This story is over. I feel so sad. This has spanned so many months, and now that it's done, SE is over, and DE has a real chance. If you'd told me when I started this that all this would be happening by November, I wouldn't have believed you. This story and this show has been a Hell of a ride, and I cannot thank enough all the people who've gone along with me. The reviewers whose words have touched me, and the friends who've supported me, are more than I ever could have asked for. Thanks as always to the people who reviewed last chapter and to my fantastic beta Cher Sue, who despite what she thinks, did help me with this chapter, even if she doesn't remember it. So anyways, one last time for this story, I hope you all enjoy.
Historically speaking, vampirism has received a fairly nasty reputation. In nearly every culture around the world, it's seen as a curse, a scourge on mankind. The idea of a tortured existence consumed by an unshakeable addiction paints a bleak and depressing picture for the future. So it's no wonder that I once believed death preferable to such a fate. The reality of eternity, however, was something else entirely; at least it was for me. Over fifty years, I've carried the badge of 'monster' across my chest. I've worn it proudly, no longer bound by the shame of my left over human ideals.
In my half century as a creature of darkness, I've seen mankind's own capacity for evil far surpass my own. I've seen the so called morally 'superior' species pillage their planet, murder the innocent, and allow the corrupt to decide their tragic fates. After watching a lifetime's worth of human atrocities, I finally accept the term 'monster' as entirely relative. We're no more or less flawed than the 'innocent' souls whose blood fuels our existence. Our struggles and triumphs are not so dissimilar from their own. What defines us all is the struggle between our best and our worst selves, a struggle I still face every day.
But I am finally certain, that I don't have to choose between my conscience and my vampiric instincts. I can dabble in the darkness at night, and still hold onto the part of myself that makes me human, my compassion, my ability to love. That is what grounds me when the world of right and wrong falls away. My connection to Damon, to Jeremy, and to all my friends who survived our myriad of supernatural dangers, remind me of who I was and still love me for who I've become.
None of this is meant to suggest that it has been easy, because I left easy behind sometime between dead parents and vampire love triangle. You throw two willful, passionate people together in a relationship, and it is bound to produce some pretty explosive results. My fiery temper for instance, which was moderated by my human sensibilities, at times has proven near uncontrollable as a vampire. And turns out, Damon can be just as much of a stubborn pain in the ass as he was before. And as he likes to remind me, I can be impossibly bull headed when I choose to dig my heels in. There is always that push and pull between us, the never-ending game of tug of war that defines our relationship more than words ever could. Honestly, what's most surprising about my decades long relationship with Damon is how little has truly changed from when we were, friends, enemies, partners in crime, or whatever you want to call the once delicate term of 'us'. Everything is the same as before, except now we seal our reconciliations with makeup sex instead of awkward apologies, a welcome relationship perk in my opinion. And the most pleasing transformation is that Damon's smile comes a little easier every day.
After more than fifty years together, Damon is finally able to admit his stuffed hippo, with yellow skin, and girly pink pajamas, is still the best present he's ever gotten. It's one of the few keepsakes that have survived our many travels, a feat not easily achieved I assure you. Keeping Po spotless and in one piece has been more difficult than fighting my blood lust. Just try imagining keeping a stuffed animal clean in the outback of Australia. The dry cleaning bills alone were highway robbery, but it was worth every penny to remove the Tasmanian Devil's blood from behind Po's ears.
I was of course unjustly accused of the horrific crime of sullying Damon's beloved hippo, but I maintain my innocence, and more than once I've tried to apply the he who smelt it dealt it philosophy to this situation, but Damon seemed unamused for some reason. The whole debacle started after we checked into our hotel in Australia on our first couple's trip out of Mystic Falls, and Damon was chomping at the bit to teach me his prized animal heart ripping trick. The glint of excitement in his eyes was akin to Caroline's enthusiasm over her first tutorial in proper makeup application.
The first snafu came in the form of a public notice warning against the poaching and/or hunting of Tasmanian Devils, seeing as how Damon conveniently forgot to mention they were an endangered species, and protected under Australian law. I was all ready to pull the plug on our outdoor adventure when Damon suggested we just find an old sickly one. That way it wasn't hunting, it was simply helping nature take its proper course; although Damon insisted my tree hugger approved method would be way less fun.
After a lively debate on the merits of thinning the herd, I finally agreed to Damon's 'humane' compromise. We found a group of three Devils fairly quickly, feasting happily on the corpse of a young wombat. My reservations about killing an animal the size of puppy disappeared once I saw the creatures ravenously tearing apart their fellow marsupial. I spotted the weak one first. It inched along slowly with what appeared to be a painful limp. I convinced myself this would be a mercy killing. Surely an injured animal wouldn't survive much longer in the wild of the outback. I'd give the creature a good clean death, one befitting the Devil's gruesome reputation. After provoking the animal with a few gently thrown stones against its hide, the animal took notice of us from behind the brush and began to charge.
Damon whispered last minute instructions in my ear. He advised me to crouch down but plant my feet firmly and concentrate on the sound of the heartbeat. His suggestion reminded me of my father educating me about the fundamentals of softball and him teaching me to always keep my eye on the ball. At Damon's urging, my focus zeroed in on the thumping of the beast's heartbeat. The charge started, and it was a flurry of activity all at once. My opened palm slid past the rough skin of the Devil until I held its heart in my now clenched fist. As it gave its last squeal, I ripped the vital organ from its body, as it collapsed in a heap. Damon gave a rousing cheer of success, and as I got caught up in the celebration, I began jumping up and down like a small child rejoicing over learning how to ride a bike for the first time.
Damon of course took my victory moment to make an inappropriate comment on the rise of my level of hotness after holding a once beating heart in my hand. I smiled despite myself until I glanced down at the pitifully broken soul lying at my feet. It might have been a carnivorous animal, but so was I, and even if my 'hunting' exercise only hastened his demise, I wouldn't have been me if I didn't experience guilt along with exhilaration at what I had accomplished. Damon picked up on the telltale signs of guilt invading my psyche and in a flash he sped back to the car, returning with only a shovel tossed over his shoulder and a sympathetic nod of understanding. "I thought we might need this," Damon acknowledged as he handed over the tool I would use to dig another grave. It was my rule, and Damon knew it well, whatever or whomever I killed, whether it be a vampire, human, or hybrid, I resolved to bury it with dignity. While I never thought my overactive sense of remorse would extend to predatory animals, I knew that I needed to bury the Devil, because I couldn't bear the thought of it being picked apart by scavengers.
After all the dirt digging and burial duties were completed, Damon wrapped a protective arm around my waist and whispered against my hair, "Never forget that you are a warrior, a fighter, and all around bad ass vampire, with a greater heart than any I've ever seen before." I wiped away the stray tear and beamed proudly at his loving praise. With affirmation like that, it's little wonder why I had my dirty little way with him before I even had time to clean the blood and packed on soil staining my clothes. Damon swore the sight of me all bloodied and sweaty in the cargo pants and tank top combo he imagined was almost as sexy as when he took it all off. Needless to say, when you have and incorrigible and ridiculously attractive boyfriend who has vampire stamina backing up his sex appeal, it is difficult to think of anything else. That's why when his lips attacked mine upon our return to our hotel room, my mind wasn't exactly functioning at a reasonably intelligent level.
Damon pushed me back against the bed until gravity pulled me down against the plush comforter and Damon did some pre-sex eye fucking. I grew overheated, and in my attempt to clear the area, I threw Po carelessly off to the side. If stuffed animals really were alive like on Toy Story, I think Po could write a new version of the Kama Sutra based off Damon and I's passionate encounters, but I still felt super creepy having sex with Po's innocent looking eyes staring at us. It was a mere accident that the left over blood from my hand transferred to Po's right ear, but the second Damon spotted the blood, he tensed above me, halting all exploration of my body.
"What?" I asked in confusion, worried about his furrowed brow.
"She's dirty," Damon stated, with an alarming level of concern. Not realizing that he was talking about his one and only stuffed animal, I started scanning the room for the mysterious woman whom Damon apparently believed was in need of a bath. After finding no one, and failing to detect the presence of a human heartbeat, I raised my arms up in confusion.
"Who's dirty?" I questioned in bewilderment. Damon rolled his eyes and moved off me, apparently forgetting all about the sex we were about to have. He picked up his fallen stuffed animal, and raised her up for me to see.
"There's a blood stain behind her right ear," he complained, as he pointed in anger at the nearly undetectable drop of blood.
Perhaps unwisely, I responded, "So?" Not seeing the big deal in one tiny spot that only a vampire could even see.
"SO," he repeated loudly. His voice booming in the hotel room as I witnessed his truly monumental melt down. "Do you know how quickly it takes for a stain to set? We need to go out buy some mild detergent and prewash her ear before that happens. Then we need to find the nearest dry cleaner and see if they can do a rush job." Damon outlined his strategy with the same level of concentration and meticulous preparation as he does with rescue missions or battle plans.
"Seriously?" I asked rhetorically in a state of frustration. "You want to get all clean freaky on me now, while I'm seconds away from being naked in your bed?"
Damon stared back, as if confused by the question, and moved right along with his descent into OCD insanity. "I have centuries to have sex with you, Elena. Po's ear is dirty now, so grab your clothes and let's go," he ordered with finality. Despite my huff of aggravation at being denied for the first time, I followed my crazy boyfriend to every dry cleaners in a five mile radius until he found one that met his impeccable standards. Long story short, Po's ear was pristine and immaculate after Damon ordered her to be washed for the third time.
However much to Damon's chagrin, this was certainly not the last time Po's hygiene would be in serious jeopardy. Her greatest threat in the past half century came in the form of a two year old, Jeremy and Bonnie's two year old to be precise. It happened on one of our frequent visits back to Mystic Falls. With all the time spent traveling and setting up roots in new bustling cities where Damon and I's agelessness could go unnoticed, I had nearly forgotten how much had changed in the ten years since I'd become a vampire. As you might have guessed, Bonnie and Jeremy got married, and no one was remotely surprised when it was announced. After a series of nowhere relationships that always brought them back to their on again off again status as 'fun buddies,' they finally admitted that they still loved each other and wanted to give themselves another chance to make it work.
Without the threat of ghostly ex-girlfriend interference, they were surprisingly happy. It certainly didn't hurt that Caroline was on speed dial for any and all couple's crises. My best friend liked to brag that both Bonnie and I would've killed our beloved soul mates if it wasn't for her excellent advice. Turns out, Caroline does in fact do everything better than the rest of us, including relationships. Stefan hasn't been seen without a smile since they finally professed their undying love for each other all those decades ago. I would've thought the sight of them together would have brought up some residual jealousy or a hint of awkwardness, but staring at those two laughing and teasing with each other, I couldn't help sensing the rightness of their love. They were friends, who grounded one another, and had fun together, and somehow in all our craziness and heartbreak, found a way to love each other. The Christmases and Thanksgivings spent together in our own version of abnormal normalcy only confirmed my suspicion that everything was as it should be.
We had all existed in relative harmony until the Christmas when little Emma was nearly four and baby J.J. was not yet two. The cute pint sized munchkins had become my favorite part of coming home for visits. After Bonnie had given birth to Emma, she had named me and Caroline as Co-Godmothers, and the boys became Co-Godfathers seeing as how we sort of came as a package deal. We begrudgingly shared our Godmother duties with April Young while Caroline and I were off traveling, and avoiding being spotted by any leftover members of the council. After a decade of forced socialization with the opinionated brunette, I had finally come to at least respect April and her strong friendship with Damon. I had little choice after her inclusion in our little club became even more permanent once she revealed that she had been secretly seeing Donnie since her senior year. Apparently Donnie was worried about the judgments from the town members about a 22 year old dating an 18 year old who was still in high school. After he found out that I was involved with a man roughly a century and a half older than me, he felt much less like a cradle robber, and they gladly broadcast their relationship.
No one was more thrilled by this revelation than Damon himself. He now had time to tease Donnie during every Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter celebration. Always wary of Damon's surprise attempts at bonding, he liked to maintain a good 8 foot bubble away from Damon, who loved pushing his buttons by picking him off the floor in a crushing hug twice a year. Unsurprisingly, Donnie convinced April to bail on the festivities early each year before Damon got really drunk and started to come onto him for fun.
As funny as Damon and Donnie's bizarre bromance was to watch, I spent most of my time playing with, what I'm convinced are the cutest babies ever created. The tea parties with Emma and the games of chase with J.J. were some of the most rewarding moments of my existence, and Damon seemed to agree, because as much as he hated the idea of anyone seeing him as a big softie, he still ended up in the playroom with the kids most nights. He gave Emma her first teddy bear after she came home from the hospital. I'm convinced he did it as a way to buy her love, so that once she got older and inherited her family's penchant for witchcraft that she wouldn't fry his brain. But Damon's true favorite was J.J. Days after we'd leave home from a visit, Damon would brag to all the people that we met how strong J.J.'s grip was and how he was going to grow up to be a football star, only smarter and cooler. He even carried pictures in his wallet of his favorite nephew. I kept having to remind him that J.J. was his only nephew, but he saw that as irrelevant.
Given his strong attachment to the boy, I'm not surprised he introduced him to Po, since what else are a grown man and a two year old going to bond over except stuffed toys? His only mistake was leaving the two year old alone with his cherished hippo. It all happened in three minutes as Damon was running downstairs to fetch J.J. a snack, and he got distracted dirty flirting with me. Apparently when he returned, the guilty looking toddler had slobbered all over Po's head, leaving a trail of drool from her ears to her snout. Horrified, Damon snatched Po from J.J.'s clutches only to have the toddler burst into tears at the loss of his new favorite toy. Damon tried everything, he offered the boy all the presents and stuffed hippos he could ever want if he just let his Uncle Damon have this one, but the boy inherited the Gilbert stubbornness, and he wasn't to be trifled with.
Luckily this gathering was being held at the boardinghouse, since it had enough room to house a large dinner party for special occasions, so Damon had no end of trinkets to offer his distraught nephew. When he had exhausted all other options, Damon sped into his brother's room and picked up the first kid friendly thing he could find. Unfortunately for Stefan, that was his prized guitar that was personally given to him by Jon Bon Jovi. He placed the instrument in front of the curious young boy, and J.J. started tapping the strings with glee at the pleasant sounds they produced.
Damon's plan worked for all of six minutes until J.J. became too overzealous with his guitar playing and he tried jumping on the guitar to see if it would work using his feet instead of his fingers. Predictably, J.J.'s foot went through the now ruined guitar, and that's when Damon raced down to me in a panic, looking conspiratorially around for any eavesdroppers. "You have to help me with a cover up," he whispered in paranoia.
I whispered right back with a tone of mockery. "Did you uncover a secret government conspiracy? Do we have to go on the run? Because I know what you're thinking, and Bonnie will not let you take J.J. with us," I teased mercilessly. Damon glared back, finding my ill-timed humor terribly unfunny. I finally took pity on him and asked what the major emergency was.
After explaining his rather poor judgment and the disastrous results, I helped Damon dispose of the remains of Stefan's cherished possession and we both confirmed with each other our stories if Stefan ever asked. Sure enough, six hours later, when Stefan wanted to play a Christmas tune for Caroline and he questioned us about its disappearance, Damon and I had perfected our unwavering denial. Stefan didn't need any advanced intuition to realize that one of us had clearly, lost, broken, or stolen it, but he never could prove which one, and he never questioned why Damon had to visit the dry cleaners on Christmas Eve.
Po's unsanitary misfortunes aside, life was as close to perfect as anyone could ever hope for. These moments spent with friends and family, in a house filled with love, were the greatest memories that I've created in all my years. That's why Damon didn't understand at first why I started to cry one day in the nursery as I was dressing J.J. for a play date. As I looked back at him, he was wreaking of guilt and shame, as if he was the sole cause of my tears.
"I'm so sorry," Damon declared as I locked eyes with him. My eyebrows knit together in confusion at his apology.
"What for?" I questioned him, worried at the unwarranted display of remorse.
As he takes a seat on the floor next to me and J.J., he grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. "Being here must be so hard for you," he reflected solemnly. "As much as we love J.J. and Emma, they're not ours. All they do is remind you of what I can never give to you, of what I took from you," Damon surmised, regretfully. His face was pained, tortured, as he stared at me in sorrow. "I never was one for regrets. What's past is past and dwelling on mistakes I find to be both time consuming and pointless. But if there was ever a regret worth punishing myself over, it would be depriving you of a chance to be a mother, because you sacrificed yourself for me."
In the ten years since I sliced that utility knife through my carotid artery, I'd never given it a second thought. Damon was alive, and so was I, so everything else seemed unimportant. I had missed so many signs that the guilt of that night still plagued Damon. I placed J.J. in the playpen and sat back down in front of broken looking man sitting before me. I cupped his face in my hands as I spoke truthfully and sincerely to the man whom I had happily shared this wonderful life with over the past decade, and I opened up about something we had never talked about.
"I wasn't crying because I regret giving up my humanity to save you," I vowed resolutely. "I was crying because as much as we love these beautiful children, one day they're going to grow up. They're going to grow old, and then they're going to die. Bonnie, Jeremy, Matt, and all their children will one day die too, and I'll have to stand at every casket to say goodbye. I have never once wavered in my belief that an eternity with you is worth the sacrifices, but that doesn't mean that the price of our existence hurts any less."
A wave of understanding consumed Damon in an instant, and he placed a tender kiss on my forehead as he held me against his chest. "Yes they will," he finally admitted, adding a few extra tears to the ones currently falling down my cheeks. "You'll attend too many funerals in the lifetimes we have together. I don't want to lie to you, or sugar coat this, because it will hurt like Hell, and they're lying when they say it gets easier, because it doesn't. You just get better at masking the pain." So to summarize, Damon should never take a job as a motivational speaker.
Upon hearing Damon's cheery outlook for my future, I questioned why this depressing chat was necessary when I was already fighting back tears. "Nice pep talk," I chimed in sarcastically. "Might be a tad heavy on the doom and gloom, but I love you for the effort," I offered encouragingly, since I was sure Damon was truly trying his best.
"That wasn't the end of the speech," he defended, shocked at my lack of faith in his cheering up skills. "What I was going to say is that there is an upside," he promised optimistically. "You will see so much death, but you will also witness so much life. J.J. and Emma will grow up, and they'll have children of their own, and then their children will have children. You'll witness generations of baby Gilberts living their lives, falling in love, and experiencing more than any mere human could ever hope for. Being a vampire is living through life's greatest and worst moments in brilliant color, while the rest of the world is stuck with a dull grey." He pushed back my hair, and wiped away my tears as he placed a lingering kiss on my lips, leaving me wanting more. Prying our mouths apart, Damon imparted one last bit of wisdom that brought a smile back to my face and a light back to my eyes. "And for whatever it's worth, our life together makes all those bad moments worth it, at least for me," Damon confessed openly.
I intertwined our fingers in an unbreakable bond and replied, "Me too." After seeing the doubt behind his façade, I added, "Dying for you was and will always be the best choice I ever made." Sadly, the stolen moment of love and promises was broken by the sounds of the wailing toddler who was feeling neglected during the all-important soul searching. Damon picked up J.J. into his arms and carried him down the stairs to rejoin our bizarre group we called a family.
In the forty years following that Christmas, life regained a sense of normalcy, at least as normal as a vampire's life ever becomes. Damon and I settled in Chicago for a while, and on one of his many birthdays, that he tried to convince me we didn't need to celebrate, I brought him an antique piano for our living room. At first he only played it because of the memories that it brought him of his mother, and then he played it to make me smile, but after a few years, he recaptured his love of the music, and finally started to do something for himself.
After decades of fun filled adventures and travels, I craved a sense of productivity once more, so I turned to my old, forgotten passion of writing. Initially, it was just freelance stuff, mostly for blogs and online news sites. But after so many years of inspiration, I finally had the courage to pen my first novel. I knew I could never publish it under my own name, since any media scrutiny would dig up some rather difficult to answer questions about my past, and my flawless upkeep of my teenage appearance for a 68 year old woman.
But even if it couldn't be my name on the cover, I wanted it to be published. Because as someone who's lived almost the entire span of a human lifetime, I have too much to say to remain silent any longer.
After weeks locked away in my home office, furiously typing away on my computer, Damon sneaks in to see what I've been working on, because apparently the curiosity is eating him alive. He cozies up to me and starts nibbling on my ear, as he distracts me mid-sentence. "What's our rule about interrupting me while I'm working?" I breathlessly ask him, not truly that upset by the disruption.
"Don't do it," Damon repeats in annoyance at my pesky rules that keep me from amusing him whenever he wants. "Well will you at least tell me what you're working on? We have 8,000 channels, and I swear nothing good is on."
I roll my eyes at his eight year old attention span. "If you insist," I relent. "I'm writing a love story," I explain, as I turn my laptop over to his watchful gaze.
"An epic love story," Damon remarks skeptically, not typically one for reading the sappy stuff, and usually making fun of me for my literary tastes. "So what are you rewriting a modern take on Romeo Juliet?" He tosses out, since I know his distaste for the lack of originality in modern entertainment.
"Nope, this love story is much better than that," I assure him confidently.
"Really, you think you can outdo a classic Miss Gilbert? Someone has developed a writer's superiority complex," he mocks playfully with that evil teasing glint in his eyes.
"I can top the classics, because I'm writing a true love story." Damon regards me curiously as he tries to piece together what I'm saying. "I'm writing our love story," I tell him affectionately, with a proud smile on my face.
He is taken aback for a second, as he digests the news. I then add in a little humor by mentioning, "I just had to take out all the vampires, werewolves, and all the supernatural stuff, so as not to rouse suspicion."
He chuckles at my attempt at humor; even he admits I've gotten funnier over the years. "So basically you've spent weeks writing a story that could fill a pamphlet?" He pokes fun happily. "What's left if you take out all the danger, near death experiences, and monsters?"
"Us," I answer simply, "And that's more than enough for a truly beautiful story." He kisses me a few times in appreciation for my lovey dovey sentiment, and leaves me to my work. After weeks and weeks of tireless writing, the story was almost completed. All it lacked was an ending. I stayed up nights, distracted myself with outside excursions, but I couldn't find a fitting tribute to conclude Damon and I's story.
It wasn't until our fiftieth anniversary that the inspiration came flying back. Damon bought me a gorgeous, white gold ring with diamonds accentuating the beautiful band. It was meant to celebrate our golden anniversary, and he had an engraving on the inside with the simple words you're my always carved into the metal. After a refreshing evening of fine wine, good food, and more spectacular sex than anyone celebrating their fiftieth has ever had before, I am awake and ready to finish my novel. I hunker down at my computer and write the final words to my months' long project, decades in the making. All I write are three sentences, nothing complex or convoluted, just a simple truth that I've learned over the years.
True love stories have no end. They extend on forever in all directions, more powerful than death, more powerful than time, and more powerful than the forces that seek to separate them. This story can never have an end, only the start of new beginnings.
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