"My Aphids came to me this morning, bearing wonderful news concerning your request," Hegemone says cheerfully, throwing grapes, one after another, right into her mouth. Her hair is being held by a thin, flexible vine into a high ponytail today, swaying behind her graciously, like a horse's tail.
We're sitting by the fountain, feasting on various fruits. If her bugs came back with news, we'll be leaving soon, so I want to eat as much as possible. I wonder will she let me bring some of the fruit with me, for later. I make a quick promise to myself that I won't be so greedy with food this time.
"They went to a fair in a town nearby," she gestures behind herself, trying to show us the direction of the town. My eyes fall on her wrist and a bracelet made out of spiraling leaves and colorful flowers wrapping around her gentle, pale skin. She looks like she hasn't been out in the soon for years, which is weird for someone who enjoys nature as much as she does. "Vuelo, where the Abejas rule. A wonderful land, from what I hear," her cheeks look like she swallowed the sun. They're puffy, holding the grapes inside of her mouth, and reddish-orange like the sunset.
"And?" Damon says stiffly, trying too hard not to give away his curiosity, "What did they find out?"
I look up at him. He's standing, towering above us like a large shadow, dressed all in black, brooding. He's been quiet lately - we haven't talked since the first day we came over here, except that one time when I gave him some more of my blood. Again. He said that, if it makes me more comfortable, I could just pour it into a glass, but I said I don't mind, because no, pouring my blood from my wrist into a glass doesn't really make me anymore comfortable than him drinking right from the source does. As he drank, I wondered when will we finally stumble upon someone who will be more than happy to share their blood with him. A sympathizer.
At the same time I wished that moment doesn't come soon, which made my skin turn reddish out of shame.
"In a house not so far from here lives a pair of siblings," she starts without reprehending him for rushing her, "A brother and a sister. Twins, from what I hear," saying that puts a childlike smile on her lips, "Nature is so wonderful. It creates two mirror images and puts them in two completely different bodies," she looks from me to Damon, her eyes full of secrets I know nothing about. When she realizes she got off track again, she shakes her head to continue. "A witch and a warlock. They might be able to help you."
"How?" Damon allows himself to sound just like he feels - curious and in a hurry. He's done with masking the true state of his spirit.
"You will have to ask them that question," she answers calmly.
He doesn't say anything for a while, he just keeps looking at her, his expression indifferent, but his eyes intense. I can tell that he's not in a good mood, his arms are crossed over his chest, like he's trying to defend himself from something trying to get in.
"We better get going then," he says while I'm trying to trap myself in his mind, just to find out what's going on inside of his head.
Hegemone stands to her feet, so I follow her lead. I don't remember the last time I felt so relaxed, refreshed and full, like I payed a visit to the spa. I haven't felt like this even when we were home - maybe years ago, when things were simpler, in some other life.
"It was a pleasure having you as my guests," she smiles gently, creating a warm atmosphere in the garden, "I hope we'll see each other again one day."
Damon doesn't say anything, he makes his way towards the door, so I take liberty to say thanks in both of our names.
"I'm sorry for asking," I eye the fruits on the plate by the fountain, calling out to me, even though I'm miles away from being hungry, "But do you think I could take some fruit to go?"
"Oh," her lips take the shape of a letter o, her whole body standing taller, like she got to her toes. At first I think she's ashamed that she didn't think to offer sooner, but then her whole face falls and I know that's not the case. "I'm sorry, but no," she says sympathetically, "Nothing can leave this room. Well, it can, but as soon as it does, it dies. It turns into ashes. Same would happen to me if I tried to leave this castle," she spreads her arms out, gesturing around the place.
I gasp. "But why?" my voice sounds horrified. I don't care about the food anymore, all I care about is settling my curiosity.
"It's a part of my punishment," her voice becomes quiet and husky, "My father trapped me in here. He couldn't take my gift away, but he found a way to limit it."
At first, after she told me her story, I thought she's being stubborn. And childish. That she's doing all of this just to spite her father. Torturing herself in the name of something, or someone, that's long gone.
But during these past few days I've realized that's not the case. Coming here wasn't her choice, but staying is. That's what this is about - having control over your own life. Maybe she's living a lesser life than the one that's meant for her, but this suffering is her choice made upon her actions.
No one should be punished for falling in love, even if that person is someone who, to them, is forbidden. Love doesn't ask about the rules and customs people make for themselves, often out of silly reasons.
"I'm sorry," I say, because I really am sorry. I wish there was a way for me to help her, but I know that there isn't. I can't force the will of gods.
She nods, telling me that she believes me.
I give her a hug before running after Damon, leaving Hegemone in the solitude and loneliness she's choosing to live in day after day.
The Aphids that gathered the information we need wait for us in front of the castle doors to give us the directions to the twins house. It's still weird to see bugs standing up straight, as tall as us, talking. But they are nice and polite and helpful.
More than most humans are.
"You don't seem to be so disgusted by them anymore," Damon makes an observation once we leave the city walls.
I shrug. "I think I've gotten used to them. Or at least the idea of them."
That's a lie. I've been talking to Hegemone and I realized I didn't use to be like this. This is who life made me out to be - extra cautious and weary of everything.
Not all monsters do monstrous things and not everything that's different is bad. I used to know this before vampires and werewolves came into my life, wearing faces of my friends, but turning into murderers as soon as I turn my back. Coming here, that kinda stuck with me, with the difference that there are so many species here.
And the exterior doesn't always reflect what's inside.
Fairies are beautiful, gracious and gentle, but they're also hateful and vain and stuck up with their own beliefs. Aphids, on the other hand, aren't easy to the eye, but they're warm and friendly.
Evil can hide anywhere, often in the most beautiful things. It doesn't come with horns but, most of the times, comes in a form we would never expect it to be. Often in the form of things we want the most.
He doesn't say anything, he takes my answer in without any objections.
It's good to be outside again, under the light of the sun, even if it seems artificial. This mild wind feels good on my skin. I remember Hegemone and think about how she'll probably never see this, never feel the call of her true home, the nature. The thought makes me sad, it digs out a pit inside of my stomach and makes itself comfortable in there, like this is where this feeling belongs. Maybe it's so familiar because it reflects well on my fear of never getting home myself.
The ground underneath my feet is solid, we walk down the clear, narrow path, surrounded with nothing but grass. No matter to which side I turn my head, all I can see is the clearing, miles and miles of meadow.
"You know," I start once the silence becomes unbearable. We're alone enough in this dimension, there's no need to further away from each other as well. "We're going to the witches house. They might be your enemies," he looks at me, his eyes glimmering under the light, reminding me of the waterfall in Hegemone's fountain. I realize that maybe I should have said our enemies. Just because they're like me doesn't mean they won't try to kill me just for associating with him.
He looks away from me as quickly as he had looked at me, huffing. "Yes, witches do have a tendency to hate me."
Witches hate all vampires. We're natural enemies. But Damon seems to tick them more than other vampires. I should know, he does the same to me. Or at least he used to.
Maybe he still does, just in a different way.
"Not all witches," I point out.
I can see his muscles jump underneath his jacket. He stays quiet for a while, but something urges him to speak, like the words will eat him out from the inside if he doesn't let them out. "Lately, I'm not so sure about that."
I come to a halt, like his words formed a wall that doesn't let me pass through.
"What's up with you?" I ask stiffly, my voice hard and detached.
When he finally realizes I've stopped walking he stops as well, turning around to face me. He grimaces, which is the most emotion he showed in a while.
"Nothing," he answers, and I can hint surprise in his voice. He didn't expect me to fire back. He thinks I don't want to get into an argument with him.
And I don't but, out of some reason, his behavior bothers me too much to let it go.
"No, this isn't nothing," I frown, my face hardening, "One moment you're hot, the other you're cold, and I don't know why. What affects your behavior, exactly? Why are you treating me like this? What do you want from me?" I realize I have way more questions than I've initially thought so.
He stays quiet, hoping I will shrink down under the intensity of his look.
"Well?" I add to push him, to make him realize I'm not giving up just like that.
"Fine!" he throws his arms in the air as a sign of giving up, "Want to know what I want from you?" he closes the distance between us and when she stands right on front of me, our faces nearly touching, the warmth of his body surprises me. He's usually so cold, his skin is like stone, but now it feels like as if he swallowed the sun and his skin is made out of fire. "I want you to stop pretending, Bonnie!" he shouts right into my face, making me blink ten times per second, which is nine times too much.
"I'm not pretending," I try to say with a steady voice, but the words come out so unsure, like they're traveling down a road with so many curves that they have to stop every few seconds so they don't crash. Even I can tell they don't sound truthful.
He laughs at my failed attempt to cover the truth. "Of course you are!" he raises his voice, "You've been pretending ever since you got your memories back."
I squint at him. "And what have I been pretending about, exactly?" I sound more determined, more sure in myself now. His anger gives me courage. Or at least fuels something else inside of me.
"Us!" he screams, and my eyes go wide with surprise. So do his, which tells me his answer surprised him as much as it surprised me. "We were on a good path of becoming friends," he continues, pretending as if nothing had happened, "We had something. An understanding. And then it just disappeared, in the blink of an eye."
I can feel all these emotions boiling inside of me. Anger. How does he dare to speak to me in this manner? Who does he think he is? Fear, because he had finally brought it up. I have to talk about it now. I have to give him either the truth, or a very good excuse to cover up the truth. And I'm not a very good liar.
My heart is beating so fast, I can feel it in every inch of my body. My heels are pulsating, making me jittery.
"I haven't been pretending. I just thought it would be easier if we didn't bring it up," I say meekly. I don't blame him if he doesn't believe me. I don't believe myself either.
"Bullshit."
"You know what, Damon?" something inside of me finally snaps and I decide to fire back at him with equal measure, "Yeah, I lost my memories, I didn't know who you were, so of course I treated you differently. Hell, you treated me differently as well. I never claimed you're evil, even after all the messed up things you did, and there were a lot of them," I spit out in disgust as his evildoing's flood my memories, "I know all the bad things you did, because most of them you did to me," I don't accuse him. We're so beyond that. I simply state a fact, one that makes him wince.
"And I'm not holding them over your head right now. I never did. I didn't go around begging you to change, ordering you to stop being a monster. Not because I didn't care, but because you kept claiming that's who you are and we both know better than that. Yet, you fooled almost everyone else, because you started believing in it yourself, and it became your excuse. I don't need your excuses!" I yell at him and he takes steps back, as if the intensity of my voice pushed him away.
At first I thought I won't have any words to give him, but now I realize that, maybe, I have too many.
"And I don't need to justify myself to you! Memory loss or no memory loss, you did all those awful things, and that's a fact. And I can't forget them. I won't. I'm not Elena."
Her name coming out of my mouth in this conversation punches him in the middle of the face and knocks him right down. It counts as playing dirty and I know it, but I haven't done it on purpose. It just slipped out, like a thought I'm not able to contain because I'm not even aware it's been on my mind.
We stare at each other, no words being spoken by either of us, when he finally regains his composure and says, with so much venom in his voice - "You're right, you're not Elena," he pierces me with his eyes which are no longer the color of a calming water, but a raging storm. The deep sea of his eyes covers me whole and swallows me into the oblivion. "You could never be Elena."
The last sentence hits me in all the wrong places, places Damon's words should never be able to reach.
I feel bruised from the inside, like someone picked me up from the street, while I was still in pieces, and stitched me back up, but in the wrong order. I feel all messed up now, like things are not where they're supposed to be.
I don't know why I take this as offensive. I don't know why it hurts this much when it shouldn't hurt at all.
When did his words become a weapon and not just a hum in the wind, like they used to be?
I swallow, trying to stop my voice from jumping up and down in my throat.
"Well," I say, my voice vibrating in a weird way, like an animal you're trying to push out of its hiding place, "As long as we have that settled," I step around him, hurrying down the path, towards the unknown. Everything's better than standing in front of him right now.
I don't want him to see my face. I won't cry, I know that I won't. I rarely cry. But I wear an expression of shock I don't want him to see.
I can't hear him follow and, right now, I prefer it that way.
I'm wandering around the Salvatore mansion. There's a map of it in my mind, I know every curve and every turn, to where all the hallways lead to, but right now, I seem lost.
It's dark, there are no lights on, I can't even hear the fire cracking from the living room and I know Damon starts the fireplace every evening. The night is creeping in through the large windows covering the walls in their height.
I'm wearing a long, white cotton nightgown, one I'm sure is not mine. I don't own any nightgowns. I'm walking on my toes, quietly, carefully, in order not to be heard. I'm unsure about where I'm going, I can see the confusion in my eyes, even though I'm trying to hide it behind an expression of a warrior. My nothing can touch me face, when I'm actually as frightened as a person can get.
We're not the same person, the girl and me, I can feel it. She wears my face and has my movements, but she's some other Bonnie I left behind, I don't know exactly when.
I can hear the music all of a sudden. I jerk my head in the direction it's coming from, but the problem is that it's coming from everywhere.
It's all around me, becoming louder and louder, as if someone is playing it inside of my ear.
It's painfully familiar.
I press my palms against my ears to quiet it down, squeezing my eyes shut like the sound can affect my sight as well.
Everything turns pitch black and I gasp for air. My body comes up in a sitting position by its own, my throat opening widely so the sound of my lungs begging for air can be heard.
I was sleeping. It was a dream. It was only a dream.
I'm looking down, my eyes recognize the grass, and I can still feel something pressing against my spine. I must have been lying on a rock or against a tree trunk.
I lift my eyes from the ground to inspect my surroundings. When I fell asleep, the daylight was still on. I told Damon I need to rest my eyes for a while and he agreed to it without complaining. He sat on the ground opposite of me, preparing to rest as well. He didn't need it as much as I did, but he still welcomed it.
But when I look straight ahead of me, I don't see Damon.
There's someone else standing in front of me, his face nearly touching mine. A boy with a hood over his head. The only thing I can see are his eyes and they're glowing in the dark.
When he pushes the hood down, I scream.