I don't remember deciding I want to be with Stefan. I don't remember weighing my pros and cons, like I usually do before making big decisions. I don't remember asking myself is this boy really worth it, worth breaking every promise I've made to myself, worth breaking every rule I've set?
I guess that's because there was no decision to be made in the first place, because from the moment Stefan's lips met mine, I knew that I will want them to keep meeting. I knew that I will want to kiss him again and again, even if those kisses turn out to be boring and repetitive. Maybe I knew it even before, that I want this boy to be an integral part of my life, that I want to call this boy mine and mine only. I probably didn't recognize it because it was new and unexplored, and I've probably disregarded it because it made me shake in fear.
I feel like I've been asleep for a better part of my life. I feel like I've missed out on so many wonderful things. I even ache for those less wonderful ones, just because they're yet another experience I don't have. I'm coming out of my shell. I'm slowly waking up now, walking around all disoriented, not knowing where to go or which path to take.
So Stefan took my hand and he's helping me find a way. Guiding me. Quite literary. After the game, he asked me to wait for him to shower and change, and when he was done he took me by the hand and told Caroline he'll be giving me a ride to the party. Caroline grinned widely, not complaining. Probably the first time Caroline didn't complain about things not going the way she had planned them. It's like Stefan and Caroline have some kind of a silent agreement, an understanding when it comes to spending time with me.
While Stefan was driving us to the party, I discovered the true meaning of craving. I remember the first time I experienced craving - the day I decided to go on a diet, my mom made a batch of peanut butter cookies. I remember her calling for me to come try one, at least one, while they're still warm. I remember how the scent filled my nostrils, that sweet, sweet heat flavored by peanut spreading through the house. My stomach was rumbling so hard, urging me to go downstairs for just one bite, just one - not because I was hungry, but because it was a habit. A habit I decided to get rid of, so I didn't go downstairs.
This craving could also ignite a very bad habit, an addiction of sorts, but I don't have any strength left in me to fight it. I'm not even sure I want to fight it. I want to get lost in it.
We don't talk much in the car. We keep quiet, but the music is making sure the silence doesn't get too awkward. The night is especially dark tonight, so it mutes down everything around us. Everything except for this craving, this feeling pushing me forward, urging for its release - it's similar to when I craved for food. I can feel it everywhere - on the walls of my mouth, in my gums, in my throat, even in my stomach. Soon, it possesses my whole body.
I haven't craved anything in a long time. It happens when you detach yourself from the world and all its wonders. And my illness made sure I can't even hold onto the food I need just to survive.
I have a feeling this craving won't disappear, even in detachment or illness. It won't come and go either - it's constant. It finds a home in your bones as soon as you form a thought about it.
Which is why when Stefan stops the car, before he gets a chance to say something, or before my courage leaves my system, I unfasten my seat belt, lean into him and kiss him hungrily.
I attack his lips, I attack him with my whole presence, with everything I have. I assume kissing him will satisfy my cravings, but it doesn't - it just makes them grow.
We keep kissing for a long time, I keep my lips on his long after my lungs start begging for air, which is when I realize this is a craving I'm not familiar with. One that doesn't go away when you give in to it, but the one that becomes bigger the more you feed it.
His breathing is heavy when he, once I pull my lips away from his, asks, "Where did that come from?"
All of a sudden I can feel my cheeks burning in shame, while this inexplicable heat surges trough my body.
I don't know how to react - I've learned how to act, but not how to bear the consequences of those actions. My whole body is fueled by desire, for him, for this moment, but each part of this feeling is so new to me that I don't know what to do with it. I feel like I got a gift I've always wanted, but no instructions on how to assemble it.
I tear my look away from his because I can't stand to look at him anymore. "I-I don't k-know," I stammer, my lips closing before I manage to get the whole sentence out.
For once in my life, I feel too big for my body. I'm trapped inside of it, when all I really want to do is run - far, far away.
"Hey," I can hear him saying mildly. He doesn't deserve this. I gave us both a promise I can't keep.
I'm slowly falling off of the edge of the world, holding the slicker surface with my fingertips, and he doesn't even know it.
He deserves more than me, more that this. In the very least, he deserves the truth.
"Hey," he says once again, but this time, I can feel his long fingers - not bony like mine, but strong, rough and soft in all the right places - touching my face, the burning skin of my cheeks, before moving to my chin and turning my head around.
Before I know it I'm staring back at him, looking into those beautiful green eyes filled with anticipation and wonder. He wants me to pour my soul out to him, but I'm not sure there's anything left to pour.
"What's wrong?" he asks without realizing how silly his question sounds to me. Everything's wrong.
When I got out of the hospital, when my condition got better, I was prohibited from leaving the house alone. I remember how Caroline's face fell when my mother told her I won't be able to hang out with them for quite a while, still, and she was so excited, she thought she got me back. Caroline and Bonnie kept coming to my house, just like they did while I was at the hospital, but it didn't really matter where I'm locked away - I still felt like I'm not part of this world anymore. Like I'm just hovering around, watching life happen to someone else. To other people, people that are not me.
That's the thing about getting sick - everything just stops for you. You become your illness and it becomes you, but other people are made out of million little other things - like new movies and songs, fashion trends and celebrity gossip. Illness locks you in your own body, but the world keeps spinning, and you just miss out on all the things each sweep brings, takes and leaves behind. So, once you live with it for a long time, they tell you depression is a side effect of cancer. Like it's not enough cancer alone eats certain parts of your body, it also brings friends along to munch on other parts. My mother did everything in her power to let me in on how the world works now, so she would bring me to the mall every Saturday morning and we would sit by the smoothie bar and slurp our drinks in peace, just watching other people. I loved her for what she tried to do, but in a way it was harder - watching all those people, all those ordinary lives, and not being a part of them. I so desperately wanted to participate. One day, there were two girls sitting next to us and one of them was saying, with tears in her eyes, that she doesn't know how to give him the whole truth. I don't know who he was, or what her truth was, but I do remember her friends advice. Then give him grains of it, little by little, everyday, she said.
So I decide to take that strangers advice. "I don't know if you've noticed," I say meekly, my eyes wandering from his eyes, to his nose, to his mouth, then back to his eyes, "But I'm not really good at this."
I see him looking at me confused, not entirely sure what I'm talking about, and I silently laugh at everyone who ever told me I'm good with words. There are some words it's impossible to be good with.
"Kissing," I clarify, "Intimacy. Showing affection."
I can see surprise flicker in his eyes but he replaces it with understanding in an instant.
"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he says. I've always thought this sentence is so cliche. And it is. But that doesn't mean it's not true, and sometimes that sentence is the only thing left to say.
"But," I start. Maybe you can't give someone just a grain of truth. Maybe you have to give them a whole set of grains, because that's how they come - in odd or even numbers, but never alone. "I want to," I say truthfully, "I just don't know where or when to stop. When it's too early for certain kind of kisses, or where my hands are supposed to go. I don't know the rules."
He smiles at me sweetly like one would smile at a child who asked such a simply obvious question. "There are no rules, Elena," he tells me, that honey dripping smile still present on his face, "Except the ones you make for yourself."
I think about his answer. No rules? But there are always rules. There's an appointed time for me to take my medication. There's time for me to go to the hospital, for an examination. There's time when I eat or study or read a book. My life is made out of rules. To think I could do anything with myself, or with another person, without it being a carefully laid out plan seems preposterous.
But at the same time, it also seems freeing. No chains around your wrists and ankles, pulling you in a certain direction, even when you don't want to go.
"So," I say, a playful smile climbing up my lips, "If I wanted to do this," I push myself off of my seat and drop one of my legs on the other side of him, while the other is pressing comfortably against my own seat. I'm sitting in his lap, steering wheel lingering behind my back. He seems surprised by my actions, like this is the last thing he would expect me to do. And it feels good. To surprise someone. To be unpredictable. "I could?" I bite my lower lip, more nervously than playfully, so my teeth go back to their place in a matter of seconds.
"Uh," he's still so baffled, but in a good way. He's not turned off or backing away, he just doesn't know what to do next. It's cute seeing him like this, so lost in the situation one would think he would be more than comfortable with. "Yeah, yeah," he says, looking me in the eyes, "You could. No complaining here."
I smile. I can feel my body temperature rising. It's so hot under all this clothes, so hot that I can feel sweat trickling down my back. I'm sitting in his lap, my legs wide apart, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable, even though this is not a natural position. My expression becomes serious the more I stare at him.
I put my hands on his shoulders for support as I start leaning forward, towards his lips. At first, I kiss him gently, lightly, so that he feels my lips like a breath of fresh air on his, barely noticeable, but so effective when needed.
Our lips are like two tiny waves, leftover from the storm, trying to survive in a peaceful weather.
He's so careful with me, almost distant, like he's afraid to recuperate my kisses and for a moment there I actually think I did something wrong, that one of the rules is that I make my rules right.
But then, surprisingly, he pushes himself off of his seat and presses his lips harder into mine, so hard that for a moment there I think they're going to crack by the middle. His hands grab me by the hips, steadying me just at the moment I started to rock in his lap.
I use the power of my hands - power I didn't know I posses in the first place - to push him back into his seat without detaching my lips from his. My move doesn't seem to bother him, especially not when I lean my whole body closer to his, my chest pressing onto his. He moves his hands up my back, pulling his fingers up and down in the direction of my spine, then back to my hips.
I remember how fearful I was of his touch not so long ago. But it's addictive, and addiction beats every fear. Having his hands on me and thinking about all the things he would be disgusted by if he knew he's touching under these clothes is a lot better than not having his hands on me at all. I want them to roam freely, up and down, left and right.
I don't know is that my heart beating so hard, or his against my chest, or a culmination of both.
He pulls me closer, his fingers sinking into my flesh through the thin material of my shirt, his fingertips grazing my bones, bones that shouldn't be visible or touchable.
As he does so, a scary thought goes through my head - I want him more, harder, better, on the places he hasn't touched yet.
After few minutes of rolling around in the car seat while trying to avoid bumpy surfaces, grabbing each other and making out fiercely, we decide it's time to finally go to the party. Well, I decide, when my lips go numb and dry and my body too aware of his touches. He just kept begging for another minute, which I declined with a heavy heart, especially after seeing the puppy pout expression on his face.
The party is at the Grill, which is when I start wondering how come were we driving for so long then? Maybe it was just my imagination, or I was more nervous, or frustrated, than I thought so it seemed a long time to me. Being trapped inside your head does that to you.
I can hear extravagantly loud music and cheers coming from the inside, which is understandable, since we won.
Before we enter, Stefan takes me by the hand and I let him. Feeling his fingers wrap around mine, being held by him, it still provides me with satisfaction, but it doesn't seem like a big deal anymore. I guess there are steps to take - when you take a second one, the first one seems really, really far away, even if you were there just a second ago.
When we go inside, it seems that everyone who were at the bleachers now squeezed themselves inside of the Grill. Plus the players, who are the loudest and most cheerful ones. The mass doesn't seem to bother me as much as it used to, not with Stefan holding me by the hand, guiding me through.
"Well, well," I hear Caroline's smug, know-it-all voice, "Look who finally decided to show up," she teases.
I'm thankful the room is only half lit and crowded, because I'm pretty sure my cheeks are blushing as hard as if I've swallowed a light bulb.
"Traffic," Stefan says lightly, but not in a teasing sort of matter, but like he's offering a very weak explanation.
Caroline lets out one small, bubbly laugh before saying, "I bet."
When I can't stand this anymore, I ask, "Where's Bonnie?"
I can see Caroline scrunch her face, even though she's standing in the shadow. "I don't know," she shrugs, but not as if she doesn't care, more like she cares too much and is royally pissed with Bonnie disappearing on her constantly, "I lost her," she makes an excuse I know she doesn't believe in herself, "Tyler is saving us seats. Come," she starts walking even before she finishes the sentence, showing us the way.
"Shall we?" Stefan whispers into my ear when I don't start walking in the direction Caroline went.
I don't say anything. I just nod and start walking, and now I'm the one leading the way.
I notice other people looking at us. Some of them guys, clearly confused and surprised to see me with a boy, but most of them girls. Their feelings surpass confusion and surprise, they're jealous. But not jealous in a bowing your head down and crying your eyes out kind of way. Evil jealous, that when they look at you, you shudder.
I try to ignore their looks, questioning looks, asking me who the hell do I think I am, or what I'm doing, and do I really think I'm worth it. It's hard, especially when there's so many of them in such a small place.
When we catch up with Caroline, I see how tense her shoulders are, her eyes darting angrily towards the table Tyler is sitting by. The problem is - he's not alone, Katherine is sitting next to him and her loyal clones standing behind them, smirking.
I can see Tyler give Caroline an apologetic look.
"Come," Caroline says harshly, already darting in their direction.
I can feel Stefan nudging me to move forward, so I take a deep breath and start walking.
Katherine's friends give me the same look, not approving one, but when we slide into our seats, Katherine smiles. Which is weird, because it doesn't seem rotten, it seems genuine. Which is only weirder, because I expected to get the same look from her as I did from everyone else. This is like seeing a lion laying down idly while a gazette is hopping in front of his eyes.
"We were just about to play a game!" she answers cheerfully, "Would you like to play with us?" she doesn't even give us a chance to answer, "Sydney, go fetch them some drinks!" she orders.
I can see one of the girls standing there, looking confused by Katherine's order, but she doesn't ask any further questions. She goes away to get us drinks, since Stefan and me are the only ones here without it.
"So, what are we playing?" Caroline asks with that fake calm tone of hers.
Katherine pulls her thin lips into a wide smile. It looks like someone took a red crayon and just pulled a curvy line where her lips are supposed to be. "Never have I ever," she says.
I know the rules of this game, surprisingly. You make a statement starting with never have I ever and then finish it off with something you, obviously, never had done. If someone else did it, they take a sip of their drink, and then the next person goes. Basically, it's an easy way to get drunk and learn embarrassing things about people, things you will most likely forget because you will be too wasted to remember them.
Sydney comes back quickly with two red cups in her hands which she puts in front of Stefan and me, smiling wickedly.
"Okay Sydney," Katherine announces, "You can go first."
I can see panic wash over the girls face. She's clearly not ready to make a statement.
"I've never made out with a girl," she says lamely. I guess it's better to say anything than to say no to Katherine.
Stefan, Tyler and two other girls from Katherine's crowd take a drink. I can see Katherine rolling her eyes at the girls statement.
All of them make their statements and, not so surprisingly, I don't take a sip, not even once. I'm not as experienced as they are, and I haven't done many things.
"Okay, my turn!" Katherine yells cheerfully, putting her thinking face on. I can tell that she's faking it, she knows exactly what she wants to say, she's just stalling, for the effect. So she can have everyone's attention, since everyone will be anticipating it. "Never have I ever," she says really slowly, then finishes it faster, "had cancer."
The whole table goes quiet. Few of Katherine's girls gasp in surprise, the other ones don't seem as baffled. Like they were let in on the secret, or they're just not as surprised by Katherine's cruelty as the other ones.
To me, it seems like silence fills the entire room. My mind starts spinning until it finds one single thought, one single name to focus on. Stefan.
I should have told him sooner. I should have been the one to tell him.
You can't give someone grains of truth if you're not the only one holding them. Not if your secret is public, just too delicate to be said in a light conversation.
"Katherine," Caroline hisses her name, anger clearly dripping from her lips. She sounds protective.
I keep trying to find Bonnie in the crowd, so she can give me one of those looks, one of those everything will be okay looks. Just breathe. She always could pour courage in me, push me in the direction I would never take by myself.
But she's not here. I can't see her anywhere.
So I look at Caroline, who's still looking at Katherine. There's something about her expression - I've never seen her quite so angry. Like she wants to tear Katherine's face right off of her head with her bear hands.
So I find courage in that. I decide not to let her win, or take any satisfaction in this. I decide to stand up to her.
I wrap my fingers around the cup, "Actually, it's acute lymphoblastic leukimia," I say before taking a sip, "If you want to be specific."
I can see that my reaction surprises Katherine, but she doesn't waver. She keeps her face straight.
"It's stuffy in here," I say after putting my cup down, getting up from the table, "So I think I'm going to take my cancer out for a walk," I smile at her meekly.
When I start walking away I can hear someone calling my name, but the voice gets lost in the crowd.
When I get out, I walk over to Stefan's car. I think about going home, but I decide that that's, after the Grill, the last place I want to be.
I sit down and lean against the car door. I don't cry, I don't really have any strength to cry. So I just take a deep breath and close my eyes.
What was I thinking? I should have known that keeping this from him would just blow in my face. I should have told him the truth in the beginning, before he had kissed me.
Keeping secrets never works out, especially not with ones as big as this. The bigger they are, the bigger the explosion. The messier to clean after.
I don't know for how long I sit there, with fresh breeze whipping against my skin, but not doing anything to clear my head.
"Elena," I hear my name being said in a way only he knows how to say it - so melodically that it sounds like a lullaby.
I squeeze my eyes one more time before letting them fly wide open. I can see him, standing there above me, towering over my own body sitting on the ground, the light from the street lamp showering, making both his hair and skin fairer. The only things missing are a set of big, white wings for him to look like an angel.
"I didn't want to come rushing after you right away," he says, "I didn't think you would like that."
He's right, I needed some alone time, to think about what an awful mistake I've made.
"I should have told you," I tell him.
His expression doesn't change, he just walks over and sits next to me.
"I don't know what I was thinking," I say when he doesn't say anything to my first sentence, "I'm sorry."
After few seconds of silence, he replies, "I knew."
I whip my head around, surprised and shocked. "What?" I ask, thinking I didn't hear him right.
"It's a small town," he retorts, "It's basically the first thing I've heard about you."
I frown. "Why didn't you say anything?"
He looks at me, a serious expression on his face. "Why didn't you?" he asks and I have to look away in shame. I know that wasn't his intention, but it still hurts. "I felt like it wasn't my place to say anything. I thought you will tell me when you're ready to," he adds. When I don't say anything in return, he voices himself again, "I don't care, Elena."
I look at him just at the moment he furrows his brows. "No, that came out wrong," he says, "Of course I care. What I meant is, to me, it doesn't make a difference. It doesn't effect how I feel about you," he glances at me, quickly, before adding, "I don't know a lot about cancer, Elena, but I do know something about fear."
That sentence only adds up to the mystery that Stefan Salvatore is, but I don't ask him anything. I give him the same luxury he had given me - thinking he will tell me whatever he needs to tell me when he's ready.
"Do you - " I start, but find myself unable to finish the sentence.
"Do I want to know about it?" he smiles at me before his face becomes all serious again, "Sure, but not now."
I frown, curious. "Why not now?"
"Because," he takes my hand, but doesn't squeeze it in his. He just keeps caressing my skin with his thumb, "I don't think you're ready to talk about it now."
He leans in and plants a kiss on my forehead.
Yes, no one asked me do I want to feel this way about him. There was no decision, no choice to be made, it just happened, like these things usually do.
But if it were a choice, I would be happy to make it over and over again.
