It's official - you guys are absolutely amazing! I am stunned, speechless and completely humbled that so many of you are enjoying this story as much as I am. I honestly can not thank you enough for all of your kind words, reviews, tweets, and assistance in promoting this story - but I'm going to try. So, THANK YOU!

This is my longest chapter to date. I enjoyed writing it so much that I actually had to make myself stop in order to save something important for chapter 5 (please don't kill me when you make it to the end and see what that something is). We still have such a long ways to go and I absolutely cannot wait to continue along this journey with all of you. Thanks SO MUCH again! Enjoy :)


Atlantis
Losing everything I've ever known
It's all become too much, maybe I'm not built for love
If I knew that I could reach you, I would go
- Seafret


"It's complicated, Damon."

"Complicated," I chuckle sarcastically, running a hand through my hair as I continuing to pace back and forth in my office. "Complicated!" I repeat, this time shouting at her through gritted teeth. "Well I'll tell you what, how about you start un-complicating things real quick before you find yourself answering to people who are a lot less forgiving than me!"

"Damon," my brother intervenes, placing a hand on my chest in an effort to keep me back from Lily. "Calm down."

"Get off of me, Stefan!" I push him back. I don't mean to take my aggression out on him, but I'm also in no mood to be tested or told I need to calm the fuck down. My rage is justified. "She has been lying to me for over a year, Stefan! A year!"

"Hey!" Caroline jumps away from the desk she's currently leaning upon to step in between us. "It's not his fault, okay? If everyone will just chill for two seconds, I'm sure that there is a very good and very rational explanation for everything." She talks with her hands as she turns away from my glare to face my mother. "Right?"

All three of us stare at her - Stefan and Caroline calm and collected, me seething - waiting for her to say something, anything that will justify her betrayal and treachery.

She stands across the room from us, her hands linked together as she looks down at the floor. Her inability to look at me only fuels my rage further. I can see she is struggling to find the right words, but I am beginning to lose my patience.

Just as she finally opens her mouth to speak, there is a knock on the door. Without being prompted to come in, Aiden's head suddenly appears inside my office. "I know you're all still processing, and I hate to rush, but I've got a line of press members outside still waiting to hear your statement."

Lily nods in compliance and attempts to make her way towards the door, but I intercede. "Uh-huh! We are nowhere near finished here," I look down at her in loathing before turning towards Aiden. "Tell them they can go fuck themselves. This is a family matter." He looks shocked but continues to linger in the doorway. "I'm sorry, did you not hear me? Get out!" I roar. He jumps slightly before finally backing away and closing the door behind him.

My mother looks up at me in anger and disappointment. I can already see the lecture forming behind her eyes, but intuitively, she makes the wise choice and refrains. She slowly turns away from me and makes her way over to the large window that overlooks the city. We all watch her as she silently gazes out at it for several moments.

"I couldn't tell you anything, Damon," she says softly, unable to acknowledging me. "She made me promise."

My heart is racing. I need to know everything. I need her to hurry up and spit it all out – but as Stefan and Caroline both watch me nervously – I remain silent, attempting to regain control of my temper.

"I wanted to tell you…so many times." She finally turns away from the window and looks at me. "But I couldn't…and I still can't."

I shake my head in disbelief. "Can't? Or won't?"

She swallows thickly. "Won't."

I'm about to start shouting again, but this time, it's Caroline who speaks up. "Mrs. Salvatore," she says softly, stepping towards her, "If I may, I just think that – with everything that's going on – it might be helpful for all of us to have a little bit of clarity here." She smiles sweetly as she takes my mother's hand. "Now, I know you're going through a lot, and I know that Damon and Elena once loved each other - and I respect that - but…I have a dear friend at home who's just left this building in tears. Not to mention, your sons are about to be asked a lot of pretty intense questions that they may or may not be able to answer. I know that you're just trying to honor your promise," she smiles sweetly, "but unless this is a matter of life or death…. I just really think that Damon has a right to know."

I want to thank her, but I'm currently too consumed with rage to dwell on any other emotion. Lily attempts a smile at Caroline, but it quickly turns into a frown. She drops her hand and steps around her, slowly making her way towards me.

"I was worried about you," she says, raising her hand to gently touch my cheek as she approaches me. I fight the urge to not pull away. "I contacted Elena shortly after you got back – I'm sorry to have interfered – it's just that…. I wanted to understand; I wanted to make sense of what had happened. You were just so…" she falters, "heartbroken."

I have to pull away now. Her touch paired with the pity in her eyes is just too much. "That wasn't your call to make." I glare at her before turning away. I find myself pacing again. "How the hell'd you find her anyway? Elena didn't want to be found! Trust me, I fucking tried!" I feel my emotion getting the better of me. I take a deep breath in order to reel it back in and keep it contained.

"Your father was a powerful man," she shrugs. "He had his ways."

"Unbelievable." I shake my head, furious that my father was also involved in such a scheme. "So what then? You just hunted her down? Thought you'd just track down a woman who didn't want to be found, convince her to come back to a man she didn't want to be with, and then when that didn't work, stay in touch so that you could leave her 15 million dollars to convince her otherwise?" I shout, my voice now filling up the entire room and surely carrying outside.

"It's not like that," she says softly, despite my tone. "Damon, when I found out why she had left you…" she stops, as if she's said too much. "It's complicated."

"Yeah," I huff, shaking my head in disbelief. "Complicated. So you've said."

I'm angry and confused, frustrated and, dare I say it, even hurt. I've spent my entire life struggling to make sense of my mother – trying to understand her, trying to reconcile and forgive her, trying to love her.

We've had our ups and downs, and our moments of hopelessness and unexpected recovery…but this…. this takes the cake. I am absolutely certain that there can be no recovery from this.

As she watches me, I see the confliction in her eyes. Despite my best efforts to conceal my thoughts, she can read me like a book – in a way that only mother's can I suppose – and I hate it. Her eyes are filled with doubt and sadness, but nonetheless, she doesn't say another word. This is what hurts the most.

"Unbelievable," I sigh, finally turning away from her. I am out of words. I no longer have the strength to argue or the energy to conspire ways to hurt her.

As I turn to leave and attempt to muster up the will to carry on with the rest of this God-forsaken day, I hear her speak, forcing me to pause as my hand still lingers on the doorknob.

"Damon, wait." I close my eyes and let out a long, deep breath, before turning back to face her one more time. When I do, I see her rushing across the room to my desk, frantically scrambling to locate a pen and a piece of paper. When she does, I watch as she begins to write something down.

I wait, feeling emotionally drained and beyond aggravated, until she is making her way back over to me. She clings to the piece of paper with both of her hands and holds it against her heart, as though uncertain of whether or not she wants to give it to me; uncertain of whether or not she is about to make a great mistake.

"Damon, I can't tell you anything because… I think… you need to hear it from her." She suddenly extends the piece of paper in my direction. "It's Elena's address…. If you want it."

I look down at it.

My heart, despite my best effort, has suddenly begun to beat rapidly again. I feel Caroline and Stefan watching me, nervously awaiting and anticipating my next move. I look up at my mother; her eyes filled with the upmost sincerity and desperation to give me the answers I seek.

But it's not that simple and I know better.

I know that the numbers and letters on that piece of paper will not bring me the clarity I seek or the answers I need. I know that the years of resentment and betrayal between my mother and I cannot be so simply erased by such a small act. I know that absolutely no good can come from contacting Elena - the woman I'd long since believed to be a long-lost memory and whose words still continue to haunt me - try as I might to shut them out.

I know better, and yet, it doesn't stop me.

I am not in control of my own actions as my hand betrays me and rises up to take the piece of paper out of her hand. She gives me a small smile in nervous satisfaction, but I am unable to return it. As she steps around me and exits the room, I cannot help but contemplate whether or not this will be the best or worst thing my mother has ever done for me.


Three Hours Later

"When will you be back?"

I lean against the doorframe of our master bedroom, arms crossed, watching as she frantically rushes back and forth between the closet and the bed. Her suitcase is laid out across it and her clothes scatter every remaining inch of the king size mattress.

"Two weeks. Maybe longer," she says flatly as she begins to fold her sweaters and neatly pack them away.

"Maybe I should come with you," I offer, hesitant to push her.

"No. It's just work stuff. You'd be miserable." Though she's attempting to mask it, there is resentment in her tone. I know she is still hurt and angry, but coming home to find her packing was the last thing I'd expected.

"So…they just called you? Out of the blue?" I counter, not buying her story. Her practice in London knows how important her research is here in New York – which is why all of her patients and job duties were reassigned accordingly months ago. They'd never call her unless it was an absolute emergency.

"Yup," she nods, continuing to pack. "I have a patient who needs me."

I nod, not knowing what to say or how best to challenge the 'patient' card. I don't want her to go – especially not now when I feel like my entire world is slowly crumbling down, my career is a public mess and the address of my ex-girlfriend is currently lingering in my pocket, taunting me.

No, now is definitely not a good time for me to be left alone.

"Rose," I plead, taking a step towards her. "I'm sorry. You have to believe me, I had no idea that was going to happen." She continues to pack, refusing to look at me. I gently take hold of her arms, forcing her to stop, but she still avoids my gaze. "Rose," I try again. "Please...tell me. What can I do? You know that Elena is no longer a part of my life. I can't help what my father did, but I can promise you that it doesn't mean anything to me, okay? You have to believe that."

I feel the piece of paper in my pocket calling me a liar, but I ignore it.

She finally looks at me, allowing me for the first time to see the tears that are forming behind her eyes. "It's not your father, Damon," she says softly as a tear slowly falls down her cheek. "It's you."

I gently brush the tear away with my thumb, not understanding. I know I've been sort of distant and distracted lately, but how else am I supposed to be? It's not as though the past few weeks have been all rainbows and butterflies. Between dealing with the funeral, the press and the insanity of my father's Will, I feel like I'm being pulled in a thousand different directions and about to lose my damn mind. Surely she can understand that?

"I know you've been going through a hard time. I get that," she nods, pulling away from me. "I've been trying to be patient and supportive of you during these last few weeks, because I know how hard this all is on you. And Damon," she takes hold of my hand, "I really am so sorry about your dad."

"Rose, you don't have,"

"But I can't just sit here and pretend that I'm okay with everything either," she turns away from me to resume packing. "I know it's not your fault that your father included Elena in his Will – and I'm not jealous," she points her finger at me threateningly. "But it is your fault in the way you've been letting her effect you."

I shake my head, confused by what the hell she means.

"I see the way you get anytime someone mentions her." She stops packing again to look at me; tears are once again in her eyes. "I feel the way you tense up, the way your entire demeanor changes at the sound of her name."

"Rose, I,"

"Damon, you left me alone with your family at our engagement dinner!" she shouts.

And there it is. Finally. The fight I know she's been longing to have, but been unable to bring up in light of everything that's happened.

"Is that what this is about? Rose, I told you I'm sorry! Giuseppe just had me so riled up that night that I couldn't see straight. I had to get out of there!"

"This isn't about Giuseppe, Damon! It's about you!" Her voice begins to rise, "It's about you leaving because he brought up Elena! It's about you not even being able to respond to the toast I gave, or say I love you back because you were too stuck dwelling on your past with her!"

I gawk at her, feeling speechless. "What do you want me to say?" I finally shout back. "That listening to my father and his impertinent friends berate me and mock my past doesn't get under my skin? That having Elena thrown in my face every five minutes doesn't get to me? Because I can't! I can't lie to you and say that being reminded of her, and all of my other past failures and mistakes on a daily basis doesn't get to me! And then, only to find out a few weeks later that my father left 'said mistake' fifteen million dollars! Do you think any of that is easy for me?"

"And what about me, Damon? Huh? Sitting at your right-hand side, defending you, as your family and friends constantly compare me to her? Do you think it's easy for me to see that look in your eyes or feel your pulse begin to race every time someone mentions her name? I'm not Elena, Damon! And I'm never going to be – so you need to decide if that 'mistake' is really something you're ready to let go of or not."

I shake my head, unsure of what to say. I want to reassure her, comfort her; say anything that will make her believe that she is the person I want – not Elena. But I am at a loss, left speechless and clueless as to what I could possibly say to make her feel better.

Rose finishes throwing the last of her boots, heels, clothing and toiletries into her suitcase, before zipping it closed. She wipes a tear from her cheek as she finally turns to face me again. "I know that none of this has been easy for you – I've known since the moment I met you."

"Rose," I move in and gently touch her cheek, "I'm sorry, okay? You don't have to go. I promise, everything between me and Elena is over. You know that! Even everything with my father…. it's all over, okay?" I move in to place a light kiss on her forehead, but at this moment, my cellphone begins to buzz and she pulls away.

I groan in frustration, hesitant to release her, but knowing it could be important. When I see Stefan's name flash across the screen, I immediately send it to voicemail, but then quickly take note of the five new text messages in my inbox – most of them from him:

"Where are you?"
"What are you going to do?"
"Please don't do anything stupid."
"I'm coming over."

Followed by one from Ric that reads: "Holy Shit! Just saw the news! Let's grab drinks in an hour. I convinced Jo to meet us!" followed by two winking emoticons.

I roll my eyes. Great.

"I'll be back in two weeks," she assures, stepping around me and making her way towards the front door, dragging her suitcase behind her. I can hear the aggravation in her tone from me checking my phone.

"Rose," I plead again, chasing after her.

"I'm giving you time, Damon. Time to sort everything out at work and to get your dad's affairs in order, time to get past this unforeseen…circumstance with Elena, and time to really figure out if this," she pauses before indicating to herself and then to me, "is really what you want."

"Of course it is!" I defend, aggravated that nothing I say seems to be making a difference.

She opens up the front door, but continues to linger in the doorway for a moment longer before finally turning back to look at me. "I hope so," she smiles softly, gently touching my face with her hand. "I hope that when I get back, we can continue planning our wedding and just move on from all of this…. I hope that someday, this will all just be some stupid memory we can laugh about…. But Damon," she hesitates, attempting to keep her tears at bay, "If we're ever going to do that, you have to promise me, you'll let her go."

She doesn't give me time to respond. The next thing I know, I'm watching my fiancé walk out the door, suitcase in hand, packed and prepared to put as much distance between us and the rest of New York as possible. Her two-week deadline hangs over my head like a ticking time bomb, threatening me to get my shit together or else find myself without her forever.

As the door closes and I am left with the bitter silence that remains, I once again find myself wondering whether or not I should chase after her. I know it's the right thing to do. I know I owe it to her. I know she deserves my undivided attention and respect, and above all else, proof that I'm willing to fight for her.

But words and thoughts escape me and I cannot explain why my feet suddenly feel as though they're plastered in concrete.

Despite my best efforts and attempts, I remain frozen in place, unable to chase after her.


Later That Evening

He's nearly an hour late.

I look down at my watch, noting the hand that reads fifteen minutes 'til nine. Ric said he'd be here with Jo at eight - so much for his worried concern.

I tap my fingers impatiently on the wooden bar as I wait and sip my bourbon, perhaps a little more quickly than I should.

"Another round?" asks the slick-haired bartender.

I nod and slide him my glass, which he quickly refills and slides back down to me. I nod in appreciation and take another sip.

It's quiet in the Law Room tonight, which I suppose, is exactly why we keep coming back. Its speakeasy, prohibition vibe suites us well, and its semi-secret entrance under the stairwell helps keep out all of the unwanted riffraff – most notably the press. I suppose it's why time and time again I find myself, or rather my driver, making the 25-minute drive downtown to the flatiron district.

I've been watching the flight schedules on my phone all evening, wondering which one is currently carrying Rose back across the Atlantic. Her words play on loop in my mind, "promise me, you'll let her go…", over and over again until I'm running a hand through my hair, worn down from the resonating sound.

I know she's right. I have to let Elena go.

For the first time, I reach into my pocket and pull out the piece of paper that's been tormenting me since my mother gave it to me this afternoon. It's folded in half and slightly wrinkled from being inside my pocket all day. I hold my breath, knowing that if I read it, there's no going back. Even if I lose it, even if I burn it, I know I'll never be able to erase the image of the numbers and letters from my brain. Her address will forever be with me.

Just like the lyrics in her journal, I will memorize the words without even trying. They will haunt me until I am inevitably at her doorstep – which I know I can never do.

I don't know what it is about Elena, but her words always seem to stay with me, despite my best efforts to shake them. I dwell on the irony of the entry I read a few hours ago on page thirty-two, shortly following Rose's departure:

Look me up
When you've had your space
When you're ready
To see my face*

I don't know how she does it. I just don't understand how it's possible. How had she known what to write down a year ago? How had she known exactly what I'd need to hear and when I'd need to hear it? Had she planned everything? Is my every move currently being strategically played and calculated, as though I'm some pawn in her giant chess game?

No. I know better…. and I suppose, that's the scary part.

Elena didn't believe in making plans. She didn't believe in manipulation, coercion or even bribery to get what she wanted. She only believed in moments, music and possibilities. She believed in exchanging ideas and stories and connecting with strangers. She believed in the promise of chance and, now that I think about it, fate. Above all things, Elena believed in fate.

"Take a walk with me."

She extends her hand to me as we exit the jazz bar after a long night of dancing and listening to old songs I've never before heard. It's sometime after midnight, but the streets are brightly lit from the glow of the lampposts that line the streets and the old gas lanterns that hang in doorways.

The car that we drove here in is currently parked down the street, but I don't have the heart to deny her request – especially after just watching her say a tearful goodbye to an old friend - so I take her hand.

We begin to walk, hand-in-hand, comfortably falling into a silent rhythm, as though we've known each other for years as opposed to just one day. We make it a little over a block before curiosity finally gets the best of me and I have to ask, "So how do you know the singer?"

She smiles, "That's Bonnie. We've been friends for as long as I can remember."

I nod, hoping she'll continue.

"We don't see each other much anymore. Not unless fate intervenes and brings us back together – and somehow it always does. That's how I know we'll be friends forever."

"You believe in fate?" I smile, looking over at her.

She grins. "Of course. Don't you?"

I shrug. "Not really. But today's been a day of firsts, so maybe I can be convinced."

"What.. you've never danced with a stranger before?" She mocks, suddenly taking my hand and lifting it high above her head until I'm obliging her unspoken request and twirling her around.

When the motion is finished and she is left standing in front of me, her eyes are shining and she is smiling up at me. I want to tell her that no, I have never danced with a stranger – or at least not with one in which my intensions for the evening were pure. But more than that, I want to tell her that I've never before had a reason to believe in fate – until possibly right this moment. But I refrain.

Instead I deflect and say, "I'm a lawyer. I believe in logic and choice…. and every choice has a consequence."

She frowns. "I believe we have the ability to choose left or right, but if people are destined to meet, they will. At the end of the day, fate always wins out."

I smile, admiring the confidence in her tone and the light reflecting in her eyes. It's not that I want to argue, but I'm not yet ready for her to stop talking. I find her so intriguing.

"So this day, us meeting, my client firing me," I chuckle, though still reeling from that unexpected turn of events, "this is all fate?"

She grins up at me, mischief shining in her eyes, "do you want it to be?"

I think about our dance back at the jazz club; how no words could ever describe the intense, magnetic pull I'd just felt towards her as I held her in my arms; how the entire crowd had completely faded away and left only the two of us behind, leaving me to pretend I'd known her for ages and that the night would never end.

But then, I remember that I'm leaving in a few days. I remember my clients and my father and my life back in New York. I can't allow myself to fall for her.

"It doesn't matter what I want," I sigh, killing the moment and causing her to take a step back from me.

She nods her head, seeming to understand where my thoughts lie. Her hand once again finds mine and we resume our walk. We take several steps before she speaks again.

"I think you work too much."

I chuckle, knowing that she's probably right. "Working makes me happy."

"Liar," she calls me out immediately. "I think you're an advanced-staged workaholic." She nods and smiles, satisfied in her diagnosis.

I attempt to speak, ready to argue, but come up short.

"What do you do for fun?"

"I just told you," I smile, looking over at her.

"No, I mean like, what makes you laugh?" She suddenly steps ahead of me and turns around, continuing to hold onto my hand as she walks backwards, pulling me forward. "What makes you so ridiculously happy that it could just define you?"

Her grin and playful demeanor, not to mention how beautiful she currently looks in that black dress, has me wanting to search my soul and give her the deep and profound answer I know she seeks. But instead, I remain silent.

Not because there isn't some version of a poorly constructed, clichéd answer I could surely give her – I'm sure there is - but because, at this moment, I genuinely can't concentrate on anything else right now but her.

I stop, forcing her to stop with me. Hand still in mine, I step closer to her, closing the gap between us. Her bright smile has suddenly been replaced with a heated gaze, nervous breathing and anticipation. My hand finds the small of her back and I guide her backwards, slowly moving her until her back is pressed against the nearby, dimly lit lamppost. She looks up at me, her eyes revealing nervousness and longing.

I do not answer her question because it is far too soon to say the words I'm currently feeling out loud. But as I bring my hand up to caress her cheek before I finally kiss her, I hope that somehow, she knows.

"Whatcha got there?"

I am caught off guard at the sound of a woman's voice beside me and the sudden appearance of a hand reaching for the piece of paper in front of me. I quickly slap my hand down, preventing the address from being taken. I look over at the dark-haired, blue-eyed woman who has just taken a seat on the barstool next me.

"None of your business," I smirk sarcastically at her, annoyance in my tone.

"Oh come on now, buddy!" Smiles Ric as he takes a seat on my opposite side and roughly slaps his hand on my shoulder. "Friends share secrets…. especially when it's something as interesting as Elena's address."

I gawk at him. "How the hell'd you,"

"Stefan," he grins arrogantly. "Called and told me everything. He got worried when you wouldn't return his calls."

"I'm starving," says Josette, suddenly looking around the bar. "Do they have food here?"

"Yeah me too," chimes in Ric. "Hey!" he whistles over at the bartender, "Do you have a food menu?"

I look from Jo to Ric, taking in their disorderly appearance, ridiculous behavior and strange smell. I quickly begin to put the pieces together. "Holy shit, are you two high?"

"Shhhhh," Jo grins, putting her finger up to her lips. "It's a secret."

I shake my head in pure disbelief and turn to Ric. He shrugs and scrunches up his face in humorous confirmation of my suspicion. "Unbelievable," I chuckle, in spite of myself. "That's why you left me sitting at this damn bar for over an hour? So you could go get stoned?"

"Sorry," Ric grins. His eyes are cloudy and slightly red, making it hard for me to take him seriously. "We were going to call you but,"

"But I got in a fight with my fiancé," finishes Jo.

I huff, taking a sip from my drink. "Yeah. There seems to be a lot of that going around." Ric looks like he wants to ask, but I turn my focus back to Jo. "Haven't you two been engaged for like, I don't know, five years now?"

She rolls her eyes at me as she waves the bartender over and orders a drink.

"Sore subject?" I look over at Ric and he attempts to inconspicuously nod his head in confirmation, making me chuckle.

I honestly don't know that much about Jo - other than that she and Ric have steadily built up a friendship over the last several months at work, and that they've been spending way more time together than even the most trusting of boyfriends would probably be okay with. But I don't ask and I definitely don't judge.

"I just want to have some fun," she complains, leaning her elbow against the bar to put her head in her hand. "I've spent my entire life getting good grades, and doing good deeds, and going to law school, and now, working at some firm who doesn't even know I exist," she quickly looks up at me, "No offence." I shrug, indifferent. "So why is it such a crime to finally want to do something for me, huh? Why is it such a bad thing to just want to hang out with people who make me laugh? After all, that's what life should be about, right? Being with people who make you laugh?"

I am so invested in Jo's inebriated words, so caught up in trying to decipher and interpret them – both for Ric and my sake – that I don't notice Ric casually sliding the piece of paper away from me and opening it up.

"834 Bushwick Avenue #4B," he reads in amusement, forcing me to suddenly turn and face him as every other sound in the room quickly becomes irrelevant. "Holy crap! Is this really her?"

I quickly snatch it out of his hand, feeling both furious and shell-shocked. There it is. That's it. There's no going back and no way to un-hear the words or un-memorize 834 Bushwick Avenue #4B. I groan out loud and quickly bury my face in my hands. "No. No. No."

"What?" he asks, completely oblivious. "What did I say?"

"I didn't want to know!" My voice is muffled through my hands.

"Oops."

I lay my head down on the bar, silently wondering just how much alcohol I might need to consume in order to forget what I just heard.

"I don't get it. What's the big deal?" Jo pipes up, suddenly reaching forward and grabbing the piece of paper away from me. At this point, it easily slips out of my fingers as my will to fight for it seems to have completely gone out the window.

I don't have to see Ric to know that he is mouthing the words "Elena," to her.

"Oh my God!" She squeals in excitement. "The Elena? The Elena we've all been hearing so much about? Holy shit! We have to go meet her!"

I'm surrounded by morons.

I feel Ric pat me on the shoulder. "Sorry, buddy. I thought you'd read it…" he hesitates. "Wait. Why the hell hadn't you read it?"

I quickly raise my head and glare at him. "Do I really have to answer that question?"

He shrugs and makes his weird scrunched-up face again. "Yeah." He nods flatly. "Yeah you do."

I gawk at him, my jaw dropping in slight irritation. I look over at Josette for support, but she just shrugs and dips her hand into the bowl of peanuts that's been moved in front of her and begins to snack as though she's watching a reality TV show.

I cannot decide if these two idiots are made for each other, or if their being together is so moronic, it would completely throw off the entire universe and doom all of humanity. Either way, I'm silently rooting for them.

"I was going to burn it," I deflect.

"But you didn't," he grins, raising his glass to me.

"I was going to!" I all-but shout at him.

"But," he drags out, "you didn't."

"I can't contact Elena, Ric!" I run a hand through my hair, growing more frustrated by the minute. "I can't do that to Rose."

He is finally silent. He finally seems to have taken the hint and caught on to my pent-up irritation and inability to deal with this conversation or this ridiculous day for even another second longer. I don't mean to raise my voice at him – but I'm in no mood or state of mind to try and defend my actions. When I'd agreed to meet Ric at the bar, I'd assumed it'd be so that we could drunkenly forget about everything, not rehash it over their buzz.

"I totally understand where you're coming from, Damon," Jo finally speaks up, breaking the tension. "It would definitely be wrong of you to contact Elena and finally hear her side of the story on as to why she left you and then stayed in contact with your parents for over a year – so much so that they actually left her fifteen million dollars and a house," she nods, her expression quite serious. "Yes. Definitely wrong."

I arch my eyebrow at her, watching and anticipating what the hell she's about to do as she rises from her seat, stumbling slightly in the process, and stands next to me. She places a steady hand on my shoulder in order to look me in the eye. "I completely understand if you can't contact Elena." I nod in appreciation - feeling slight relief that at least one of them agrees with me - when suddenly a huge smile spreads across her face. She slowly brings up Elena's address and begins to wave it in my face. "But I can."

The next thing I know, she takes off running out of the bar – Ric quickly following behind her. I am left stunned and speechless for a few seconds, barely having the time to process what the hell just happened. But as it sinks in what she's about to do, my adrenaline suddenly kicks in and, in a flash, I am chasing after them.

As all the patrons in the bar watch us run out - me shouting and cursing at them; Jo and Ric slipping all over the slick floor in their attempt to flee - I know that our days at the Lounge are officially over and that we will never again be allowed to show our faces here. But that's currently the least of my worries.

Jo is several paces ahead of me, and by the time I finally emerge from the underground stairwell, I hear the deafening sound of her whistling for a cab. I catch up with her and Ric just as they're diving into the backseat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I shout, slightly breathless as I catch hold of the door to prevent them from leaving.

"What does it look like we're doing?" Jo grins from the far side of the cab.

"Come on! Just get in, Damon!" Ric smirks as he sits beside her. "Aren't you the least bit curious?"

I hesitate and attempt to process as I stare down at their eager faces. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious; lying if I said that I hadn't dreamt of this moment for the last year – but regardless, that doesn't make it right or make me feel any less guilty. But if I'm really being honest with myself, the truth of the matter is that I just don't know if I can handle seeing her face again.

The cab driver honks his horn in annoyance before turning back to look at me over his shoulder. "Are you in or out pal?"

"Yeah, pal?" Ric grins.

I shake my head. I am usually impulsive and quick on my feet, but in this moment, I've never felt so torn in my life.

Ric, watching my confliction, finally speaks up one more time. "You know I've always got your back…. right?"

As I look down at my best friend - my ridiculously absurd, completely inappropriate, knows-me-better-than-anyone best friend - I know that he does.

Finally, giving in to their ridiculous idea of an adventure, I slide into the car, forcing them to squeeze together, as I shut the door behind me.

"834 Bushwick Avenue, Brooklyn!" Jo shouts at the driver, before smiling back at me in victorious satisfaction.

As we begin to drive, my heart suddenly begins to pound. I am completely unprepared for this. If I had known that when I woke up this morning, I'd be facing my father's Will, my mother's lies, and then to top it all off, the ex love of my life, I'd surely have stayed in bed.

I think of Elena – all her words and her music; her touch and her smell; the feeling of her skin against mine…. It's all flooding back and completely overwhelming me. I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling as though I am suffocating. I can't do this.

"What the hell am I doing?" I say quietly, distracting Jo and Ric from their laughing fit of a conversation. "I'll give you ten thousand dollars if you stop the car!" I shout, the words flying out of my mouth so unexpectedly that I'm not even sure they're mine.

The cab suddenly comes to a screeching halt, sending all three of us flying forward, and causing Jo to scream. Cars around us suddenly honk loudly and swerve out of the way in an effort to miss us.

"He's kidding!" Shouts Ric, attempting to laugh it off as he looks over at me with a weird what-the-hell-are-you-thinking look on his face. The driver quickly turns around and gives me a death glare, before finally re-starting the car and continuing onward. I want to say that I am not kidding – not at all – but for whatever reason, I don't.

I am a mess for the remainder of the cab ride until finally, after a whole thirty-two minutes and forty-five dollars later, we are standing outside of the building numbered 834 on Bushwick Avenue.

As I rise up out of the cab and Jo and Ric stumble out after me, I look up at it, suddenly – for the first time all evening – feeling a touch of excitement to coincide with my racing heartbeat.

"Well don't just stand there," smiles Jo, taking the lead and stepping ahead of us. "Let's go!"

The neighborhood is quiet, so much so that I feel as though I can physically feel the sound of the squeaky gate as it opens and then the ringing of the buzzer as we reach the doorstep and press the bell beside the indicated #4B.

I can't believe I'm here, especially with these completly high, barely-functioning imbeciles, but weirdly enough…I'm also kind of grateful. Of all the scenarios and of all the moments I've pictured in my head for the moment I would finally see Elena again, this definitely wasn't one of them. But oddly enough, Jo and Ric's presence is somewhat comforting.

"Yes?" A woman's voice suddenly comes through the intercom, somewhat startling me. I don't recognize it though…

"Uh…hi, yes," I fumble. "Um, I…"

"Have a delivery," speaks up Ric suddenly. I glare at him.

"Cupcakes!" Chimes in Jo.

They both begin to laugh silently as I stare at them in bewildered astonishment.

"Um… okay," says the voice. Suddenly, there is a buzzing sound, signaling the unlocking of the door.

Jo and Alaric both smirk at me as they push their way inside. "Unbelievable," I whisper, my amusement being overridden by my nerves.

When we reach the landing of number 4B, I suddenly stop, feeling frozen, as a familiar sound seeps into the hallway and reaches my ears.

Ten days of perfect tunes
The colors red and blue

We had a promise made*

My breathing is shallow as I place my palm on the doorframe; leaning against it as I allow the song and the memory of the first time I told her I loved her, to suddenly come flooding back. The woman I once said those words to is just behind this door.

"You okay?" Ric looks at me nervously and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Come on. You can do this."

I nod my head and steadily stand upright. I take a deep breath and then, finally, knock on the door.

I don't know what I'm expecting, but I am completely caught off guard, and dare I say it, disappointed, when a familiar, yet unexpected face greets me at the door.

I stare at her – my jaw dropping slightly.

"Can I help you?" she looks at me, annoyance in her tone. "Where are the cupcakes?" She pauses to think about this… "Who the hell delivers cupcakes at eleven thirty at night anyway?"

I finally place her face…. "Bonnie?" I ask. Jo and Ric are suddenly behind me, peering over my shoulder like two lost puppies.

She gawks at me for a moment, taking in my face before looking up slowly at the other two sets of eyes that are currently gazing in at her. Recognition and understanding seem to take place. "Damon?"

I nod, my breathing shallow and heart pounding. She steps back slightly, allowing me to see inside. The small loft has Elena written all over it. Everything from the spinning record and the books that scatter the coffee table, to the giant mess of colors that cover the main wall. Everything looks like her…. Everything even smells like her… But she is nowhere to be found.

"I'm looking for Elena," I say through nervous breathing. Finally admitting the words out loud feels good.

She lets out a long sigh before giving me a sad smile and then leaning against the door. "She's not here."

I run a hand through my hair and take a deep breath, attempting to conceal my disappointment – unlike Jo and Alaric who take a step back and shout "damn it."

"Can you tell me where she is?" I hear the pleading in my tone. I don't want to sound desperate…. but suddenly, at the notion of being this close… I realize I am. "Please, Bonnie?"

She smiles sweetly – obviously wanting to answer but conflicted at betraying her best friend. I see the debate in her eyes as she finally says, "You know where she is."

I stare at her, shaking my head in disbelief. I want to argue, I want to shout that 'No! No, I have absolutely no fucking clue where she is!' But I don't. I don't get the chance. Bonnie is slowly shutting the door as she says, "I'm sorry, Damon," in the most sincere tone she can muster.

I am left to stare at the back of the door, in a dimly lit hallway, feeling the irony of the complete and utter disappointment that surrounds me. I feel Ric touch my shoulder as he says, "I'm sorry, buddy."

I don't feel my feet move, but I know they must be, because suddenly I am once again standing on the steps of 834 Bushwick Avenue. The cold air enters my lungs, but I feel unable to breathe. I hear Ric say, "Let's go," as they both move past me and out onto the street again.

"Who's up for coffee?" Jo attempts a smile as she hails another cab for us. "Maybe pizza?"

Pizza and coffee. I laugh, not understanding why.

Pizza and coffee...

The image of Elena standing in our kitchen on a Saturday morning suddenly enters my mind. I can see her as she gazes out the window above the sink, coffee in hand and leftover pizza in the microwave. She stares contently out at the ocean, humming a song I don't recognize, until I slowly approach her and rest my head on her shoulder.

"If I ever needed to run away, I'd come here...There's no place like it," she says softly, continuing to gaze outside. "There's no place I'd rather be."

"Holy shit."

Jo and Ric both look at me, pausing in their efforts to climb into the newly summoned cab. "What is it?" he asks.

"I have to get to the airport."

Ric nods, not understanding, but complying nonetheless as he claps his hands and says, "Yes! Okay!"

As soon as we are all once again loaded inside and I have given my urgent orders to the driver, I quickly send a text to my dad's pilot instructing him to get the plane ready. With luck, we'll be at the airport in twenty-five minutes.

"So where are you going?" says Ric, the smirk on his face clearly indicating his approval.

I stare out the window, watching Brooklyn pass us by as I contemplate the best way to tell him that I am about to return to the place I never again thought I'd set foot in, to chase down a girl that, up until a few moments ago, I wasn't even sure I wanted to find.

"Charleston," I answer flatly. "I'm going back to Charleston."


I know, I know! I'm so sorry! I honestly had the entire next scene already written out, and then I had to back up and remind myself that we're only on chapter 4! Haha Such a long ways to go... stay tuned! The next ones a doozy :) Thanks for reading!

Songs for this chapter:

These Words – Jill Andrews
Heartbeats – Jose Gonzalez