Chapter 12

The hottest love has the coldest end -Socrates-

Everything felt wrong. He felt wrong. Numb. Like he no longer belonged to the world. Like he was watching himself from a distance, from somewhere far away, trying to figure out what had happened. How he'd gotten there. He didn't even remember leaving the hospital. Had he walked? Driven? Ran? He didn't know. Still, somehow he'd found himself in that room.

Her room.

Ele−

His mind stopped him. He couldn't think her name. Couldn't think about what had happened. She couldn't be−

Softly, he closed the door behind him, locking himself in. Everything smelled like her. The whole space was just drenched with her. Strange how her scent still lingered here when she no longer smelled like anything. When she was just cold.

His legs moved then, maneuvering him around the room. His fingers ran over her drawers, touching the jewels she'd left lying around, the hairbrush she'd abandoned in front of her mirror. A mirror filled with pictures of her. Smiling. Her arm around Bonnie. Jeremy. Caroline. Matt. Tyler. Her parents. Some snapshots of her and Stefan dancing, laughing, kissing. Would she have gotten rid of those? And replaced them with images of her and him together?

He was by her window then. By the bay seat she'd spent numerous hours on, writing in her journal, watching the stars, thinking. Had she been thinking about him? He'd been thinking about her. He always thought about her. His eyes found the book on the floor. He picked it up like he was handling a newborn baby, placing it onto the pillow she must've been resting against before she was interrupted. As he backed away, he could see the branch he'd spent more than one night on before he'd even met her officially, watching her from the shadows. Had she known? Had she known he'd seen the tears she didn't want to share with anyone? Had she known he'd seen her stare at herself in the mirror like she was looking for something in those chocolate eyes? No. She wouldn't have put up with it. She would've confronted him. She would've yelled and screamed until her cheeks were all flushed and that little angry wrinkle above her nose had shown up. That's who she was. She didn't take crap from anyone. Especially not from him. Sometimes, it seemed like she wasn't scared of anything. Had she been scared in those last moments?

His feet moved again as if to get him away from his train of thought and then he found himself in her bathroom. Make-up. Not much, but a few basic things. Mascara. Eyeliner. Lip gloss. They were scattered around the sink like she'd hurried to put them on. Jenna must've surprised her with the restaurant idea. His fingertips caressed each little bottle, each colorful flask like it were the most precious things on this earth. When he reached her shower, he noticed his hands were trembling. Slowly, he grabbed the white bottle on the tiled floor. Closing his eyes, he flicked the cap open and at once, the familiar smell of peaches hit him. It had been on his fingers whenever he'd tucked a curl behind her ear, on his clothes when he'd wrapped his arms around her, in his every pore when he'd dug his nose into her beautiful, silk hair and breathed her in.

The bottle slipped out of his grasp and faster than he'd moved all night, he backed out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut loudly. He'd felt her again, her fragile arms around his neck, her lips pressed sweetly against his. It had felt like she was right there, with him. But she wasn't. She would never be there again.

Tears stung his eyes for the first time in literally ages as he backed away from the door. The bed hit the nape of his knees and he let himself plop down, let himself drown in what was left of her fragrance. Feeling drops run down his cheeks, he grabbed a handful of her sheet and brought the fabric to his nose, breathing her in, letting her fill his every being. But it wasn't enough! It wasn't her! Furious at everyone and everything, he jumped on his feet again, intended to kill, to maim, to make the world feel exactly how he felt.

Broken.

Dead.

He'd only taken his first enraged step towards the door when he noticed how the floorboard by her bed actually gave way under his foot.

Snarling, he kneeled down, jerking the loose board away in a fierce display of pure rage. However, what he found underneath the wood made the rage fade, replacing it with only pain and despair that ran so deep he was sure he would never be able to shake it again.

Pictures.

One of Damon from when he was still human. Gun strapped to his back, uniform neatly fitted, face serious and just a faint trace of fear in his eyes. The day he was sent off to fight.

An even older one of him and Stefan when they'd been children. Baby Stefan clinging to Damon's hand, waving at the woman standing behind the lens. His mother. He remembered that day. His father hadn't been home which meant their mom had been all theirs.

One of him and Stefan right before they'd met Katherine Pierce, their arms playfully around each other's shoulders, smiling, nothing but friendship and brotherly love in their eyes as they looked at each other.

And then the fading pictures were replaced by colorful ones. Pictures of Caroline's party at the Grill. At first, Damon didn't understand the connection with the other photographs, but then he looked behind the people who were posing and saw her. And him. Sitting in the boot. Laughing. Drinks in front of them.

And lastly a shot of her and him dancing on her birthday. It was at the beginning of their dance, when he'd just dragged her onto the dance floor. He had an arrogant smile on his face, holding one of her tiny hands in his. She had her chin raised in that stubborn way only she could pull off. And even though her eyes looked annoyed, there was a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

A sorrowful drop trickled down Damon's chin when he looked up again and noticed everything he'd missed before. The book that had been on the floor wasn't just any book. Anne Rice. The shirt on her bed that she'd worn at night...it was his. The one she'd left with that morning she'd ran away from him. That, combined with the pictures in his hand… She had been thinking about him. And he hadn't been there. He should've been there. Maybe if he hadn't left her alone, maybe if he'd fought harder, if he'd tried to convince her they belonged together instead of leaving her to figure it out herself.

Leaving her defenseless.

She wouldn't have been at that restaurant, but with him. Safe with him.

She wouldn't have been in that car when it crashed.

She wouldn't have gotten hurt.

She wouldn't have died.

And there it was. The truth he'd been trying to deny. The truth he didn't want to accept.

Elena.

His Elena.

Was gone.

Forever.

His strength faded away, leaving his mind defenseless against the memory that had been pushing to resurface.

*Flashback*

Stefan was on top of him, slamming his head into the ground.

And Damon just let him.

He'd always known that the day his brother would find out about Elena and him he'd have to pay. He'd just never thought he'd actually let Stefan pummel him, let him get that much satisfaction at least. It was so unlike him. But hey, Damon was in a good mood. She'd chosen him. Elena had chosen him. So tonight, nothing could hurt him. Not even his brother's persistent fists.

"No, no, no," he heard his girl softly mumble. "Just stop."

She'd been pleading for them to cease their fight for a while now, but Stefan didn't listen. He just kept going, fueled by pure hate and betrayal. Luckily, his broken brother still had enough of his sanity left to remember where they were. Nothing about their fight screamed vampire.

No distorted faces.

No superhuman force.

Just two brothers fighting.

Well, two brothers almost killing each other, but in a human sort of way.

"Damon?"

Her voice was weak.

Too weak.

A coldness crawled around his heart.

Sharpening his senses, he caught Stefan's fist in mid-air.

And then, everything just stopped.

One second she'd been right there and the next she was gone.

He couldn't hear the soft thumping in her chest anymore.

Couldn't hear her breath pass her lips.

Couldn't hear her blood run thickly through her veins.

It was like she'd just vanished.

What he could hear, was Jeremy. Screaming his lunges out.

Stefan and Damon shared a look and jumped to their feet, rushing to the girl who was now lying on the ground.

Motionless.

Breathless.

Lifeless.

Damon crashed to his knees beside her, turning her on her back, ignoring her open, unfocused eyes.

"Elena!" he screamed, cupping her face. "Elena!"

"Do something!" Jeremy ordered. "Help her!"

Damon's mind started racing as he heard the people behind him pick up on what was happening.

What was happening?

Faster that the human eye could perceive, he pushed out his fangs and bit down on his wrist.

"Damon, what are you doing?" Stefan asked, grabbing his arm.

Damon's fury sparked when he saw his brother's slumped body, when he saw the defeat in his eyes.

"What does it look like!" he snapped. "I'm healing her!"

"It won't work."

"Let him help her!"

"Jeremy," Stefan said softly. "She has no pulse. She's−"

No!

Damon growled, pushing Stefan's chest so hard he was forced to let go of his arm. He wasn't going to give up on her. Not now. Not ever.

"Come on, Elena," he whispered, his bloody wrist pressed to her open lips. "Drink."

She didn't.

She didn't do anything.

That dormant fear burst to life within him, overwhelming him, overwhelming everything.

"Come on, baby!" he screamed, hearing Jeremy cry. "Drink!"

"Damon−"

"No, Stefan! She'll drink!"

"Damon−"

"Damn it, Gilbert, for once do as I saw and drink!"

The puncture wounds started closing and she just laid there. Still. Those brown eyes completely vacant. She was−

"No!" he bellowed.

His big hands pressed down on her chest, over the place her beautiful heart used to race whenever he touched her, and suddenly he found himself doing CPR, trying to force her body back into action, listening for every little change inside.

But nothing changed.

Everything stayed quiet.

"No, Gilbert, you don't get to do this to me!" he screamed, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her roughly. "Don't you do this to me! Wake up!"

"Stop it!" Jeremy yelled, clawing at Damon's arms.

And then, there were humans there.

Why were there humans?

"Damon," Stefan cried, his voice barely breaking through the haze that had suddenly enveloped him. "Let them try."

They took her from him.

He let them.

They placed her on a gurney.

Rolling her away from him.

He followed, hearing the doctors throw medical terms around. Medical terms he wished he didn't understand.

And then she was in a room.

And they cut her shirt off.

And there were pedals on her chest.

She arched up from the bed.

But it was just a bodily reflex to the electricity that they were driving through her.

It wasn't actually her responding.

It wasn't actually her anymore.

Another shock.

And another one.

And another one.

Nothing.

Next thing he knew, this doctor came and he said something to Jeremy, something that made the boy fall to his knees. And all Damon could do was just stand there.

Looking at her.

Waiting for her to open her eyes.

Waiting for someone to tell him there'd been a mistake and that she was fine.

Waiting to wake up.

And then Jenna was there.

And she was crying, holding Jeremy and Stefan, yelling something.

He should be yelling, too. Probably.

He should be doing something.

But he couldn't move.

He didn't remember how to.

Elena?

*End flashback*

When Damon had found out Katherine had betrayed him, he hadn't shed a tear. He'd lost the women he'd spent over a hundred years loving, but he'd moved past it. And now he'd lost Elena−his beautiful, strong, warm Elena−and the tears wouldn't stop. Not that he tried to stop them. He didn't have the strength to fight them, didn't have the strength to do anything besides press her pictures to his chest and wail.

There, in the privacy of Elena's bedroom, Damon Salvatore broke down for the first time in ages.

Night was already falling. The sky outside her window was turning pitch black. But he didn't move. He was sitting against her wall, staring into the distance, the photographs still clutched in his fingers. The tears had stopped. He didn't have any left. But the pain inside didn't weaken. It would never weaken. Luckily, he wasn't planning on sticking around much longer. Not without her.

"You should be in the hospital."

Damon blinked when Matt's broken voice reached his ears. The next to speak was Jenna. Or what was left of her. Her voice was weak, filled with torture, submerged with grief.

"I need to be here. For Jeremy."

"But−"

"I can't stay there anymore, Matt. Not after that."

There was a long silence until the boy said in a voice that was barely audible, "Do you need anything else?"

"No. Thank you."

"I could stay and−"

"No. Jeremy and I−" a sob broke the sentence. "We need to be alone."

"If you need me−"

"And if you need me−"

Matt started crying then. He missed her, too. And for the first time, Damon envied the boy. He'd had a history with her, had woken up next to her, had been able to kiss her whenever he wanted to, around whoever he wanted to. Matt had spent years with the girl he'd had too little time with.

The front door slammed closed and there were only two heartbeats in the house now. Two very fast heartbeats. But not hers. Never again hers.

He lost himself in the pain again, lost himself in agony, so he didn't notice that the heartbeats were moving. He never heard them coming until the door opened and Jeremy stood right in front of him.

"What the hell are you doing here!" he hissed, his nostrils flaring.

Damon stood up, swallowing hard, lost for words.

"You shouldn't be here!" the boy continued, angry tears pouring from his eyes. "You have no right!"

"I−"

Jenna walked in then. She didn't look like the woman he'd seen before. She looked like a ghost of her old self. Her skin was almost translucent. Her eyes were dull. Her face was expressionless.

"This is all your fault!" Jeremy continued, pointing at him. "You killed her!"

"No," Damon said silently. "I didn't want−"

"She should've stayed in that hospital! She needed to be around doctors! They would've seen this coming!"

"She seemed OK," he whispered more to himself than to her brother. "She said she was fine."

"Clearly, she lied! And now she'd dead. And it's because of you, you son of a bitch!"

"Jeremy," Jenna said, putting her hand on the boy's shoulder.

"No!" he snarled, shrugging Jenna's touch off. "He took my sister from me!"

Jeremy's fist flew out and Damon didn't avoid it. He didn't fight back. He just let him hit him. Why not? It's not like he could be in more pain than he already was. And if it made the boy feel better…

But it didn't make him feel better. It seemed to make him feel worse. Shaking his head, Jeremy clutched his hair and backed away from Damon.

"She deserved more than dying on a parking lot!" he snarled, those tears running down again. "She deserved more!"

More than me, he means. She deserved more than me.

Jeremy left then, leaving him alone with a woman who was now staring at him, frowning.

"I'm sorry," Damon whimpered, his eyes dropping. "I'm so sorry."

He tried to walk away, but when he passed Jenna, she grabbed his arm, her gaze piercing him the way hers used to pierce his, too.

"It was you," she said, fresh tears filling her eyes. "Oh my God, it was you."

Damon swallowed hard. She'd told her. She'd told her aunt about him. His heart warmed for a second, until he remembered that it didn't matter. Not anymore. She could've told the whole world, but what difference did it make if she wasn't in that world anymore?

He gently disengaged from Jenna and headed for the door.

"Elena is−" her voice broke. "−was a stubborn girl, Damon. If she wanted out of that hospital, she would've found a way whether you were there or not."

He stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes. Jenna was trying to comfort him. She would've tried, too.

"There's a wake for her tomorrow at the funeral home," Jenna added. "At five o'clock."

"People don't want me there."

"I want you there."

"I don't −"

"Elena would've wanted you there."

"Elena would've wanted to be alive."

He hadn't meant to snap at her, but this was too much. He couldn't be there, in her house, with her family, talking about her wake.

Her wake.

He was gone before she could utter another word, disappearing into the night, trying to outrun her face, her smile, her eyes, all the while knowing all too well that he could run until the world ended. He would never forget.

At least never would come soon.

Stefan stood in a corner, overlooking the little room that was now crowded with people in black. Her friends, her family. They were all there.

Some of her old cheerleader friends were swapping stories about Elena as captain, before her parents had died. She'd been so outgoing, so happy.

Her teachers talked about what a joy she'd been to teach, about how respectful and smart she was.

Caroline and Matt where standing by Jenna, telling them how amazing Elena had been as a friend. How she'd always been there for them. How she'd always been a shoulder to cry on.

Jeremy was like him, standing in a corner, avoiding everyone.

Tyler was supporting Bonnie, guiding her to a free chair. The little witch had been up all night trying to contact her best friend without result. He knew. He'd been there with her. He'd pushed her to try harder, longer. He'd exhausted her. But he hadn't cared. He had to talk to her. He had to tell her how sorry he was, how he never meant to call her that name, how much he loved her. He just couldn't accept that the last thing the girl he loved had heard out of his mouth was him calling her a whore. He wanted her to know that that's not how he thought of her, that she'd been a bright light in his never ending night and that he just wanted her to be happy, even if that meant being with his brother. He'd be there to pick up the pieces after Damon did what he always did. After he destroyed her. He would be there to build her back up.

But now she would never know. She died thinking he hated her. His eyes found the little door in the side of the room. The little door that lead to her coffin. That led to her. He hadn't had the strength to go in, yet. To see her.

Another figure entered the room and even though Stefan couldn't see him, he immediately knew who it was, because at once, the room started buzzing about his presence.

Who is that?

What is he doing here?

The other Salvatore. Did he know Elena?

Isn't that Stefan's brother?

Is he single?

Remember that dance at her party?

Oh, eye candy.

He reached Jenna in a few steps and she actually looked happy to see him. Her friends, however, did not. Caroline and Matt's body language turned hostile and Bonnie shot him a glare before finding Stefan's eyes, silently ordering him to do something. But what could he do? As long as Damon wasn't going to cause a scene, he wasn't going to either.

"You came," Stefan heard Jenna say.

His brother nodded. "Where is she?"

Jenna pointed at the door and he immediately headed for the room.

Stefan followed.

He wasn't going to leave his brother alone with her.

Softly, he slipped inside after Damon, hiding in the shadows of the dark room. The only light was in the middle of the space, above the white coffin, above Elena. And Damon. He was standing over her body, his finger softly running over her cheek.

"Oh, sweetness, no."

Stefan's insides knotted together, but not because of Damon's pet name for Elena. No, the reason his entire body ached was the tears that were trickling down the vampire's face.

Slowly, Damon leaned down, placing his forehead against hers. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he sobbed softly. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."

He stayed still for a moment, his eyes closed, until he finally pressed a long kiss to her forehead and straightened up.

"Don't worry, brother," he said then, gently picking up a strand of her hair and stroking it between his fingers. "After tonight, I won't bother you again. Just give me this moment with her."

Stefan slipped out of the shadows, watching his older brother through new eyes. This wasn't the Damon he knew and hated. This was the Damon he'd known back in their human days. This was the Damon who cared.

He cupped her cheek, his thumb slowly running over her cheekbone, so much sadness in his eyes that Stefan suddenly understood. He suddenly knew.

"You loved her."

Damon just looked at him, silent, his lips pulled up slightly. That's all it took between them. Yes, they hated each other, but they were still brothers. They still understood each other, even when they wished they didn't.

Damon looked back at her then, reaching into his jacket pocket. Still baffled, Stefan saw him pull out a picture. Before he could get a good look at it, Damon put it in her coffin, next to her body.

"There's a hidden compartment," Stefan said softly. "In the patting underneath the lid. Jenna put some of her things inside."

He didn't go over there to show him. He didn't want to step between him and Elena. This was their moment. Their last moment.

Damon found it, opening it with the utmost care. When he placed the picture inside, he pulled out some of the things others had left her.

Stefan's Vervain necklace.

A few pictures of baby Elena and of her with her friends, with her brother.

Some letters he didn't read.

A crystal, no doubt Bonnie's.

Rose petals.

And a folded up piece of paper. Damon unfolded it carefully. And then, his brother's entire manner changed. The torture just flowed out of him, anger taking its place.

"Damon?"

He didn't even hear him. He just tightened his grip on the sheet and growled a deep, primal growl.

"What's happening?" Stefan asked, picking up on the air of danger. "What is it?"

Damon growled again and then he was out of the room, Stefan right behind him, right there to stop him from whatever he was planning to do. Because whatever it was, it couldn't be good. He knew this side of Damon all too well. He was on murder-mode.

The second he reached the crowd again, Damon's eyes zoomed in on Jenna. Snarling, he pushed his way through the sea of people, no doubt hurting each and every one of them.

"Damon, what−" Stefan started, but when they reached Elena's aunt, Damon cut him off.

"What is this?" Damon gnarled, shoving the paper in her face.

Jenna looked startled, her eyes darting over the sheet.

"I−It's her last drawing," she said, her voice dripping with agony. "Put that back, ple−"

"Was this in her pocket?" he asked, his voice icy.

Jenna nodded, her eyes dropping.

"No, Jenna, focus!" Damon ordered rudely. "Have you ever seen this man?"

She frowned, examining the drawing closer. Stefan did the same. And he came up with the same answer as her.

"No."

"Damn it," he hissed. "Look closer, Jenna! Think!"

"I don't−" She did what he asked, really taking in the man's face. "I mean...he looks kind of familiar, but I don't−"

"That night you crashed−"

"OK, enough!" Bonnie interrupted. "Leave now, Damon!"

"That night you crashed−" he persisted like Bonnie hadn't spoken. "−why did you lose control of the wheel?"

"I−I don't remember."

"Yes, you do!" he screamed, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room. "Think! Was it the rain?"

"Please, Damon, I don't−"

"Jenna, you−"

A blinding pain hit him, piercing his brain. He knew what it was. He'd felt it before. The witch. Mumbling Latin, she grabbed the drawing from him. She'd had enough. But he hadn't.

Grinding his teeth against the pain, he grabbed Jenna's shoulders and forced her eyes on his, his pupil dilating.

"Jenna, remember that night, please. It was dark, yes?"

She nodded. The compulsion was working, even though his brain felt like it was about to explode. But he had to focus, he had to hold on a little while longer.

"It was raining," she said, her voice low. "Elena was on the phone. She was calling you."

Damon nodded, feeling the witch put some more power into her spell. He had to hurry.

"And then what, Jenna?" he asked, black spots popping up in front of his eyes. "What happened?"

Jenna blinked wildly, freeing herself from the compulsion and then she said something that finally made Bonnie release him.

"There was a man," she said confused. "In the middle of the road. He made us crash."

Damon felt like his entire being was suddenly jumpstarted back into action. Cursing under his breath, he snatched the drawing out of Bonnie's fingers and stared at the face he knew all too well. Why hadn't he listened to her? He could've prevented all of this if he'd just listened!

"Don't bury her!" he snarled, pushing past them.

"What? Why the hell not, Damon?" Bonnie yelled after him.

"Because," he screamed, kicking the door open. "She's not dead!"

Sorry, it took me a while to finish this! It was just very hard to write! What did you think? Let me know, please! I looovvveee your comments!

X LustAndLove