"To punish me for my contempt for authority, fate made me an authority myself." ~Albert Einstein
Elena
It is the morning sun's rays that cast the ghastly shadows onto the wall behind him. A long wire hangs his throat above the room, high enough for his face to be washed out with bright sun. I'm the one who finds the body rocking back and forth slightly like a swing. His pallid fingertips hold a folded paper with deep scratches from where he must have dug his nails in as he was choked. There is too much stuff piled on the dirty flooring for me to notice the chair stacked among the wreckage. My cries draw an endless crowd of people, but not before I stretch my arm to snatch the note.
Many hands maneuver me toward the door, pushing me back like water as they swim to the center of the room. It all happens so quickly that I don't fight the current, and once I am alone in the hall, I move toward Elijah's door with a great sob building up inside me. Bonnie's abuser is gone, and yet he looked like a child strung up from the ceiling. He looked human. Elijah isn't in the room, so as I wait for his return, my feet tap the floor nervously. The paper is clutched to my chest, and somehow it feels warm to me, lulling me into a faint sleep as the murmurs from the hall grow louder. I fall back onto the mattress, my consciousness reaped just as quickly as I hit the bed.
When my eyes finally tumble open again, I gasp. A soft blanket is strewn across my body and a glass of water sits beside the bed with a note balancing on the rim. Suddenly, the fear dissipates and instead, I smile.
You sure sleep a lot. You're welcome anytime. ~Elijah
The biggest, stupidest grin carves itself into my mouth, and almost as if someone will catch the spark of contentment, I clamp my hand over it. A sigh leaves my lungs effortlessly, eyes searching the room for some unknown target. My laundry basket is with Kai's rotting corpse, and something about that realization is fulfilling. I can stay here for a while. I can explore this man's books, his life, his room. Still, my eyes seem to gravitate toward the note clutched between my fingers, a brownish lined paper with a faint scent of mildew. I suppose there is an embedded curiosity inside me, anxious to learn the last words of a monster.
I whip the sheet open, first skimming the dark cursive with its wild loops and winding letters. Then finally, I move my attention to the opening sentence impatiently, as if the message will disappear so soon.
I don't expect forgiveness. Really, I don't expect much. Maybe an acceptance of what I am, or at the very least, a willingness to hear me out. Firstly, to Bonnie, I am sorry. I want to say that I did those things to cure myself of the abomination I am, but I didn't. Those inexcusable actions were my way of punishing whatever god made me like this. I hope that without me here, you may be able to heal and find a place in this world where you can enjoy the freedom we all have. I used mine for the wrong reasons, and for that, Bonnie, I am irrevocably apologetic.
To Tyler, my misunderstood little mess, I am sorry to you for leaving without a goodbye. This departure was bound to happen. No bearer of sin can last forever in a world where he doesn't belong. I wish you had had the bravery to stand beside me and hold my hand. I wish you had kissed me right there so everyone could watch. You couldn't find it in you, and in the end it broke my heart. As Stefan knew before us all, the only way out of this hell was through death. Wherever it takes me, may it be a world where I am healed of my misfortune, a world where we can be together and fuck each other's brains out without shame. I love you, Tyler, even if you cannot stand the thought of saying it back.
For the rest of you, I was not a broken being. Just as with Regan, we hated her out of fear of the unknown, as if somehow accepting her would turn us all into cripples and accepting a fag would turn us all gay. Our fear is the source of true ignorance. I pretended to be someone I wasn't for so long, and even here, in a place of autonomy, I was chained to a wall for wanting to be something the world wasn't ready for. Maybe it is about time we stop judging people for the shit the gods have handed them. For my contribution to Regan's pain, Damon, I am sorry. To anyone who will listen, I am sorry.
With my palm over my heart, I feel it pulse rapidly against my skin. There is a dearth of understanding, a thousand more seeds of question planted inside me. The apologies to Damon, to Bonnie, and even to Tyler. They were all connected to this one man's plea for acceptance. I feel my eyes water slightly, but maybe only out of pity for a human willing to end his own life. Finally, I stand up from my spot on the bed, propelling myself toward the door. Bonnie must be in Jenna and Alaric's room, the place they carried her after the brutal procedure only a day prior. Even Wes couldn't agree to the girl being handed back over to her abuser so soon. Now, to Bonnie's relief, she never will.
But the greatest question of all: who was Regan? As I reach out for the handle, a force on the other side of the door twists the knob. I recoil my hand, stepping back as the barrier swings open. It's Elijah with his soft smile and dimpled chin. Just as me, his eyes are a warm brown, and his locks like chocolate. I feel an immediate sense of security around him, and even his room smells of salvation, such a rare delight in this dark, heartless place.
"Elena," He breaths in a light shock, threading his fingers between his hairs. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to. Were you looking for me?"
"Is the g-girl in Damon's room...is that...is that Regan?" I whimper.
Elijah gently pushes me back into the room, clicking the door shut to cut us off from the world. He looks pensive, almost as if he has to question it to himself. I feel the warmth of his hand come to rest on my shoulder, his face peering down slightly to look at me square in the eyes.
"She was his first girl here," He says just barely loud enough for me to hear, "There were some things with Regan's legs that made it hard for her to walk, but Damon loved her. I mean, really loved her. That's all I can tell you. He doesn't like people talking about her."
I nod, tears trickling down my cheeks. "He hates me. I-I just wanted to know why," I sniffle, "I guess I get it now."
Before I can even take another breath of life, I feel the man's arms wrap around me until I am pinned against his chest. He holds me there gently, and although thousands of hairs on my back stand up, it gives me like the smallest sensation of home. Softly, Elijah hushes me, stroking the very ends of my hair. My fingers fumble with the paper still in my hands, crinkling slightly when he squeezes me with firmness. For so long, I swear I had forgotten the feeling of a man's arms, whether of my brother's, my father's, or even my future mate's. Because he had loved Regan more than I had realized that a person could, Damon chose to neglect me completely. My legs worked fine, and yet that very fact was to my disadvantage, well, because his heart still belonged to the very same dead girl without the strength to run.
"Should we go see how Bonnie's doing?" Elijah asks in a warm tone. "That should make you feel better."
I nod as much as I can against his body, pulling away when he reaches for the doorknob. My fingers swiftly brush away any remaining tear trails that I know can be seen in the hallway when the lighting is just right. With his feet just steps behind, we move toward the room beside Damon's lair, the place where Bonnie lies among an ocean of pillows. She lifts her head slightly as we enter, resulting in an immediate smile from me. I nearly stumble over my own feet trying to dash over to where she weakly rests on a brown cot. The paper in my hold remains tightly bunched in my cold fist as I attempt to hug the rack of bones I feel is beside me. Her lips are so dry and her eyes so empty that even the light in the room doesn't seem to reflect in them.
"Kai's dead, Bonnie, okay? We're both going to be-"
"Elena, don't overwhelm her," Elijah tells me.
His body stands behind me as I kneel to be with my friend. I nod in tears. In some ways, I feel I have nothing else to say to her. No apologies from me could ever undo her pain. No short chats about the weather could ever pull her from the sad pit she must be living in right now. I hold her hand, and though she turns her head to look at me, she is too disoriented to speak.
"E-Elijah, could you please give this to Damon when you see him?" I whisper as I pass the brown-tinged note up toward where his hands rest. "I'm not sure I have the bravery to do it myself."
He disappears within moments, before I can ask again like a desperate child. I cry harder, sinking myself deeper into the floor. Even with the good, I feel the bad twice as painfully. What kind of person am I becoming here? Why is the humanity so sparse and happiness a withheld ration?
Damon doesn't bat an eye at my absence during dinner. As always, he silently walks the perimeter of the room, steps into the bathroom, and emerges soon after with an urge to collapse into the bed. I notice Kai's letter on his bedside table, clumped into a paper ball, but to Damon, it is only an ordinary decoration, not some apology from a dead man. Together in the darkness we sleep, separate in some ways and yet both sentenced to the same gloomy torture of the night.
Sometimes I'm unsure if he actually sleeps, or if his eyes stare off out the window in search of something unworldly. There are no heavy breaths to signal unconsciousness. No. He just lays there like he's waiting for death, and interestingly enough, I can't say I would stop him. Just like Bonnie, I can only hope that my abuser will rid himself, just so that possibly I could escape this horrid fate. I take hours to fall asleep tonight. My eyes are glued to Regan's face from what I can see of her on the bed. This monster loved her. He had a heart once, a certain degree of empathy that made him like everyone else. When I close my lids one final time, there is emptiness inside my chest, maybe because unknowingly, something in this room drains its occupants. The longer one stays, the more hollow their soul becomes. Damon is the perfect example of that.
Yes, I have grown used to abrupt wake up calls when the sun still sits teasingly below the horizon, and yet my body begs me not to move. Damon seems halfway out the door by the time I find the strength to sit up. He is silent as he makes his escape, likely holding his breath for a greater effect. As always, I make sure he is gone for a while before I dress, just to be sure that his deathly gaze never finds me at my most vulnerable moment. Today, the room circulates chilled air which whips against my breasts until the nipples stand up like stiff statues. I shiver, wrapping myself with the lanky arms I've had since a tiny tot. With the addition of the dress, I realize it only does so much to warm my quivering frame, and so I rush to finish throwing on my scuffed black shoes.
Everyone has already begun their chores by the time I finally mosey on down there myself. Not every day is dedicated to laundry, I discover. Nope. Today is a survival, kill-or-be-killed kind of day where each girl scrambles to finish her specific duty. I scarf down some oatmeal sitting on the stovetop, while I wallow in my own sadness. No one seems to notice me, feet tapping all around me in pursuit of their next destination. On the worn-down chalkboard hung on the wall, I see "bathrooms" beside my name. Suddenly, I'm not sure I should stop myself from coughing up the oatmeal chunks barricaded in my throat. Death appears more favorable than cleaning a public crucible of bodily fluids.
Jo is deep in concentration as she parades around the kitchen with Maverick on her hip. He is fussing in her arms, beginning to screech the longer she ignores him. The woman turns around to see me, almost relieved at my presence. Within seconds, the toddler is being handed to me. I flinch, unsure how to take the boy into my hold, and she laughs at my hesitance with a friendly grin.
"Would you mind taking him today? Matt's helping me with putting up a new clothesline outside."
I nod naively, somehow convinced that I could handle a child I do not really know. He feels warm, and the oddest feeling washes over me, changing my mood altogether. His cries stop, and he cranes his dirty blonde head to look at me with wide, curious eyes. Little fingers skim my face, his attention following the path they make until our orbs meet.
"Hi," I whisper.
"Be a good boy for her, Mav," Jo says as she paces one final time around the kitchen.
Now with a child glued to my hip, I move to grab the bucket labeled "bathroom" below the board. It's filled with brushes, vinegar, and plenty of old rags, all rather unsettling in appearance. Mav is too intrigued by my brown locks dangling beside him to notice my struggle up the stairs. Obviously, it has been far too long since I've done any hardcore work, and I stop on the fifth step to laugh incredulously at the pathetic state I've created. Maverick begins to slide from my hold, forcing me to take the steps back down to the ground floor for stability.
"Let's start with the downstairs," I mumble more to myself than to him.
"I walk, silly," He giggles in his tiny voice.
Somehow he wriggles out of my arms before bouncing up and down excitedly. I laugh, reaching down for his hand to hold mine as we move toward the first-floor bathroom. My back bends slightly forward to be able to walk with him, but he just spits bubbles with his lips between his babbling as if no cares in the world concern him.
"How old are you?" I ask, maybe too seriously.
"Two," He shouts, pushing his sticky fingers up to my face to show me.
The boy sits on the bathroom floor as I work my way around the room. He laughs when I use the collar of the dress to shield my nose while scrubbing the toilet, busying himself with the tiny figures made from wood and old silverware. As I finish wiping down the sink, he offers the toys to me with a wide grin that shows his baby teeth.
"We can play in my room when I'm done with my chores, okay?" I smile, turning my attention back to the water fixture.
He simply nods, bowing his head to continue whatever game he has created for the wooden creatures. I sigh in relief with the completion of the first restroom, wiping away the wetness forming at my brows. Together Maverick and I head toward the staircase again, but this time I am free of the burden of an added weight keeping me from trudging up the obstacle. The boy just follows behind, babbling some catchy song one of the girls must have taught him.
Memories of Kai's corpse, of Bonnie's pale body, of Damon's crumpled note of apology from his enemy. It seems like so long ago, and yet retracing my steps only helps me to relive it suddenly. Maverick runs ahead when I pause at the top, creating buzzing noises to emphasize the speed of his toys flying down the hall. I catch up with him when he stops in front of Wes and Jo's room, as if he knows the perfunctory actions of us all.
This routine carries on into the day, for hours, bathroom by bathroom until I swear the scent of vinegar and toilet water could be enough to make me physically sick. Jo brings us sandwiches to munch on around noon. We take them to Damon's room, plopping ourselves onto the floor. I feel exhausted, laying myself back onto the coolness of the wood. Maverick eats his food whilst playing with his toys, never growing bored of his little friends.
Eventually, I sit up, pulling him into my lap until his butt dips down to the floor between my knees. It feels so foreign to hold a child, but in the same respect absolutely breathtaking. I smile as he places the wooden man into my palm, rolling it along my open hand.
"Is he your favorite?" I whisper.
"No. I wost the best one," He mumbles with a pout.
Then to my surprise, the door creaks open. There is blood and dirt covering his shirt, mud dried along the edges of his boots. He turns to see me, likely surprised but unchanged in his expression. The blue eyes avoid me altogether, moving to the boy instead. First, his eyes are blank, only to grow livid moments later.
"Take him out," He shouts.
My body trembles at the harshness of his words. I fumble to move, my eyes wide in question.
"S-Sir, I-I," I try to explain.
"Now. I said now, " He says again, a break in his voice, "Don't ever bring him here again."
I grab Maverick in an instant, flinging him onto my hip in panic. The small boy begins to cry, gripping the collar of my dress as I trip over my own feet on the way to the open door. Damon's eyes are metal shields, impenetrable, and it feels as though the only things that can soften them is Regan. This outlash is unexpected, pathetic, almost selfish in a way. My feet begin to work twice as hard when I meet the air of the hall. A door slams behind me and my heart hiccups until I am nearly collapsed against the railing of the balcony.
"It's okay, Mav." I try to soothe the child, only causing his cries to augment.
Jo comes running up the stairs in alarm, reaching her arms out for him. He buries his chubby cheeks into her neck with a squeal, while I just stand in shock at Damon's cruelty.
"D-Damon got angry and I-I don't know. He was just so mad at him being in there," I mumble through heavy breaths.
Her eyes widen, as if suddenly she understands. She doesn't look at me as she begins to speak, even though my brown orbs beg to meet hers.
"Now you know, I guess," She flatly chuckles, "Damon doesn't like children. Well...thanks for watching him, Elena."
She descends the staircase before I can ask her to articulate her statement. Does everyone know that this man is insane? Do they hide that fact with faith that he is more likely not to kill me than he is to go through with it? I make my way down the hall breathlessly, gripping my chest. I'm not sure why my legs always lead me back to Elijah, but I feel so safe, so far from danger there. I sigh. My bravery has its limits here. Facing Damon is not a task I am willing to take on, not when I am one of the few sane beings here. Or am I?
If the day couldn't drag on any longer, Jenna asks me to grab the spare laundry basket out of Luke's bedroom. The thought makes my stomach churn inside me. With Maverick by my side for so much of the day, I feel empty without the boy, almost unprotected. Maybe he couldn't fend off any monsters, but somehow his presence brings reassurance, a soothing semblance to keep me from becoming paranoid. Luke thus far has only shown me traits of Damon, times ten. That fatal mix of anger and hatred and emptiness all bottled into one.
With every shaky step I take down that long hallway, I force myself to be brave, even with the lion waiting for me on the other side of the door. I somehow manage to rap my knuckles against the wood, lightly stating my name and reason for bothering him. He sounds far too happy when he tells me to come in. I do, with fear, but also with a rush of adrenaline that makes my arms want to reach out for the basket hastily. The shades are drawn in the space, giving it an eerie feel as I make my way in. Some force clicks the door shut behind me, until I am locked in.
"I-I just need the basket….where is t-the basket?" I beg, feeling my skin begin to prickle.
My feet can only move in circles as I search the room for Luke. A dark figure stands in the corner by the door. I lose my breath, stumbling back, only to have him step forward, like it's a game. The wall hugs my back soon, and I cry out. I first hear his panting before his face finally appears somewhere in the grim lighting of the room. His hands grab my arms, slamming them to the walls. I scream, but his dirty palm slaps over my mouth until I am silenced.
"Did Damon ever tell you that I saw you first that day he took you?" He prompts, "You were supposed to be mine."
I fight against him, sweat pooling down the center of my back. It feels as though I cannot breathe, like the air is too heavy to carry into my lungs. Tears smother his hand, and I wince when he reaches for the hem of my dress. He spends so long running his fingertips and down my right thigh, lowering his face to rest beside my ear. My body screams as his hot breaths fan my ear, his finger playing with the edge of my panties.
"Do you liked to be teased?" He breathes with a smirk.
I try to scream again, but he only laughs, yanking on the panties until they begin to droop on one side. With one final burst of desperation, I thrust my left knee up between his legs. He releases me to move his hand to the wounded area, allowing me enough time to slam the heel of my hand into his nose with such power. I hear a crunch and then a garbled cry. I can't see his face, only the outline of his body as it tumbles to the floor. My legs take off for the safety of the hallway, until I nearly throw myself down the stairs. I cry out, screaming, begging as I plant each foot with supreme strength.
"Help," I scream. "Oh help me."
I land on my knees on the kitchen floor, where all the bodies sit themselves in lines on either side of the dining table. Eyes move to see me, and many pause in shock. I scream out again, trembling with my face red as a beet and a heart as fast as a hummingbird's.
"L-Luke-"
"For fuck's sake. She attacked me," His familiar voice utters behind me.
I gasp, craning my neck to see him in the doorway. His hands, coated in blood, are clamped over his nose. Everyone is more alarmed at the sight of his blood than they are at my plea for their help. Only Damon moves toward me from his seat. I panic, begging for him not to come to me.
"Please. He tried to t-touch me, Dam-."
"Sir. You call me Sir," He commands.
Within in seconds, he turns to look at Luke.
"She asked me to help her escape, and when I refused, she attacked me," The monster whines, his voice nasally from his nasty injury.
"N-no. He's lying." Everyone glares at me like I'm the oppressor. "I swear. P-please."
Damon stares at me for some time, showing no expression of his ultimate verdict. No one moves, but all wait longingly for Damon. His eyes move to Wes's and then to Alaric's. Finally, he turns to me, subconsciously shaking his head as if disappointed.
"You've crossed a line," He says blankly, snatching my arm before I can move away from his ever-nearing presence.
The room fills with gasps of horror as they watch the man nearly drag me out the kitchen. I feel my knees slide along the wooden flooring, past Luke, until we are moving through the living room. I scream, begging again for someone to save me. My arm feels like it may pop out of the socket as Damon pulls me along, resorting to gripping my waist when we reach the bottom of the stairs. I fight him in my utter hysteria, feeling every breath forced out of me whenever he hauls us up another step. There is no anger in his actions, only some sick sense of duty, like he must punish his unruly child.
He allows me to drop to the floor of the room, at the point I can no longer fight. His hands skim through a ring of keys before he pushes into the locked bottom drawer I had longed to break into. I don't have the strength to see inside, my panting almost painful like that of my grandfather's wheezing. Damon kneels over my body, wrapping something around the column of my throat. When I attempt to scratch it away, he does nothing to stop me, but continues until it is secure. I begin to choke, and when I swallow, I feel it rub against the bulging knot in my windpipe.
"I am responsible for you in this house, and if you act out, I have to correct it," He grunts as he lifts me from under the arms to stand.
"I'm i-innocent. I sw-."
A sharp electric shock explodes through my body, with such force that I cannot help but stop my words. My fingers scrape at it hysterically, unable to fathom the pain. It's as if all the lightening in the world had manifested inside this collar; all with the prospect of silencing my urgent plea for mercy.
Author's Note: Thank you so much to WhyWeWashTheWindows for editing!
Analysis: So in this chapter, Kai commits suicide, Damon becomes furious with Maverick's presence in his room, and Elena is ultimately punished for something she didn't do. Now, Damon's decision to punish Elena is not because he hates her, nor because he's angry with her. He feels it's his responsibility to discipline her, and since she has tried to run away before, he has no choice but to believe that she would attempt it again. Luke made a very convincing plea because it sounds like something Elena would try to do (make a deal with someone for their help). On another note, Kai's apology is unexpectedly kind, possibly validating that he wasn't as "evil" as we all believed, though his actions in the past have been cruel and unforgivable. Maybe the most surprising scene is Damon's reaction to Maverick. Does he really hate children or is it something much deeper, something that traces back to Regan? Next chapter, we will experience Damon's POV of the dog shock collar punishment, to really drill inside his thoughts and feelings pertaining to the tough situation he was placed in.
Thank you for the love and support! xoxo Ren
