Damon tried to be quiet, but he was crashing into walls, into chairs, into Giuseppe's giant desk in his home office. He got home from Elena's place and went straight to the garage apartment and drank every single drop of alcohol he had kept hidden from his father. But it still didn't erase the image of Elena's tear-stained face from his mind.

He thought he had it all planned out. He would tell her the truth, no sugar-coating, because she deserved that much. He didn't say it to hurt her. He didn't want to hurt her. He loved her. In his head, she would forgive him, tell him she understood that he didn't have it in him to hurt someone he cared about. And honestly, he did care about Rose. He just didn't love her. He loved Elena. Always had. If the roles were reversed and something happened to John, he would have spent the night with Elena. He probably would have spent the night with her anyway. He just wouldn't tell Rose about it. Rose didn't know he slept in Elena's bed. No one did. And maybe that was where I had messed up. Where his mistakes turned him into an asshole because in a way, Elena was his secret, hidden away from the eyes of his friends so they couldn't want her, have her. She was his. His secret pleasure. She didn't forgive him, obviously. She gave him her own truths, laid out her pain in detail so someone as stupid as him could understand. Then she slammed the door in his face and switched off the outside light, the light she always kept on for him. He should have expected it. But he didn't. And he stood outside her door, in the dark, and he knew it was over.

She told him, warned him, if he didn't show her he loved her, he would ruin everything.

I mess up, Elena. I make mistakes. I told you. I warned you, too.

"What the hell are you doing, son?"

Damon didn't bother turning to his father, too out of his mind to care. He kept going through his keys, one after the other, trying to find the one that would unlock Giuseppe's liquor cabinet so he could keep drinking the pain away, so he could drown in it, just enough to get her words, her face, her hurt, out of his mind. "I hurt her," he murmured, fumbling with the keys.

"Who?" Giuseppe said, his voice louder as he steps towards Damon. "Rose?"

"Elena. She hates me, and I hate me, and I can't get the hate out of me."

Giuseppe's hand grasped Damon's shoulder, pulled him back until he tipped over and landed on his ass. He wanted to cry, but he hadn't cried since Lillian died and he sure as hell wouldn't show his father, the strongest man he knew, how weak he was.

Giuseppe gently pried his fingers off his keys, found the right one, and a moment later, he was pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

"Sit," he said.

"I am sitting."

He sighed. "On the chair, son. Sit."

"I'm fine," Damon murmured, standing up, eyes on the office door because he and his father didn't drink together. They didn't even talk. Not like this. They made plans, set schedules. They didn't talk.

"Sit," Giuseppe said, and this time it was an order.

Damon took the seat on the other side of the desk, , and he was nervous, afraid of what his father was going to say because Giuseppe just caught his eighteen-year-old son trying to break into his liquor cabinet at two in the morning and he loved Elena. They all did.

Giuseppe stayed standing when he poured the brown liquid into both glasses, then slid one across the desk towards Damon. "Did you drive home like this?"

"No," Damon told him. "I have been drinking in the apartment."

"Good. This family has already experienced one death. We don't need another."

Damon said nothing.

"Damon," Giuseppe said. "What happened?"

Damon finally looked up at his father, across the desk, past his sleep pants, beyond his white t-shirt, and into his worried eyes. He didn't expect to see worry. Disappointment, anger, yes. But not worry. For seconds Giuseppe stood there, eyes on Damon and when Damon didn't speak, his shoulders dropped and he sat right into the chair opposite Damon. He sipped on his whiskey, their eyes locked.

"Where did you go earlier?"

"To see Elena."

"Where did you sleep last night?"

"At Rose's."

Giuseppe nodded, like he already knew where this was going.

Damon added, "After I went to see Elena."

Giuseppe put down his glass, then placed both elbows on the table and leaned in, waiting for Damon to continue.

Damon swallowed. Nervous. "I told her I loved her."

"Rose?"

Damon shook his head.

Giuseppe's teeth showed behind his smile, but it lasted only a second before his brow bunched and his lips pursed. "But you spent the night with Rose?"

Damon inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.

Giuseppe was shaking his head now, side to side, slowly, slowly. "What did you do, Damon?"

Damon told his father everything, everything, his knees bouncing the entire time because they didn't talk, and now they were talking, and he was giving his father reasons to hate him like Elena did.

"Maybe she will forgive you," Giuseppe said, as if it was that simple. "She always does."

"This is different, Dad."

"She's going through a lot right now, Damon. Her mother coming to see her—"

"You know about that?" Damon cut in.

Giuseppe nodded. "John told me today." He took a sip of his whiskey. "I told him we could arrange a loan if it meant getting Elena to University of Virginia."

Damon's chest tightened. "You would do that?"

"Elena is like a daughter to me, and your mother loved her. We all do." Giuseppe's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. Giuseppe was not an emotional man but any thought, any mention of his wife could bring him to his knees. "I wasn't sure how you would react to her mother being here, but my truck has a full tank in case you need it." He stood up and headed for the door, but he stopped beside Damon, his hand on his shoulder. "Give Elena time. You are a good friend to her, Damon, and maybe that's all you can be, even if it is from a distance."

x x x

Damon took his father's advice, gave Elena time, gave her space. He hated space, but he needed it, too, because everyone had noticed his deterioration. Stefan saw it, but he didn't ask. Mason asked, but he didn't tell. The worst, though, was Matt Donovan. He pushed him, on and on—physically, mentally.

Rumour says he had taken semester off the track team and going back to his old high school to help coach because of some family problems. So now he was here, every Monday and Friday, and Damon was his pet, his project, his punishment. Only Matt was the one doing the punishing.

Elena didn't take his calls.

Didn't respond to his texts.

Didn't answer the door.

Didn't even glance in his direction.

Not until September 25th , the anniversary of Lillian's death.

He and Stefan didn't go to school on September 25th. They visited her grave.

His heart ached when he saw the crocheted flower sitting on their doormat, a sign that Elena had been here, that she remembered. Of course, she remembered. She was not him.

The first year anniversary, the flower was yellow. The following year, it was orange. Every year since, it had been a different colour. This year, it was green.

Damon picked up the flower and placed it on the mantel, along with the others, right next to a framed picture of his mother. Then he went to his apartment, changed from his suit and tie and into his running gear and he ran. He ran the same route twice before he found himself at the crossroads. He paused. Looked left. Looked right.

468 steps.

Knock knock.

He didn't expect her to answer, but if she was in her room, he wanted her to hear the knock and he wanted her to know it was him. And he wanted her to know he appreciated her and that he was sorry. For everything.

Elena did answer, her eyes red. She had the same look on her face that she did the last time he was here. Only he didn't cause these tears.

"Thank you," he told her

"You are welcome," she said.

Then she closed the door, dividing the space between them.

Damon hated space.

The days passed, turned to weeks, his mind a fog with zero clarity.

It was 11:49 pm. He knew, because he had been clutching his phone, watching the minutes ticked down. In eleven minutes, he would be eighteen years old.

Every year since he and Elena owned cell phones, she would call at midnight, on the dot, and over exaggerated the singing of Happy Birthday.

Every year.

Midnight.

11:59, and his thumb hovered over the screen, waiting, hoping, praying.

At 12:01, Damon felt that he was dead inside.

x x x

"And the school had such high hopes for you," Matt said, sitting on the grass in front of Damon while he did his own set of cool downs.

Damon took the bait. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean the fall season starts in a couple of weeks, and you are not even close to your PB."

"I will be fine."

"But that's the thing," Matt said, switching positions. "You are not fine. Track is a lonely sport, dude, and only you can control your performance. If your head is a mess, it shows in every stride, every millisecond you are out there."

"It is true," Mason agreed, running a hand through his hair. "And it is worse for cross-country runners like me."

Matt nodded. "You want my advice, Salvatore?"

"Not even a little bit."

"You are wound up. Something is messing with your head and you need to get rid of it." He pointed to his left, towards the girls' track team. "Go and find your hot girlfriend. Rose, right?"

Damon shook his head, eyes narrowed at Matt. Matt knew he broke up with Rose the day after he tried to explain it all to Elena. The entire school knew.

Matt smirked. "Oh wait, you are not with her anymore, right? Maybe it is that chick from my college?"

Damon had made out with a girl when he visited University of Virginia to get away from this bullshit, and when she got him in her car, he couldn't go through with it. He lied, told his friends that he had screwed the girl. What was he going to say? That he almost puked at the idea of being with anyone other than Elena?

"Jillian, right?"

"Shut up."

Matt laughed and motioned towards the locker rooms. "Or does your problem have to do with her?"

Damon followed his gaze to Elena standing just outside the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, adjusting the straps of her backpack. She glanced up, then down again. He was on his feet before he had time to register why she was here, just glad she was. His heart pounded, thudded hard against his chest, and he quickened his steps, widen his strides until he was standing in front of her.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she said back.

"You, um…You waiting on me?"

"Actually…" She looked over his shoulder.

"Hey, Elena," Matt shouted. He waited until he was standing next to Damon before saying, "I need to hit the showers so I will be a few minutes."

"No problem," Elena said, and Damon's inside turned to stone.

Matt patted Damon on the shoulder before strutting down the tunnel because he was a dick, and she had moved on and it had only been a few weeks. Damon stared at her, his chest aching, while she stared down at the ground like her shoes were fascinating. "So you and Matt?" Damon choked on his name, poison on his tongue.

Elena looked up, her expression unreadable.

Do you even miss me, Elena?

"Your ex-girlfriend is coming. Does she know about Jillian?"

His shoulders tense, and he went still.

"Hey, Elena." Rose spitted. "Here to ruin another relationship?"

Elena's eyes narrowed at Rose. "No." She looked at Damon. "I'm here for Matt."

x x x

Damon had never lost his temper during Sunday breakfast. But two minutes ago he did. Stefan spilled his coffee on the table and he shouted at his brother.

The table went silent.

Now Giuseppe was looking at him like he had lost his mind. He had. Because this morning he went for his run and turned left at the crossroads. Matt's car was in her driveway. He could still feel the cold steel of her chain-link fence he used to hold himself up while he puked.

Stefan said, "What the hell, dude?" He narrowed his eyes. "Is this about Elena and Matt?"

"Stefan," Giuseppe warned. At least his father was on his side. He knew what Damon was going through.

"No!" Stefan thumped his fist on the table, and Damon's gaze snapped to him. "I'm sick of this. You have been moping around the house for weeks and it is bullshit. If you are pissed, be pissed, but don't be mad at her for finally seeing the light."

"Stefan" Giuseppe sighed, shaking his head. "That's enough."

But apparently, Stefan didn't think so. "She has had to sit around and watch you date girl after girl for a few years now. All these years she had kept her mouth shut, waiting for you to see her, and so she got sick of waiting! So what? She is too good for you anyway!"

"Why do you keep saying that?" Damon asked, his back straightened, his eyes on his brother.

"Because she is. You don't even know half the shit you have done to her because you are blind, Damon."

"Stefan, that is enough!" Giuseppe snapped.

Damon's jaw hardened. "You don't know what you are talking about."

"Oh yeah?" Stefan said, leaning forward, his eyes filled with rage. "When she was fifteen, she went through a jewellery-making phase. You remember that?"

"Yeah. So?"

"You remember when she set up a table at the craft market to sell them?"

He could vaguely remember.

"You don't remember because you weren't there. She sold three things that day. One to Dad and one each to Sarah and me. The worst part is that she told you about it, reminded you of it so many times, and you promised her you would be there. She had two chairs set up behind the table. One for her and one for you but you didn't show! You were here, in the lake, with Mason and a bunch of girls and you forgot about her. And she probably didn't tell you how badly you hurt her or that it even happened at all because that is who she is, and that is why she is too good for you."

Damon looked over at Giuseppe hoping his father would show some kind of sign that it wasn't true, that it never happened. Giuseppe nodded, but he didn't look at him. And Damon felt his heart sinking, anchored to the twisting knot in his gut.

Stefan stood, his fists balled. "Suck it up and quit being an asshole to everyone around you."

With that, Stefan left the kitchen.

"They are just friends," Giuseppe said.

"Stefan and Elena?"

Giuseppe shook his head. "Elena and Matt. John told me they are just friends. For now, anyway."

"I went to see her this morning when I was out on my run," Damon admitted. "His car was in the driveway."

"He comes home on weekends now that he is coaching over at the high school. He doesn't like Elena walking home from work late on Saturday nights, so he lends her his car. That's all it is."

Damon swallowed loudly, but the pain didn't fade.

"Eat up," Giuseppe said. "You got a long day of making it up to Stefan. Your brother worships you, Damon. Don't give him a reason to change that."

Damon forced a smile. "Maybe Stefan should worship someone better. Like Mason."

"Jesus Christ," Giuseppe mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Eat quick."

Thank you so much for the support and kind reviews. I'm really, really glad to know my readers enjoy this new DE story of mine. I know some of you are annoyed by Damon's actions. Well, he is 18. You know the transition period from adolescence to adulthood - you think you have grown up and know how to make a decision. But sometimes, you are still immature because you haven't seen the world yet. I believe sometimes one needs to fall down hard and learn it the hard way before knowing what is right for him or her.

Once again, thank you for everything:)