Days have passed and neither of them brought up the kiss. Both of them wanted to, both of them were thinking about it constantly, but neither could find the right words.
Elena had often found herself touching her lips. Just gently brushing her fingertips over them, like she's trying to catch a memory. Like it's a grain of dust on her lips just waiting to be caught. Sometimes, while taking a bath, she would feel fire on the parts of her skin he had squeezed, especially her hips. Like he left a trace of his fingertips on her body. Like he left a part of himself on her, making her hungry for more. The more her skin would burn the hungrier she would get.
He often had thoughts of taking her in his room and kissing her until eternity would start dripping from their lips. He was so unbelievably hungry for her. He never felt this sort of an emotion before. It's like that kiss opened a giant hole in his stomach, a hole that is sucking everything in, making him empty, always hungry for more, always needing more, always wanting more.
But it was an unusual situation. Neither of them knew what to do, what to feel and what the other one wants to do or feels. Both of them thought about the moments which led them to this uncomfortable situation in the first place.
She remembered the first time she had laid her eyes on him. She was on the ground, pebbles and rocks pressing onto her knees, making holes in her rags. Her hands were tied behind her back by chain, and there was a chain around her neck as well. She was no one. She still is no one even though from time to time he makes her feel like someone. There wasn't one clean spot on her skin, everything was stained with mud and blood, even her clothes.
She had scars, both inside and out and he had seen them all. He stared at them without looking away. He can take her scars. She never wanted him to mend them, that would be too much to ask, maybe even impossible, but he didn't flinch upon seeing them.
She knew he often looked for them, even when her clothes was covering the spots of her body which were scarred the most.
When he had kissed her he had seen those within. He had to, there was no other choice, she's too badly bruised for him not to notice.
Her hair was wet. Muddied. Dark. Darker than it's supposed to be.
And when she almost fell he steadied her with his own to hands. She looked him in the eyes and there was so much pain in them. It was as dark as the night and her skin and hair, but there were flickers of light as well, like stars.
Those eyes started haunting her, they made her weep at night. They bruised her skin more than anyone ever did before. His eyes burned stronger than torches and bruised deeper than knives.
He created more scars on - in her body.
She loves those scars.
The more he smiled, the more time he spent in her presence, there was less and less pain behind those jade eyes. There were no more flickers of light.
He was light himself.
He shined, and oh, he was so so so so beautiful.
And when their lips met, he showed her a whole new world, the one he had built only for them to live in. Their own private paradise. Sanctuary. Haven.
She wanted to stay there. She wanted them to build a home on those lands. She could hear cheerful screams and laughter and delightful moans. Pleasure.
It's like growing up with a blank piece of paper and most colorful colors. You splash the colors on the paper and with time it becomes a painting. It becomes you. One day there are tiny fingerprints on the paper and when you turn around there's a masterpiece in front of you. It's your life. You have grown up. You pack your bags and hang the painting on a wall and lock the door and you leave your little house in the middle of nowhere to go and see the big, white world. You meet new people, taste their food, sleep in their beds, drink their wine and one day you see your painting on someone else's wall. The more you look at it the more you realize it's not yours, it's not identical - but it is similar. In the morning it seems uglier than yours and at night it seems prettier. You see all the things you did wrong and that sometimes your brush went the wrong way. Some colors on the other persons painting match better than on yours. You spend years analyzing it and those years feel like minutes and the scent of wind changes and finally you realize you're looking at a mirror.
That's how it felt with Stefan. Like she's looking at a mirror.
When he met her he expected someone fragile. He thought she will act like a trapped animal. Except she didn't. She was covered in mud but she was so beautiful. So strong, so fierce, so determined. She was like a weapon. Like a bomb ready to explode. It seemed like she could take the whole world down with her if she went off.
She was like a story to him. One of those myths people write about in books, about gods living on the clouds and women who have snakes in their head instead of hair. Her cover was hard, thick, and the words so unknown, like he's reading a book on a language he doesn't understand.
She was a mystery. She was a game. He wanted to play.
Until she became something more. Until he discovered her honey skin and marble eyes and silky hair and subtle lips. Until she smiled at him and made him dizzy. It was so hard to rely on his brain when she smiled - his brain would lose all of the focus and his body would crumble on the ground. He was surprised by the sharpness of her words and the lightness of her laughter.
She was a warrior, but she was also a woman. So gentle and light and beautiful.
He felt a surge of contradicting emotions. He wanted to show her to the world. He wanted to brag. And at the same time he wanted to lock her into a room to which only he would have an access to. He didn't want anyone to see her, anyone but him. Jealousy.
He knew women like Elena can't be confined. She was wearing a shield at all costs and her weapon was sharper than a dagger. She kept it in her look and smile and the way she walked and talked and existed.
He wanted to kiss her and caress her before ripping her dress off of her body and devouring her. That was primal. He was an animal.
Then he wanted to build a house around her and call it their home. They would get married under the stars and have as many children as there are bricks in a wall.
And when she kissed him he could see all of that.
He could see her lips pressing onto his in every fixed point in time.
She was his future.
One day he took her to a common room and she was surprised by the amount of books they own. The walls were full of shelves which were full of books and she loved how they felt under her fingertips. They were old, probably older than both of them combined, which meant they hold more story than just words between the covers.
She liked old things. Like books and mirrors and furniture and buildings.
He told her that this is nothing, that there's a whole library on the first floor and she was so curious to see it. He took her there and a delighted smile appeared on her lips, instantly making him smile as well.
That's all that took for him to feel happy, to see her lips curl upwards.
He sat on the window bench and watched her as she moved across the room as a ray of sun. Slow. Gracious. Light. First she watched the books, then felt them up, taking each out and then putting it back in place. He watched her, he watched her for hours as she amused herself with rows and rows of books.
Finally she pulls one of them out and it stays in her hand instead of going back on the shelf. She walks over to him, jumping a little every few steps, and gives the book to him, asking him to read to her under the excuse that she likes hearing the sound of his voice.
She blushes as she says those words and his fingers become slippery under the brown, leather cover.
He reads to her for hours until he grows tired. He leaves the book for her if she wants to continue by herself since she doesn't seem to be tired at all. She seems sad to see him go but she knows he must to.
The air is full of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams.
Next day he notices she hasn't touched the book at all. They continue where he left of the day before.
The next day he notices the same but doesn't say anything. He notices the same thing with the next book, and the next one, and the one after that, but stays quiet.
Days pass. Weeks pass. A month or two pass as well. And they seem like seconds to them. Their life is made out of words none of them thought of. Their days consist of words no one will ever forget written by men no one loved until they died. They spend their days in her room, never his, they stay until sun is replaced by the moon and his voice by silence and he loves the most when she falls asleep while he reads to her because then he gets to carry her to bed. He gets to move the hair from her face and watch as her dress gets ruffled but he doesn't dare to do anything about it.
This feeling is, oh, so innocent. Like a newborns first whimper or a promise child makes.
The other side of a coin is pure lust.
He wants to kiss her again.
He wants to do so much more than that.
It takes him some time to realize she doesn't know how to read. She's ashamed. He offers to teach her which she gladly accepts.
"Where did the scars on your legs come from?" he asks during one of their sessions while she announces a war to long words.
She lifts her look from the book so quickly and gasps silently but the only thing she gives him is silence.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, knowing it must be a sensitive subject, "I didn't mean to look, honestly. The day after you first came here, when I came to you in the dungeon, your clothes were torn.." he swallows something. Maybe words he knows he shouldn't say or thoughts he shouldn't have. "You moved to light and they were visible, all over your thighs, and I couldn't help by notice."
His voice is apologetic.
"I know," she says, "I knew you have seen them, and I knew you will ask, sooner or later," her words surprise him.
"If you don't want to give me an answers that's alright."
"Don't I at least owe you that much, my lord?" her voice is soft, but distant.
It takes him some time to answer. "You don't owe me anything."
Silence overpowers them both.
Their tongues tie into a knot in their mouths and all they can do is stare at one another uncomfortably.
"Men are animals," she finally says with a husky voice.
He doesn't know how to react. He doesn't know what to say to that. He wishes he does.
"I was just twelve years old when I left this town. I left out of fear. Precaution. I left because nothing was left for me here anymore. Nothing was waiting for me out there either, but somehow the whole world seemed less scary than this place at the time."
His heart squeezes in his chest. He wishes he knew her then.
"I was all alone," she continues, "I kept away from others. I had nowhere to go so I just walked. Never in open road, mostly through woods or fields or somewhere where I didn't think I would get noticed. I was so young.." she stops for a moment, the look in her eyes hazy. "And then, I grew up. People say it doesn't happen over night but sometimes I think it did to me. Anger in me rose and it kept building up. Soon I became furious. Vengeful. My mind was full of ideas I didn't even fully understand. Time flew by. I was fourteen by the time I knew I have to settle down to figure everything out," she looks at him and holds his gaze.
She wants to break it off. She doesn't want to break it off.
"I wanted to work. I knew how to work!" she says a little bit angrily, "I knew how to cook and clean and sew but no one would trust an unknown girl covered in dirt and rags," this is when the first tear falls down her cheek, and soon the others follow, "I was sleeping on the streets and stealing to survive, to eat," he remembers her bony legs, her small waist and he realizes she didn't get much. She started filling out nicely since she came here and all of her curves were visible again. Horror washes over her face. "Only few weeks after I arrived is when they came. Men. Men who don't take no for an answer. I don't know who they were. Were they married or not or just passing by. I don't know how old they were or even how they looked like, it was always so dark. I could have passed them on the street the next day and I wouldn't have known."
His eyes pop out. He chokes on air. He wants to wipe her tears off but his body is made out of stone.
Shock.
She cries. "I didn't want it, none of it. I told them to leave me alone but they wouldn't. They kept coming and coming night after night after night and they knew I have nowhere else to go. When I screamed no one heard my screams or they pretended they don't," her face is full of tears now, completely bathed in salty water, "I tried to fight them off and that is how scars appeared. I had them all over my body but at most places they were light and healed easily. The ones on my thighs are the worst. Sometimes I think they won't ever heal," she furrows her brows.
He has to say something. He wants to.
There's nothing to say.
"Do you know what the worst thing is?" she asks absentmindedly.
All of it?
He doesn't respond.
"After some time I stopped screaming."
He feels like someone threw a brick in his face.
He stays silent and so does she.
After few minutes she stops crying and tears disappear from her face. Her eyes are tired and red now and the expression on her face is curious. She wonders.
Finally he stands up and fear washes all over here.
Here it is. Remember it carefully because this is where it all goes down the drain. This is the moment he tells her she disgusts him and throws her out. Sends her to go where she came from.
Her face becomes blue from fear.
The thing is, he doesn't do any of those things. Instead he crouches in front of her, steadying his palms on top of her knees, and she feels like every bone in her body is turning into dust.
There's anger on his face. Pure anger. Mixed with compassion and worry and furry.
"Where was this?" he asks, his voice seething with anger.
"Why?" she wonders.
He pulls his hands away and stands up. He starts walking across the room.
"Because I will go there. I will gather all the men in one room and keep them there until they confess."
"And if they don't?" she's too curious not to ask.
He steadies his look on hers. "Then I'll torture it out of them."
She gasps in surprise. "That's not you."
"You would be surprised," he clenches his teeth.
"No," she says.
"No?" he repeats in the form of a question.
She stands up and walks over to him. Her action takes him by surprise. She seems determined. He always liked that about her. "You're not going to do that to yourself because of me."
"But those men - " he raises his voice.
"Those men will pay in some way," she interrupts him, "I got out of there. I escaped," she takes his hands into hers.
He can feel her shaking.
She trembles like a leaf.
He steadies her.
"Will your scars ever heal?" he pulls his fingers in between hers and isn't surprised to find out that they fit in there perfectly.
"I'm not sure. It's been a long time and my skin - "
"I'm not talking about scars on your skin," he cuts her off in the middle of her sentence, "I was referring to the scars on your heart. Is there a chance they will ever heal?" he asks worriedly, not taking his look away from hers.
She hums, squeezing his hands in hers. "In the last few months chances became higher," she smiles.
Which makes him smile.
He doesn't remember smiling has ever been this easy.
"I think there's one more thing you should hear," she lets go of his hands and disappointment strikes him. She sits down and motions for him to do the same so he does.
"Few days before I left the town, me and my family were out in the city. My mother, my father, my little brother Jeremy, who was nine at the time, and me. All of a sudden one of the guards stops in front of us and blocks our way. My father asks him politely to let us through, but he said he has a proposition for my mother. From the king," she says bitterly, "At first I was confused, what could he possibly want from my mother? Then I figured it out," she levels her look with Stefan's.
"He wanted her in his bed," realization hits him.
"If you're asking yourself what would the king want with some commoner you must understand that my mother was a beautiful woman. Years left no trace on her face, and hard work was barely visible on her skin. She was extraordinary."
"I have no doubts she was," he smiles and she returns him a smile.
It's then when he realizes she's talking about her mother in past tense.
"My mother refused his offer and we went home. Our house was on the edge of the city, near the forest, and every morning I went into the woods," sadness washes over her, "When I came back, our house was on fire. Our house was burning and there were guards in front of it, watching it burn. Which is when I saw him, on his horse, crown on the top of his head. There was a sly smirk on his face. I heard them scream, they did as well. And when the screams stopped they turned around and left."
Something snaps inside of Stefan.
It's not that he doesn't believe Elena, she has no reason to lie. He knew his father was a lot of things, but he never took him for a murderer.
He knew very well his father hated not getting what he wants, though.
"I was in the woods until the flames went down. There was nothing left there but ruins."
She doesn't let herself cry this time, though. Her face is hard and serious as she tells him this story.
"My mother refused to be the kings whore and it got my whole family killed. It was a coincidence I wasn't in the house."
Stefan buries his face in his palms and with his fingertips rubs his forehead. He remembers her saying she would rather die than be his whore.
"So you wanted to avenge them."
"I knew he loves them young. Fresh. I look very much like my mother so I knew he will take interest in me. I would let him take me to his bed and then I would put a sword in his chest," she says coldly.
"I'm so so so so sorry," he emphasizes his regrets even though one sorry doesn't cover it.
"Me too," she nods, her eyes filling with tears now.
"Why tell me now, though?" his curiosity gets the best of him.
She smirks lightly. "Because of how you reacted to my story. You treated me like I'm a human," she responds and her words sting, "For the first time since I came here I felt like I'm more than your toy. Like you actually care if I live or die."
"Does that surprise you? That I care."
She ponders on it. "Maybe. It is unexpected."
He stays silent.
He cares more than he should.
And she cares more than she lets on.
Stefan leaves her room and storms into his. He pushes the door open and they fall closed from the force of his push.
"Is there something wrong, brother?" he turns around and notices Damon sitting on his couch with a glass of wine in his hand. He wears an amused look on his face.
"Our father is a disgrace," he grits his teeth together.
Damon lifts his glass in the air. "Here, here," he cheers, "We have that covered already, though," he takes a sip from the glass.
"He killed her entire family," he continues like Damon isn't even there, "Because her mother refused to be his whore!" he exclaims loudly.
"Whose?" Damon asks half curious, half confused, the news clearly not effecting him as much as they did Stefan.
"Elena's," he says her name louder than he should.
Damon gazes questioningly in his direction, still confused.
When Stefan realizes he had used her first name he silently corrects himself, "Miss Gilbert."
A smirk appears on Damon's face as he puts the glass on the table. He stands up and walks over to Stefan. "Brother," he puts his palm on Stefan's shoulder, "No matter how good in bed she is you should never used her first name in public."
Stefan just glares at him, disregarding his words. "Are you drunk?"
"I've been drinking, yes," Damon pulls his hand away and nods, "And now I feel like doing something stupid. You do the math."
Well, he clearly is drunk.
Some people get drunk because they're happy or sad or in company. Damon doesn't need any reason.
"How about you brother?" Damon steps away a little, "Did you do anything stupid recently?"
Stefan stays quiet, still fuming from the inside.
"Should I take your silence as a confirmation?" he asks another question but this one stands unanswered as well, "Why her?"
This takes Stefan's interest.
"Why her what?" he knits his brows together.
"I mean, don't take me wrong, she's beautiful," Damon complimenting Elena's appearance rubs on Stefan in a wrong way, "I know a beautiful woman when I see one," he wiggles his brows, "But I'm sure there are women far more experienced than her."
"Damon," Stefan rubs his forehead, clearly irritated with Damon's behavior, "We're not sleeping together."
Damon barks. "It's past ten in the evening. You just came from her room. What else were you doing?" he seems not to believe his brother.
"Talking," Stefan shrugs. It's the truth. Half truth. He didn't want to tell Damon he's teaching Elena how to read, not when she seemed so ashamed that she doesn't know how to already.
Damon waves his hand. "Wait, you're keeping her here and you're not even fucking her?" he asks astonished.
Stefan drops his hand from his forehead and looks at his brother in disgust. "Do you have to talk like that?"
Damon smirks. "You want to, though, don't you?" he comes closer to his brother. Just few tiny steps.
"What?" Stefan asks confused.
"I've seen the way you look at her," Damon is clearly amused by this and Stefan is growing more irritated with every passing second, "You want to fuck her."
Stefan snaps. He pins Damon against a wall.
"Yes!" he snarls at Damon's fearful face, "I want to fuck her. Is that what you wanted to hear?" a smirk finds its way back to Damon's face, "I want to tear her clothes off of her and throw her on the bed and trace every inch of her body with my lips until I memorize it."
Damon stays quiet for a while, smiling. "But that's not all you want to do, is it?"
Stefan lets him go and whispers, "No."
"You want her to sleep in your bed and you want to wake up next to her. You want her to be your queen and have your children. You want to know every one of her secrets and fulfill every one of her wishes. You want to love her, don't you?"
"Yes," Stefan says silently.
Damon puts his hand on Stefan's shoulder. "You can love her, brother," he doesn't say this mockingly but encouragingly, "It's just that no one can know."
AN: Where can I sign up to get my Stefan?