January, 1945
"Dear diary,
the dreams came back. All the relief I felt in the time they were gone turned into suffocating anxiety. I woke up in my bed, drenched in sweat, hazy and delirious. I feel like I lost time. Like I fell asleep and woke up in another century, in someone else's body, someone else's life. But when I look into the mirror, I recognize my reflection staring back at me, and when I walk into the kitchen I know that the woman standing in front of the stove is my mother. I am me, but I don't feel like myself, I feel like million other people rolled into one."
April, 1945
"..Frank dreams as well, but not like I do.
He dreams about his comrades, the ones who died on the battlefield, and he dreams about the bomb that almost took his life away. He can hear the violent sound of gunfire drumming in his ears during the day, but he says it gets louder in the still of the night.
My dreams never get violent, they're blissful. Sometimes I envy the people inside of my head. Sometimes I want to be them. Sometimes I am.."
September, 1945
"Dear diary,
Frank asked me to marry him today. I said yes. There's not a scenario in which I would say no. I carry his demons, and he carries mine."
September, 1945
"Dear diary,
I'm getting married tomorrow, on the last day of September. I dreamed about getting married, but not like other girls do. I didn't look like myself, and neither did Frank. My dress was outdated, like the one my mother wore, or maybe my mothers mother. But it felt right."
January, 1946
"Dear diary,
I was pregnant. I'm not anymore. I miscarried. I lost the baby I didn't even know I had. Granny Anne said it makes sense, her sister couldn't carry out a pregnancy either. I didn't know Granny Anne had a sister.
Her words infuriated me, even though I know she's ill and doesn't mean any harm, but nothing about losing a baby makes any sense."
A tiny beam of daylight coming through the small window on the roof tells me it's time to pick myself up and go downstairs. My eyes are closing by themselves, my eyelids as heavy as lead.
I'm sleepy. I'm tired. My limbs are numb, my lips dry, my skin covered with goosebumps. I'm sick to my stomach.
I look at the old wooden chest, still open, still full of journals I heaven't gone through. There were only as many hours of the night to go through three of them. Three journals full of life, full of fear, full of mystery. Three journals so unreal, so nerve wrecking, bordering with crazy. I would write them off as fiction if it weren't for my dreams, if words in them weren't so close to the words I would use to describe my life. My feelings, my state of mind.
Up until now, Danielle was a girl from my dreams. I could write her off as a figment of my imagination. Not anymore, not now when I've found out that she was, or is, a real person. Someone who aunt Helen obviously knows. Someone related to her, to me, to us.
I shake my head and stretch my limbs. I put the journals back in the chest, except the one I haven't finished reading, and I close the chest, leaving it just like I first found it.
This attic got too comfortable for my liking, so I decide to wake up my legs by jumping on them. I press the journal against my chest, keeping it close to me.
The house is so still, so quiet, so empty. Everyone are probably still in their beds, ready to wake up any minute now. I rush down the hall, and then down the stairs, before everyone decide to wake up and disrupt this peace.
Coffee. I need coffee. And a slap in the face with a dead fish.
"Elena, honey," I hear aunt Helen's sweet voice when I walk into the kitchen, chirping my name like a little blue bird from Cinderella. She studies my face, then moves her look to the journal I'm clutching in my hands. "Dear God, child," she raises the tone of her voice with a shocked expression on her face, "Did you get any sleep last night?"
Does it really show? Are my eyes red? Do I have dark circles under them?
I shake my head no. "Coffee," I murmur, like a man on deathbed, "I need coffee."
"Come, come," she urges me forward, inviting me towards herself with a slow motion of her hand. "I was just about to make some for myself."
I walk over to small kitchen table and sit down on a hard, wooden chair that, in this moment, seems like the most comfortable piece of furniture I've ever seen. She fills the coffee pot with water and turns on the stove.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" she breaks the silence.
"I didn't even know I was looking for it," I say, baffled by the words that come out of my mouth. I wasn't aware my brain is in the state to produce simple, four letter words, let alone coherent sentences.
She takes two cups of coffee out of the kitchen cabinet and chuckles. "In life, the most important things we find are the ones we didn't know we're looking for."
Gee, thanks Dumbledore.
"Who is Danielle?" I ask with a husky voice.
Aunt Helen reaches for the coffee jar. She unscrews it and the lid makes an to the ear uncomfortable clicking sound. She takes a tea spoon out of the drawer and puts two spoons of coffee in the each cup.
"She was my sister," she puts the emphasis on the word was.
"Your sister?" I ask, surprised by this discovery, even though my brain decides to remove any indication of it from my voice.
"Yes," she nods, dropping two sugar cubes in each cup. "My big sister."
It's weird to think of aunt Helen as of someone who has a big sister.
"Do you see her in your dreams?" she asks, throwing me off.
"I did. Once," I decide to be honest since she obviously knows what's going on. Maybe even better than me.
"When? How?" she asks curiously, obviously dying to know in which scenario I've seen her sister who's no longer in her life.
As I try to think of the best way to describe that dream, I realize that she's not curious, she's hungry for memories. She's collecting them, like some people collect postcards or stamps or coins. And like every other devoted collector, as time goes by she's running out of new discoveries.
"During the war. She was a nurse, and she was in the field."
She laughs. "I remember how horrified my mother was at the thought of her working. And then Danielle goes off and signs herself up for a war nurse! My mother was crying, and when she wasn't crying she was screaming that she raised a fool. I thought she was brave."
"She met Frank there," I point out, like she doesn't already know that.
"Yes, yes she did," she nods, and the boiling water starts whistling on the stove. "She patched him up, and when a woman fixes a man he really has no other choice than to fall in love with her. He was a lovely young man. Handsome as well. I remember when Danielle brought him home for the first time, all the girls in our neighborhood went green with envy! She was far prettier than all of them combined, though. You remind me of her, you know?" she mumbles. I can't keep up with her train of thought.
I swallow. "What happened to them?"
She pours hot water in the cups and fresh smell of coffee wakes up all of my senses. "I don't know," she exhales sadly. Tiredly. Like she asked herself that question few times too many.
She puts the hot cup of coffee in front of me and I reach for it, not even worrying about burning myself.
"They were in love. She loved him more than I've ever seen my sister love anything in her whole life, and he was completely taken with her. But after several months, they started acting strange. My mother thought it's because she had two miscarriages, but I knew there's something else. Until, one day, she came to me and told me everything. About how, for more than a year, she's been having these strange dreams of her past lives, how they're affecting her mentally, emotionally and physically. Frank started having them too."
Frank as well? Does that mean Stefan has them too? Or is going to have them?
"She said there's more, but than she can't tell me because I wouldn't understand. She gave me her diaries," she points her eyes towards the journal I'm still clutching with my free hand. "And told me to keep them, that to someone they might be of help someday. I have no idea how she knew, but she asked me not to show them to anybody until I'm sure I'm showing them to the right person. And she begged me to keep quiet, not to tell a word to anyone, including our parents."
"And did you?" I urge her to tell me.
"Never!" she shakes her head, almost insulted by that question. "Also, where would I even begin? I didn't even know that that day my sister was saying goodbye to me. Tomorrow, her and Frank were gone."
"Gone?" I gasp.
She nods with a sad expression on her face. "They left, and they didn't bring anything with them. No clothes, no money. The police filed them as missing, but they never solved their case. Our whole family was distraught, our parents especially. My mother wouldn't leave her room for weeks, until our youngest sister announced that she's expecting. She had a baby boy, your father. With that, everyone started slowly.. forgetting."
My grandparents died in a car crash few months after my birth. I guess aunt Helen has always been my supplement grandmother.
"And you?" I ask.
I can't imagine myself moving on from such a thing, or forgetting it as everyone else do.
"For me, it wasn't so easy to move on or let go. After all, I was the last one to see my sister alive and well, and I was leading an inner battle with my own demons - should I tell everything, or should I keep quiet like she asked me to? I chose the second option because I trusted my sister and my sense of loyalty was greater than anything else. Maybe that was my mistake, and maybe that was my sisters demise, and that's something I have to live with and ask myself every single day."
I guess now I understand why aunt Helen never married or had family of her own. I always wondered how come such kind, warm and lovely woman never found someone to share her life with. Now I know that she never found someone because she had something, and that something took up too much space.
"You never found out what happened to them?" I push one more time, curious to know is there one more secret that she's hiding.
"No," she shakes her head, the look in her eyes distant, "For a long time, I didn't even read those journals. Not until my Granny died. Few days before she died, she told me she can't wait to see where her sister went, that she can't wait to discover are they going to end up in the same place. I didn't even know she had a sister, so I didn't pay much attention to her words because she suffered from dementia. At least, not until she said that she thinks her sister went to the same place Danielle did. That's when I started reading Danielle's journals only to discover that Granny Anne gave Danielle all of her sisters journals as well. Apparently, the similar scenario happened in our family back then."
"And what was her sisters name?"
"Eliza," she says.
Eliza. Oh.
"By the look on your face I'm guessing you know her," she comments.
I snicker. "Only from my dreams."
"You know, I became obsessed with finding the right person and for a long, long time I thought that I never will. Until you were born. You started reminding me of my sister since you were a small child, so when you grew up into the spited image of her all I could feel was relief. And then terror, when I realized the same destiny awaits you. I'm so sorry, Elena.."
"I.. I'll figure out what's going on. I'll stop this, I'll stop it from happening, whatever it might be," I say, even though I don't sound too sure in myself.
"Of course," she nods, not too sure in me either. "But tell me dear, are you in the business of fixing someone yet? I guess you are, if the dreams already started."
In our situation, it's the other way around. Or maybe, it's mutual.
"Do you think I could take those journals with me?" I ask.
"Of course, dear. They're yours."
I take another sip of my coffee before my senses start falling asleep again.
"Thank you."
When my dad sees the old wooden chest he has to load into our truck, he grunts but doesn't ask many questions. Maybe that's why my mother feels free to take ownership over his portion of curiosity as well.
Where are you going to place it? What do you need it for? Why do you need it? Holiday cheer and too many muffins in my belly is what stops me from exploding at her in the middle of aunt Helen's driveway, where we're literally buried in the snow, so I reply wistfully - it has a personality, it has history, it's a perfect place to store books.
I take my phone out and send a picture of the knee deep snow to Stefan and, soon after, like he's been waiting for my message, my phone buzzes.
"Jealous! U coming home?"
"Yes! See you in few hours!" I type.
"Can't wait to see u ;)" he sends back.
That wink at the end of the sentence makes me bite my lip, thinking about how we left things before I went away. If Damon hadn't walked in, how far would we go?
We say goodbye to the rest of our family - most of these people we won't see until next Christmas - and when I hug aunt Helen goodbye, she whispers in my ear that if I ever need something, her doors are always open to me.
On our way back home, which is a two hour drive, I think about how I still don't have any answers to any of the questions that start with why. Like, why is this happening to me? Why did it happen to people before me?
What is the source of this evil and how do I stop it? Are we cursed?
Thinking about Stefan takes up the most of my time, though. I haven't seen him for almost a week and my lips are aching for his, and my skin is wailing for his touch.
Do I tell him about what I've discovered? Do I tell him everything? Do I burden him with my secrets?
I remember what Danielle wrote in one of her entries. "I carry his demons, and he carries mine."
I don't decide on should I tell him or not, but I do decide that, if I do tell him, it won't be today.
"Come over?" I send him a message once we're 15 minutes away from Mystic Falls.
"Already there" he responds, and I do my best not to squeal.
There's no trace of snow in Mystic Falls. Actually, there's barely any trace of winter in this town. You can barely see Christmas decorations on people's houses from the sunlight.
When my dad pulls in our driveway, I see Stefan sitting on the steps of our porch, playing with his phone, fumbling it between his fingers.
"Is that Stefan?" my mother asks, as if the answer to that question is not obvious. Of course it's Stefan. Who else would it be?
"Yup," I say, as I basically eject myself out of the car.
I approach him with a running step and when he sees me coming he stands up, making preparations for me to fall into his arms. I crash into his body, my limbs numb with anticipation, and I throw my arms around his neck, clinging on to him like I never want to let him go. And I don't. He puts his arms around my waist, his fingers sinking deep into my flesh.
I bury my face in his neck and murmur into his skin - "I've misses you so, so much."
"Same," he replies, his breath tangled in my hair.
"Stefan," my mothers tight voice interrupts us and pushes our bodies far, far away from one another. "It's lovely to see you. How were your holidays?" she asks with genuine interest.
"Fine, thank you for asking," he answers politely.
"Are you hungry? We have some leftovers.." she says before her thoughts drift off to the inside of our fridge, where limitless amount of Christmas leftovers reside.
"No, thank you, I ate," he smiles, and I wonder about what did he actually eat during the holidays. Was it anything remotely similar to Christmas food?
"Mom, we're leaving," I announce, tugging Stefan's arm.
"Leaving?" her eyes go wide, like I mean forever.
"Yeah. For a walk," I explain.
"But we just got back!" the alarm in her head goes off.
"Mom, we've been literally trapped inside of the same house for four days," I roll my eyes at her reaction.
"Miranda.." my dad says her name with a warning, from afar, and she pulls her lips into a long, tight, unsatisfied line.
"Fine," she exhales. "Go, go," she waves us off, like she's shooing us. My dad winks at me, and I smile.
She really doesn't have to tell me twice. I turn around on my heel and pull Stefan with me. He stumbles.
"How did you come here?" I inquire, once we're far away for her not to hear us.
"I walked."
I groan. "Now we really have to take a walk."
"Why, Miss. Gilbert, did you have something else in mind?" he asks, feigning shock. "I'm appalled."
I give him a look with my eyebrow already in the air. "Shut up."
On our way to his place, I tell him everything about how I've spent my Christmas. A lot of screaming cousins, curious relatives, too much food, too much snow. I don't complain, though, it would be rude to complain about something he would probably kill for to have. He tells me about the way he spent Christmas, with Damon and some of his friends who brought lots and lots of food, more than he ever imagined possible, and that puts me at ease.
Before we walk into his house, he tells me that Damon is not home. But then again, he wasn't home last time either.
Still, that doesn't stop me from basically straddling him once we get inside. I go straight for his lips which are waiting for me, luring me, inviting me in.
"Do you have any idea how much I've missed you?" I murmur between the kisses.
"Hmm," he puts his arms around me, pulling me closer to him. I have to stay on my toes for my face to be in line with his. "Pretty sure I do," he hums, "Because I've missed you just the same."
I smile before kissing him again, softly, tenderly, on the lips. My arms are around his neck, and his are around my waist, and we're holding on to each other for dear life. We move into the living room where we find the couch soon enough. He's the first one to fall, and I place my body on the top of his.
I took my coat off during our walk here. At aunt Helen's, if I went outside, I would freeze even if I had two sweaters and a coat on. Five minutes in Mystic Falls and I'm sweating. I can still feel little drops of sweat on my back under my fuzzy sweater. He, on the other hand, is dressed in the lightest hoodie the clothing industry has ever managed to produce.
"Do we have plans for New Year?" he asks while dragging his hands lower, lower, lower down my body.
"Umm," I put my palms against his chest - God, the material is so thin that I can basically feel his skin on the skin of my open palm - and place a kiss in the corner of his lips. "You actually want to go somewhere?"
"Yeah," he hitches the hem of my sweater up and his fingers crawl inside of it, tracing my spine. I feel tingly all over. "Why not?"
I smile while kissing his jaw. His bone structure is so amazing that it should be pronounced an 8th world miracle. Or at least get its own theme park. "Who are you and what have you done to my socially awkward boyfriend?"
He laughs, dragging the tips of his fingers across my stomach. "He learned how to compromise."
"Mm, I like that," I say, referring both to his words and his fingers on my skin.
"Damon is seeing someone. She sent pumpkin muffins. I didn't know people make pumpkin muffins but I'm thankful to her that she introduced them to me."
My stomach rumbles. "Pumpkin muffins sound so good right now."
"Want some?"
"Do you have to get up to get them?"
He laughs. "Yes."
"Can you take me with you?"
He tightens his hold on me and stands up with me in his arms, like I weigh nothing.
"Always," he responds.
AN: I really don't appreciate hostile reviews. You're not obligated to read this story if waiting for updates takes too long for you, or if you're unsatisfied out of any other reason. I update when I can. Unfortunately, I don't have time to do it as regularly as I did before since I have other obligations.
Enjoy!