Chapter 9: Palette of Pain

ELENA

My hand flies to my throat and my whole body flashes light and dizzy.

Bonnie's dead.

I didn't see Ric move but he's already at my side, his hand at my back steadying me on the dark, narrow steps.

Bonnie just texted me a couple of days ago, and she's off with her mom. What kind of trouble could she get into? Could it have been a car wreck, some kind of accident?

"How?" I ask, fighting to remember how to form breath into words. "How could– What happened?"

"It's complicated," Ric says. "Let's find a place we can sit down."

He takes my arm and I'm glad he's there because I don't feel any of the stairs under my feet. Air tinted with nacho cheese gives way to microwave popcorn and it's a jarringly lighthearted scent.

Ric pushes through into a dustily sunny lounge and leads me to a brown and gold couch with squashed, threadbare cushions. He starts talking, his voice halting and apologetic, explaining about spells and balance and how Jeremy has been lying to us all summer.

"And then when the veil went back up, all the other ghosts disappeared but Bonnie was with Jeremy and–"

The door bursts open on the far side of the lounge and a girl comes running through, shrieking, "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD, Carson, stop it!"

I flinch and Ric catches my arm before I can move, so I have time to register that a shirtless guy in cargo shorts is chasing her with a squirt gun. The girl's top is already streaked with water stains but she's laughing and swatting at her friend and he's obviously not trying very hard to catch her. They crash through the door into the next wing and her giggles fade away as they pound down the hallway.

I'm in a movie of a different genre than theirs. Right now, I can't even remember what it might feel like to be so carefree.

I sense Ric watching me but I'm blinking down at my hands, trying to make it compute. It's been so long since I've seen Bonnie. When was the last time I heard her voice? What was our actual last conversation? She's been dead all summer while I've been drunk on the joy of having Jeremy back and being with Damon and I owed every second of that to her without even knowing it.

Would I have let her do that spell? If I knew it would bring back Jeremy? If no one else would ever find out? I can't be sure. When Jeremy died, I was capable of anything except coping.

I blink, realizing I'm just staring at the carpet. I wait for the sting of tears to hit my eyes but I am only cold. Emptied out.

"Say something," Ric says nervously.

There's nothing to say. There will never be anything new to say about Bonnie ever again.

I force myself to focus on what's important now. "Have you talked to Jeremy? How is he?"

Ric hesitates. "I think he's pretty worried about your reaction. Even though he didn't know about the spell, he blames himself."

I hug my arms across my chest, my shoulders hunching forward. Jeremy shouldn't have to deal with all this, not after having to pretend he faked his own death and now missing the start of his senior year to hide Katherine from Silas and grieving Bonnie all summer, completely alone.

"I'll call him," I tell Ric. "I don't know how we can have a funeral, since we still don't know what Silas might have compelled us to do, and Matt and Jeremy can't come back to town and her dad just died and God, does her mom even know anything that's happened?"

"Elena?" Ric says gently.

I rub my eyes, hard.

"Talk to me," he begs, his voice low and concerned.

I shake my head. "I just..."

I try to organize my thoughts but there's nothing in my head. Only a sickening swirling in my stomach like I'm falling and I don't know when I'll hit the ground.

"When my parents died," I remember, "I couldn't even conceive of what it would be like the day after their funeral. It seemed like I would just...fly apart, disappear, start screaming and never stop, like it was too horrible to even imagine. And in some ways, I still underestimated it."

I glance up at Ric and I don't know if the wound in his eyes is from my memories or his own.

"But now I've done it so many times, and it is different every time. I lost John and..."

"And Isobel," Ric supplies, because he knows how much I hate bringing her up in front of him.

"But it wasn't the same," I confess. "John never even seemed to like me and then suddenly he was gone and all I had was a letter and I can't even imagine why he would do something like that for me."

I pull my feet up onto the couch, hugging my knees to my chest. "For the incredible sacrifice it was, I could barely even think about him at his own funeral because of Jenna..." I shoot him a guilty look. "I'm sorry, Ric, I know that day was hell for you, too."

"I've had better," he says with a humorless chuckle, the corners of his eyes tense.

"With Jenna, it was complicated," I tell him, my throat tightening. "She was a little bit my mom and my friend and sort of like a favorite cousin, too. She was my last chance to believe that I still had a safety net, that there would be someone there to help me figure things out if I screwed up."

I can see the first glint of tears in his eyes and I know he won't speak because he doesn't want me to hear his voice break.

"She was supposed to be the grown-up. And instead, I had to show her what the world really was," I whisper, my vision blurring. I swipe at my eyes with the heel of my hand.

Ric coughs slightly to clear his throat and attempts a smile that makes my heart twist. "Yeah, but I was so proud when Damon staked Stefan and she jumped right in to help him afterward. Your family does good with weird."

I give him a wobbly smile.

"I brought her into all this, Ric," I remind him. "And I couldn't save her and she was so scared." I bite my lip and look down.

Ric swallows.

"And you..." my voice breaks, my eyes brimming with fresh tears. I shake my head, pressing my lips together to hide their trembling.

He reaches for my hand and I squeeze, holding on like I can keep him here if I just hang on hard enough. "You can talk about it, you know. My death...or whatever. It won't weird me out." He cocks his head ruefully. "Well, maybe a little bit."

I try to smile back but the tears break free and slide in cold trails down my face.

"In some ways, you were even worse. We lost you in so many different ways: your personality, your humanity… We didn't know from day to day who you'd be or what was going to happen. And then we said goodbye and–"

The door across the room bangs open and I flinch. A guy with slightly greasy, chin-length hair strides in, carrying a violin case. He glances at us and hesitates, taking in Ric's obviously past-college-age face and our clasped hands, the tears wetting my face. His lip curls disapprovingly and he takes a breath. Ric's jaw tightens and he jerks his chin pointedly toward the exit.

The violin-player's eyes widen and he turns around and opens the same door he entered from, the sound of gunfire from a video game drifting in through the gap before the door slams behind him.

I shake my head, too upset to even be annoyed at the guy's assumption about us.

I turn back to Ric, an echo of guilt stirring in my stomach. "And then when you were really gone, I was transitioning and it was everything I could do to hold myself together; I didn't even have time to think about what it all meant. Damon was–" I bite my lip. "It was bad. And then Jeremy died and I couldn't even start to handle it and now Bonnie's dead and you're back but you might be gone again any day, any minute with no warning and I just..."

I shove my knuckles against my trembling lips, swallowing the sob that is rising painfully up through my chest. Despite the late-afternoon sun streaming through the windows, I'm dead cold and there's a wavering at the very center of me, like I'm approaching something I can't come back from, something I don't want to see.

"The people who are in my life now aren't the people who are going to be in my life a year from now," I tell him. "Nothing ever stays, no one is safe and I–" A sob clogs my voice at the thought of all the darkness I'm helpless against. Tears flood down my cheeks as I raise my eyes to his. "I just don't think I can live like that, Ric."

"Jesus, Elena," he curses, his voice raw as he pulls me across the cushions and into his arms.

I can't stop crying, or even manage to muffle the wrenching sounds tearing up from behind my lips. I feel like I did when Stefan first told me that he was a vampire, like the day I woke up in the hospital and I was an orphan. There's a jagged tear in the way my world looked yesterday and try as I might, I can't hold the edges together.

I can't make it better.

How can I keep doing this? How can anyone live when every second, a feeling like this could be waiting in the next moment, poised to destroy? What if I lost Damon, or Stefan, or Caroline? Jeremy can't even use his ring anymore and he died so many times before. We've all come so close and I can't do this.

Ric hangs onto me but he doesn't say a word, doesn't lie or even try to comfort me, and how could he? He all but gave up when Isobel left, and again when Jenna died. The thought just makes me cry harder, the force of my sobs wracking both of us. My legs jerk in toward my chest with each convulsing breath and Ric wraps me up, holding me balled in his lap like a little kid.

I hate Jeremy, hate Bonnie, hate everybody. Because I already know this pain. And I know I'm going to have to live with it, no matter what it does to me. No matter how long it lasts.

Ric holds me so tightly that the shaky feeling starts to steady and I know it's false, that he can't promise me a thing, even that he won't disappear in the next moment. But God, he feels like something I can count on and without that, I don't think I can stand to take my next breath.

By the time I quiet, my whole body aches, my head lying limply on Ric's shoulder. I want to forget. I wish I could step out of my life for a day and not know any of my friends or family, anyone that I love so viciously much. Or at the very least, just crawl into Damon's bed and pull the covers over my head and erase who I am.

For the moment at least, I do; my head throbbing wordlessly as if there's nothing left.

When Ric shifts me out of his lap I don't have the energy to hold on. I curl into myself and I don't watch to see where he's going or worry about if he might disappear.

It's a long silent moment by myself in the lounge, and I almost wish another student would burst in, making noise and sounding alive so that I can listen to something other than the void inside my head. When Ric comes back I peek up through my hair, relieved in spite of all my resolutions not to be. His eyes are suspiciously red and a little bloodshot and I lift my head, my bruised heart squeezing for him.

He sheepishly holds out a roll of toilet paper to me. "There's no men's room in that wing. Had to compel a girl washing her hands to forget the pedophile robbing the TP."

I take the roll and yank off a long strip to blow my nose, the paper thin and scratchy against my skin. "We're in college, Ric, it's not pedophilia anymore," I tell him, sagging back against the couch.

"Thanks. That's very comforting," he says sarcastically, and plops down next to me. "It might not have been so disturbing if she weren't dressed as a centipede."

I swipe at my eyes, smiling weakly at his bewildered expression and waving a tired hand. "There are a lot of campus events. Could be a sorority thing, too. Maybe a bio presentation."

"College," he says half-fondly, shaking his head. I sniffle and the smile fades, his eyes earnest and worried. "I wish I knew what to tell you," he tells me after a moment. "I'm sorry about Bonnie, sorry for everything that's happened to you. I feel like as the resident dead guy, I should have some wisdom or something to pass on." He rolls his eyes with a self-deprecating smile.

I shrug wearily. "What's to say, anymore?"

Ric pauses, something shifting behind his sympathetic eyes. "Life's a fickle bitch, Elena. At least as far as I've seen." He squeezes my shoulder. "But believe it or not, you make it worth the effort for a lot of different people. And those people need you to be okay."

My stomach does an uneasy flip at his words and I realize with a jolt that he's right. Even while they're grieving for Bonnie, everybody's going to be watching me to see if I'll fall apart again. If I'll flip my switch and start killing people, dooming all those families to the exact emotions I couldn't handle.

I swallow hard, remembering everything I put my friends through after I lost Jeremy.

Ric's right. I'm too late to help Bonnie. But if I wouldn't have gone so crazy after Jeremy's death, maybe she wouldn't have resorted to such extreme measures to save him. Maybe if I'd handled my transition better, we wouldn't have all tried so hard to get the cure and Silas would still be safely buried in his cave.

Ric's watching me, concern written all over his face. My lips part in sudden comprehension. "You came so Damon wouldn't, didn't you? Because you didn't want him to see me like this."

His eyelashes flicker as he glances away. "He's got enough to deal with right now," Ric says quietly. "And you have every right to be upset. You shouldn't have to hold it together for Damon. But I can tell you without question that he's scared to death you're going to flip your switch again."

"Did he say that?" I ask, my heart aching anew because I can picture the exact look on Damon's face, the focus of his eyes only intensifying as they narrow and then flare, his jaw clenching.

Ric smiles sardonically. "Not so much. He broke some stuff, took a swing at me."

"He what?"

Ric grins. "God, it was great. Esther didn't do me many favors, but that Original strength and speed is good for something at least."

I roll my eyes at his obvious pleasure. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," I tell him dryly.

"He blames himself," Ric says. "I think he knew Jeremy was hiding something and he's pissed he didn't figure it out."

I lift one shoulder with a sigh. "What could he have done? I doubt he could find a witch willing to do a spell to swap someone else's life for Bonnie's and even if he did, Bonnie wouldn't want that."

"You should tell Damon that," Ric suggests. "He'll probably take it better from you than he would from me," he says with little laugh.

"I will," I assure him, and tilt my head, a tendril of warmth unfolding in the battered emptiness of my chest. "You're a good friend to him."

Ric scoffs. "Tell that to his broken jaw."

I glance back toward my dorm room and my smile fades as I straighten my shoulders. "I need to talk to Caroline."

"I'll come with you."

I shake my head. "You don't have to, Ric."

"No," he tells me, getting to his feet. "You don't have to do everything alone, Elena."

I take a breath and resolutely drop my feet back onto the floor, sliding them into my shoes. I set the roll of toilet paper aside and drop the used tissues in the overflowing trashcan by the door.

"Elena," Ric says and when I turn back he pulls me into a hug, softer than the last one but just as solid. "I love you, you know," he says gruffly.

I nod against his damp shirt, and squeeze him tighter. "I love you, too."

He pats my shoulder, clearing his throat, and then lets me go to open the door to the girls' wing of the dorm.

I lead the way, and already I can hear the sound of crying. I frown and quicken my step. Did someone call Caroline already?

But the sound is too close to be her, and it's coming from behind a half-open door two down from mine. I glance surreptitiously inside just to make sure nobody needs help and there's a girl sobbing on her bed, wrapped up tight in the thin arms of a boy wearing a tee shirt that's way too big for him. His freckled face is solemn and our eyes catch for just a second over her shoulder before I move on, slightly embarrassed to have intruded into whatever is going on with the two of them.

I take a deep steadying breath as I reach my dorm room and I feel Ric's hand, steady between my shoulder blades. I open the door and Caroline looks up with a smile.

"Hey, Ric! I was wondering when you were going to get here." She turns to me, raising an eyebrow. "So, spill. Are you and Damon in a fight or what?"

My stomach squeezes, wary of more bad news. "No, why?"

Caroline points toward my desk, where an overflowing vase waits. "He sent daffodils."

Warmth unfolds inside me at the sight, filling the spaces between my ribs.

"Oh..." I exhale, walking across the room to drop into my desk chair, reaching a hand up to trace the soft outline of one petal. For just a second I remember what it was like to wake up with him this summer, the light that always dawned in his eyes in that first second when his eyelashes flickered open and he realized I was next to him.

"Wait, what's going on?" Caroline asks slowly.

I turn, my shoulders steady now, and I tell her.

DAMON

The bar isn't far down the highway, twenty minutes flat with the V8 screaming. Old trees sway close to the cheap shingles of the roof, and the entrance is marked with the single word "Sam's" and two big windows, hollow like eyes. They're hung with neon signs that paint the bodies inside in shades of blue and red: primary colors to advertise domestic beer and hearty American blood.

My brother stays to the trees with the other predators, hugging the shadows where he thinks he belongs. I can tell from fifty paces that this is going to be a bad night. His hearing is nearly as sharp as mine now, honed on human blood and the thrill of the hunt, but he's too lost in the accusation of his own thoughts to hear me coming.

"I was expecting Jack and a hell of a mop job and I got Edward Cullen instead," I say, leaning against a tree and watching him jump guiltily at the sound of my voice. "I don't know if I should be proud or disappointed."

"What are you talking about, Damon?" he asks edgily.

"I know it's tough to keep track of the ages on all your fake ID's, but a little tip? The big boys do their drinking inside the bar, kids tap the keg in the woods, and none of the above hides in the bushes, wiping drool off their chinny chin chins."

"How did you find me?" he asks without taking his eyes off the building.

"Wasn't hard," I lie.

Sam's is the fourth bar I've checked, and the farthest from Mystic Falls. Ric thinks that Silas compelled us to keep Stefan close to town, and I have to admit it seems likely. The bars in the city would be a lot better for Stefan's remedial fun lessons, but every time I consider it I find myself discarding the idea for one reason or another, which is strange.

I don't like the idea of Stefan stuck in Silas's little rat cage, waiting for whatever experiment he has in mind. I've got a handful of plans for putting him down, but none of them are a sure thing. I need more time, but I'm not sure if we have it.

"You don't have to use the window like a cheerleader sneaking over to the quarterback's house," I tell him. "We were going to go out tonight anyway."

Stefan's hands are twitching, picking at the bark of a tree, and I wince at the sight. He doesn't answer, but I already know the truth. He's here because he wanted to know if he could feed safely without me, and he's still in the woods because deep, down, he doesn't think he can.

I wonder if Ric is faring any better than I am. He left hours ago to break the news about Bonnie to Elena.

I need to tell Stefan, too, but not yet. He's barely hanging on as it is. We've outlived countless people already but the last year in Mystic Falls has been different. The people here are vivid, real to me in a way that I haven't felt since I was human. Maybe because this time, I'm not just passing through.

He swallows and I can see the way his lips have fallen unconsciously open, making room for his waiting fangs.

It's time to stop letting him pretend this is all about blood.

"You know what your problem is?" I ask him.

"Do you ever stop telling me what my problem is? What about your problems, brother?"

"My crimes are old news," I say easily. "Semi-reformed serial killer, at your service. Hedonism, cruelty, promiscuity, and an absolutely stunning lack of remorse about all of it. Next question?"

He's silent. He still hasn't looked at me.

"Your problem is that you're a Puritan. Dancing is the gateway to sin," I quote in a mocking falsetto. "God save us all from our evil, sinful ways!"

"Hard as it is to believe, Damon," he says sourly, "some people just don't like to dance."

"Not true," I disagree. "Some people are too self-conscious to dance. But everyone wants to move their body to beautiful music and beautiful women. Shit, Stefan, you dance. I've seen it. You just need to be about four pints deep in O positive before you can enjoy it. And that is the point of this entire exercise." I push off my tree, clapping him on the shoulder as I stride past on the way to the bar. "Come on. All you need is some booze, some blood, and some Black Keys."

"Damon, I don't–"

"Ah-ah-ah," I chide, turning to walk backwards and waving a finger at him. "Let's give Debbie Downer the night off, shall we?"

I stride through the front door and the dance floor is packed even though there's no live music. This place has a killer sound system hooked up to an old school jukebox featuring all the best music from the last fifty years. It's my favorite vacation-from-the-Grill spot between here and the city.

Baby brother's sweet tooth has good taste.

I drop a fifty onto the bar and the bartender skips over two expectant faces and slides straight over to me.

"I need two shots of..." My eyes scan the row of backlit bottles behind him, glowing like caramel amber comfort. "Woodford Reserve. Make 'em doubles. And enough quarters to introduce my brother to a life of delicious sin."

The bartender chuckles and pulls out a couple of rolls of quarters. "I don't know how much sin you can get with a bunch of quarters unless you've got a thing for bubble gum."

"Inflation," I say with an ironic twist of a smile. "Ain't it a bitch?"

The front door bangs open and then creaks hesitantly shut. Right on time.

I turn and head for the jukebox with a drink in each hand, handing one off to my brother without looking at him as I pass. He turns and trails me, each one of his steps just a touch fast and weirdly bouncy as his muscles coil harder than they need to. Immediately, his ring starts tapping against his highball.

I step up to the jukebox and smile. The songs are listed on pages of paper album covers. Beautifully retro. I could get one of these for the boarding house, just drop it into the middle of all that Sotheby's auction crap. Maybe it would push me to finally get around to redecorating. I could trade the furniture out for something just as indulgent, and a little less self-consciously ostentatious.

Stefan leans against the jukebox with an unreadable expression at odds with his jittery fingers. "You know you've got a real thing for a lost cause," he says matter of factly. "I can't decide if you're stubborn or just stupid."

I frown at the play list. There are 25 songs queued up already, and I don't like half of them. "You're not a lost cause," I tell him offhandedly. "Vicki Donovan, yeah. Klaus, fuck yeah. And Tyler, don't even get me started, but if you recall, I left all those idiots to you." I tilt my head, considering. "Actually, I thought Caroline was going to be a wreck too, or at the very least a drama bomb with ticking fangs, but I might have been wrong on that count. Mostly."

The second song set to play is Bon Jovi. No fucking way, not even for Stefan.

"If you were a lost cause, I'd just kill you." I shrug. "It's not like I keep you around for your sparkling personality."

Stefan gives me a tight-lipped smile, his eyes cutting away into the crowd. "Nice try, Damon."

"Quit being so dramatic," I complain. "My best friend's a dead guy who periodically blacks out into a psycho killer and he's doing just fine." I reach back and yank the plug on the jukebox to reset the play list.

There are cries of surprise and a yell or two from the suddenly still dance floor.

"Technical difficulties," I call out, raising my hands. I bend to plug it back in, punch the code for "Gold On The Ceiling" from memory, and the crowd explodes like a sea of popcorn, energy sweeping back through the bar along with the music. "See?" I say, turning back to Stefan. "The Black Keys are magic."

But instead of my brother, there's a guy standing there with broad shoulders and a leather jacket I wouldn't mind wearing myself.

"What the fuck did you do with my Bon Jovi?" he growls.

I grin and he takes an unplanned step back when he sees the gleam in my eye. Then, realizing what he just did, he throws a glance at his waiting friends and straightens up, trying to make the most of our scant two-inch height difference.

"Put it back on," Leather Jacket demands.

"What do you like the taste of better?" I ask him conversationally. "Teeth or apologies?"

His friends edge closer. I'm counting five, all beefy in the arms and I'm thinking this is just the kind of thing I need to take my mind off the fact that Elena hasn't texted yet.

I set my drink down on the jukebox without breaking eye contact, watching my new friend waver right on the line between nervous and pissed off. "Don't like the aftertaste of apologies? A man after my own heart."

Stefan steps forward and catches the guy's eyes, pupils dilating. "You don't care about the song that much," he tells him.

Leather Jacket takes a confused step back and scowls at us. "Fuckin' faggots," he mutters, and turns away.

I catch his arm in a hard grip.

"I'm offended," I tell him, and dislocate his elbow. He bellows with startled pain.

His friends freeze, Stefan sighs and sets down his drink, and I take my first satisfied swing. I swear the crack of the human's jaw blends right into the bass line.

I fucking love the Black Keys.