The books smelt of vanilla and the lights in the store were dim. Damon turned to old books about impressionism while Elena wandered through the novels. Romance, drama, tragedy, friendship; it consumed her greatly and she held the books to her chest forgetting herself in the spur of the moment. Damon knew she was delightfully overwhelmed and smiled in his thoughts at the bewildering creature which he had had the pleasure to behold. His confusement about his own emotions towards their night seemed to know no limits. Each time he turned his eyes toward her, he seemed to lust after more than before. It hurt him greatly that she had not mentioned a thing. And yet so hadn't he. Hurt him; Damon was stunned. He was actually affected by another person and this seemed very otherworldly to him. It had not happened before. He actually thought back and realized that all this time he'd felt something. When he was with her that is. Happiness, anger, irritation, contentment; it did not matter what emotion, but it felt as if he had suddenly returned back to life. That was it. That was the moment he realised he loved her.
The problem, however, was just to occur to him. He could never express his feelings without betraying his own pride. Yes, it was self-absorbed and entirely insensible, but a person could not change overnight. Elena tugged at his sleeve and motioned for them to go, because the pressure of seeing all these books, but having no money to spend on them was truly a painful position to be in. Damon thought he must act quickly. In his baffled state he took a step towards her, feeling her close against him and kissed her on the cheek lovingly. Then almost feeling too embarrassed and humiliated went outside the store and decided to wait for her to come. It took Elena a moment to gather her senses and accompany him. Damon began to walk rapidly and kept his eyes down upon the ground at all times, barely noticing the cars that drove past and the people he nearly ran into. When they reached their building, Damon felt so out of breath, he could not stand his own breathing any longer. It was hurting his ears and mind.
"Would you come to my place? I don't feel like posing today and you don't look much like painting,"
Damon sighed deeply. "Of course,"
They entered her rooms. Damon stood for a while gazing at the fresh setting and pondered to himself whether Elena really had done something different to the place or he was simply becoming dizzy from his rush over there. Elena, meanwhile, bit her lip nervously to see what he would say. Perhaps, from his artistic point of view it would be silly and almost too flaunting. And yet the late afternoon sun shot its warm and golden rays upon the white sheets of the bed and illuminated the freshly dotted wall and all her books. It was her place indeed. It was written on each touch.
"It looks charming," Damon said breathlessly. Then he turned to her and with an ironic smile whispered; "I'll be glad to come here from now on," Elena shot him an irritated look.
"Tea?" Damon rolled his eyes.
"Something a little stronger perhaps? Or more refreshing?"
"Coffee?" Elena said unsurely. Damon rolled his eyes again, "Those are the only things I have,"
"We need to go shopping,"
"Oh! Wait!" Elena rushed over to the bed and reached under it to produce a beautifully designed bottle, which held an emerald green liquid, "I found it yesterday when rearranging the place. I bought it two months ago when Katherine was to come. Will it do?"
Damon examined the bottle carefully and then said seriously; "Oh, yes. Absinth will do,"
And so they found glasses and drank the liquor in small sips, feeling it burn them delightfully inside. Elena began to feel tipsy immediately. She rarely relied on alcohol; cheap wine once in a while, but as she did not have many commitments and appointments outside her own home, she was not used to drink. Damon on the other hand felt no enticement. He only felt the pleasant taste of alcohol. And also how well this scene suited him; Elena amongst the last of the sun's disappearing amber rays, holding the glass of absinth, smiling at him profoundly and prettily. They sat on the floor and Damon felt the bohemian in him flare up with all its might. Elena decided to open the window. She stood up, but felt quite unstable. With a quiet giggle she opened the window and tried to sit back down again, but not for lack of effort, but just missing the mark, she fell in the bed instead. Damon rolled his eyes. It seemed it was all he was doing, because she amused him with nearly everything she did.
"Upsy daisy," Elena muttered somewhere over another sip.
"You're drunk, I presume," Damon said as he stood up and sat on the bed. Elena imitated with her hand a small amount and then giggled. "I don't even have to presume it, it's clearly obvious," He then muttered.
"Damon," Elena began, almost soberly.
"Yes, my love?"
"Are we together?" And suddenly Damon wished he were drunk. He most certainly didn't know the answer, but he longed to approve. But he did not wish to put himself in a fool's role. He pondered over the complicity of this question, because he knew that Elena had probably lost track of time and then finally coming to a rather queer conclusion said;
"Yes, I suppose so," Elena roused herself to a sitting position and with a smile as heartfelt as no other could be whispered;
"Then you may kiss me,"
Damon knew it was wrong. Marginally incorrect. His lips fell upon hers in that very moment and he felt her delightful warmth pass through him. His hands caressed the soft fabric of her dress and then moved to her thigh. Every ounce of sanity in him was screaming to not make use of this moment, but it was what he wanted so. Elena kissed him passionately, furiously, temptingly. He felt his arousal for her grow by the second. Elena felt his hair with her fingers and giggled through the kiss, which only enticed him more. His hands went to her waist as he clung to her desperately wishing to tear of the fabric and have her soft, what seemed to be, untouched skin for him and him only. Elena moved her hand down to trousers, but then Damon took her by the shoulders and stared deep into her eyes, which for a moment seemed to drive Elena into clarity;
"We should not be doing this. I don't want to use you. Whatever I might have done, I don't want to use you," And he stood up and kissed her upon her head, inhaling the scent of her fresh and clean hair and then left holding back from attempting it once more. He closed the door behind him gently and then in despair sat down upon the staircase and in his mind stood watch if Elena were to make an attempt at leaving the house in her current state. But for two hours he heard nothing. And then as the minutes passed he felt himself overtaken by sleep and eventually dozed off, paying no attention to the draughty wind or the hard surface of the wall he rested his head upon, because his thoughts were occupied by Elena.
"Damon," Elena poked his shoulder gently, "Please wake up," Damon's eyes sprung open as he saw Elena beside him in her warmest pyjamas and looking wonderfully healthy and awake, "Thank goodness. I was so worried. I nudged you more than twenty times,"
"I was tired," Damon sat upright and felt his head. It hurt horribly. The wall was most certainly not great for satisfying sleep.
"Come inside. I'll make you some tea," Damon smiled. He smiled because he loved her. He smiled because she was so beautiful. He smiled because she was always the way she was. And he never wanted her to change.
They went inside the room, which now looked superbly cosy in the twinkling candle light. Elena put the kettle on to boil and then went over to the bed and sat upon it beside the distraught Damon. He took her hand in his and looked at her without a smile.
"What you did, most guys wouldn't do," Elena said, "Thank you,"
"How are you feeling?"
"I still feel a bit dizzy and my head hurts terribly, but I feel fine," She stood up and prepared the tea. Giving Damon's cup to him, she then took hers and went over to the books. She stood there beside them; the most lit place in the small room as all the candles were placed strategically amongst the stacked books. "I don't understand,"
"What, precisely?"
"You said we were together. But I was the one that was tipsy,"
Damon's eyes sank down in his tea. He knew it was a mistake. It was inevitable it would come up, but in the silence and calm of the evening it seemed absolutely terrifying. Damon knew no way how to explain his mishap, his sudden burst of chivalry and braveness, although in it losing his honour. Perhaps it was best to admit it. But he feared she would mock him.
"I did. But I don't know the answer to the question now,"
"Is it because of today?" Elena suddenly felt a tear in her heart.
"No, no," Damon exclaimed frightfully, "I just don't know. I am bad at relationships. Horrible, in fact. So horrible that I have never even had one. I don't want you to be unhappy that way. Then again I don't know how I would feel if I saw you with anyone else,"
"You're a magnificent friend. Truly you are. But I can't be with someone who doesn't care about me, the way I care about him," Elena turned away to face the wall. The small rosy dots now haunted her. They seemed too cheerful, too happy. She felt she had just said something utterly stupid. Something which exposed her very being, her feelings all in one. Terrified of seeing Damon comprehend her words, she avoided him at all costs. Elena noticed that her hand shook lightly and that the tea swirled inside as waves upon water, when her hand was taken by his and she felt him pull her close to him. He kissed her collarbone, her neck. It appeared as if both were at a loss for words, yet once more.
"I care. And I think that you know I do," Damon whispered, "Is it really that important that we should know each other? Why can't we start with a blank slate? Have our relationship be the thing which is our past, present and future,"
"A mere minute ago you said you didn't want a relationship,"
"It was a lie. It's all lies. I say things I don't mean, when I can't say what I really want. There. Now you know something about me,"
Elena went away for a moment. She stared outside the window at the lights in all the windows across Montmartre. The small lights that said that people were there. The two of them were one of those lights. Elena placed her cup on the window sill and turned to him. For a moment the raven blacks and the deep sea blues stared at each other and then Elena embraced him. No kiss was needed; they just stood in each other's embrace. It was a desperate measure to avoid words. After a moment they broke apart and Damon looked at her, afraid and befuddled. Elena smiled gently.
"I'll come by next week," Damon said unsurely and then left. Elena did not feel crushed or wounded, but hopeful. At long last she knew he had emotions, he had something besides the wish to control and command. This inspired her and she knew that something could still be made right and with the touch of fate they could still embark upon a relationship. C'est la vie!
Note/ Hi, my loves! Just wished to say that this has been one of the most complicated chapters to write, because I have no idea in what direction I'm going. I suppose you'll see, but for now remain hopeful. Besides that, I really do hope you found this enjoyable and please be so kind as to review! Yours excitedly, Martina.