It was ten minutes to curtain and Elena felt like crying. She didn't want to be there. She didn't want to be anywhere. She thought of the opium rock sitting inside of her coat pocket and it was the only thing to comfort her. The theatre was awash with Jablachkoff candles cleverly tucked inside of red filtered glass to give off a seductive glow. The patron chairs about the room were plush and covered in thick velvet. The chandeliers also shone red, bleeding its light across the room. Elena thought of Damon briefly before pushing him from her thoughts. Elena shrugged off her coat and decided that tonight she would smoke. She would forget everything. She would drift in a river without a care in the world. Elena reapplied her rouge and lipstick and puckered her lips to the mirror. She stared at herself. She was once a Princess and now dancing a fine line to becoming a whore. Her eyes were vacant, tired. She was tired.
Elena caught Jules in her reflection and saw her making her way towards her. She swore quietly and took a deep breath and she turned towards her.
"You must think you are the most clever trick in town."
"Excuse me?" Elena's brow furrowed slightly.
"You come into my club and in one day you are suddenly top billing on our most busy night," Jules laughed hard, cruelly. "Monsieur Oller must find you very talented behind closed doors."
Elena's mouth fell open.
"That's vile."
Jules shrugged nonchalantly and looked about the room.
"Do you think you are better than us," She waved her arm towards the other dancers.
A hush had fallen in the dressing room with all eyes on them. Elena was filled with rage, embarassment.
"No," Elena chose her words carefully. "I don't think I am better than anyone. I'm just here to provide for myself. I'm not here for anything else."
"Yes, all the while stealing stage time from girls that have been here for years. Girls that have worked hard to get where they are."
"Jules, that wasn't my intention."
Jules yanked softly at the strap of her top.
"Even dressed in Oller's hand-picked costume, eh?"
Elena looked down at herself, her breasts spilling out of the bodice of her outfit. She said nothing.
"You may be able to fool Oller and fool some of the drunken patrons. But you don't fool me. There is something not right about you. You appear from out of thin air and land on our doorstep. And suddenly you are the main attraction. No, no. I'm watching you, girl. I am watching you."
Jules appraised Elena once again with a scathing look.
"What do you want me to do? I'm just dancing here-the same as you. If you have a problem, take it up with Joseph. Not with me."
Jules jaw was set, her eyes were blazing.
"You have a lovely night," She spat and turned on her heels.
Five minutes to curtain.
It was twilight in Paris. The air was perfumed from restaurants with their doors swung open, their windows pulled up—Parisian cuisine wafting through the air. It was a beautiful night with a cool breeze. Damon wandered around town hoping for a shred of a clue to lead him to Elena. He was slightly nauseated from the day's events, slightly defeated. He tried to channel is frustration into a positive way but hadn't made leeway. It was nearly midnight and other than that fleeting encounter with the Parisian man earlier in the day, he hadn't found anyone who had recognized Elena. He needed a drink, but he also needed a clear head. In the distance he saw the slow turning of the windmill of the Moulin Rouge. He recalled, distractedly, how he had been to the establishment on several occasions and hadn't minded the show—or the subsequent meals. Damon sighed and turned away, the windmill disappearing slowly behind him on the horizon.
His hope, once bright as the sun, had begun to dim to the intensity of a dull moon.
Two minutes to curtain.
Elena rung her hands together and peeked through the curtains at the crowd. The occupancy was nearly at capacity. It was a Friday night and according to Monsieur Oller, one of the busiest nights of the week. The lights were dim, red. Smoke mingled heavily in the air. Glasses were tinkering and voices were filled with a kind of lusty easiness. Elena reached for a glass of bourbon that had been poured for her. Its scent was overpowering and flooded her nostrils before she had even put the glass to her lips. She held her breath and took generous gulps. It burned its way down her throat, leaving heavy warmth in her belly.
One minute to curtain.
Elena could feel Jules' eyes burning into the back of her head. She had left Elena feeling slightly uneasy. She had nothing to prove to Jules, she knew that. She wasn't trying to make enemies and yet negativity seemed to be a dark cloud over her wherever she was to go. She fingered with the gold charms at her hemline and said a quick prayer for the evening to go smoothly and quickly. Her mind focused on opium for a moment. Tonight would make all of her worries would fade away. It was the only thing worth looking forward to.
The curtain closed and the last act had vacated the stage. Elena was ushered forward by a stagehand and she made her way across the stage. Her mind was humming now from the bourbon and she shook her hands almost violently, as if pushing the negativity outward from her fingertips. She exhaled lightly and rolled her shoulders, making her limbs loose and closed her eyes. Offenbach's "Orphée aux enfers" (Orpheus in the Underworld) began to play. A barage of instruments came together with gusto as the red velvet curtains were pulled apart, showcasing Elena standing front and center…
Elena opened her eyes and in that instant, her heart swelled and contracted in her breast. The breath in her lungs escaped her as she stood and stared down the theatre as a man slowly stood from his table—his eyes on her and her alone.
The crowd murmured appreciatively, mesmerized by the beautiful vision in front of them—a goddess among men.
The music began to swell but she did not move and instead was frozen in her spot.
Damon stood slowly, awash in red lights, not quite believing what he was seeing. His eyes dilated and he found himself afraid to blink. There she was. After everything—there she was. Just like that.
The crowd hushed, their eyes scanning from the beautiful dancer to the man standing in the crowd. The music slowed until there was only a lone viola playing until it then, too, came to an aching stop. An uncomfortable cough was heard in the distance and the curtains began to close.
Only then did Damon take a giant step forward. Elena's eyes were wide, her hand suddenly clutching over her heart before she was hidden behind layers of velvet. The buzzing whispers of the dancers were inaudible to her. As soon as Damon's startling face disappeared from her view, she snapped back into a shaking reality. She kicked off her heels and rushed backstage, passed surprised dancers and crew. She could scarcely think. He was here! He found her! Her heart was beating a mile a minute and she shook and she threw her belongings into a bag and slid on her coat. She ignored Jules who, with a pleased smile, was watching her as she whispered with her cohorts. Why she was running away, she didn't know. Perhaps it was out of fear or something greater—elation at seeing him. Elena slid on a pair of slippers and rushed out of the Moulin Rouge and exited via a side door that led into an alley way.
She didn't have time to breathe, to think, to react. She was pinned into the plaster wall of the club almost immediately. Her breath in took sharply and even before her eyes had a chance to adjust to the darkness, she knew it was Damon.
His fingers dug into her skin almost painfully and his forehead was pressed against hers. The only sound was the muffled music coming out of the Moulin Rouge and Elena's uneven breathing. His grip tightened and Elena's hissed in sharply. Damon slammed her lightly back against the wall again, saying nothing. His hands slid up then, cupping either side of her jaw. He moved forward, his mouth hesitating above hers before descending again with imperceptible assuredness. His tongue was like ice, and hers—like fire. They melted together; Elena's resolve suddenly was dust as she clung to the lapels of Damon's jacket, pulling him into her. It was as if the time apart had disintegrated, as if they had always been in each other's arms—thirsting for the other's soul. Damon moved his arm to the wall, bracing himself and drinking her in with his gaze. This was real. This was her face he was looking into. This was her lips he had kissed. This was her waist that arm was wrapped around. She was shaking, her arms now wrapped around his neck.
"How," She managed to whisper. "How did you find me?"
Damon kissed her again, burying his tongue inside of her mouth. His hand slid through her hair and he pressed against her, enveloped her. He broke the kiss slowly, achingly.
"Isobel," Damon said slowly.
Elena watched as his shoulder sagged for a brief moment before he regained his composure.
"Isobel," He began again, "told me you were in Paris."
Elena blinked, thinking.
"Why...would she do that?"
"I made her," Damon's tone was distant.
"But-"
"I don't want to talk about her," Damon interjected softly. "All I care about right now is what is in front of me."
"Damon..."
"Don't you ever do this to me again."
There was a long silence between them.
"I thought," Elena paused, "I thought maybe I was doing the right thing for you..."
"It wasn't. Did you think I was just going to let you go? After all of that? After everything we've been through. Elena, I took you from Bulgaria to France. I've killed for you. Killed," He emphasized. "Do you think I do this for just any woman? You're not just a conquest for me. You're it for me. You're the one for me. I would do everything over exactly the same if it meant meeting you, finding you. Don't you understand?"
Elena said nothing, too dumbfounded-too moved by the intensity of her words. Damon reached for her hands and took them in his, squeezing them.
"Maybe I was too proud before," He said softly. "Maybe I just didn't want to think it was possible for a vampire to feel like this. But in my heart-my unbeating pathetic heart-I know. I know that I love you, Elena. I love you. And I want to spend all of my days with you, waking up with you, laughing with you, crying with you...just being with you."
Elena's mouth went dry and her eyes, now accustomed to the dark, flew up to Damon's.
"What," She whispered, "did you just say?"
"I said I love you," His voice was steady, strong.
Elena let out a shuddered sigh and her grip tightened around Damon's fingers.
"I love you too," She said, her voice raising slightly. "Damon, I love you."
Damon's arms surrounded her then. Kissing her lips, her jaw, her temple, her ear, her neck.
"Where are you staying," He asked with his lips against her shoulder.
"In a hotel a few blocks away..."
"Do you have any belongings we should get?"
"No," She said quickly, strongly. "No. I don't ever want to go back there again."
Damon gathered her in his arms.
"Hold on tight," He commanded.
Elena did as he said and soon they were airbourne, high above Paris, flying towards his hotel room.
So filled with joy, with relief was Elena that she had all but forgotten about the rock of opium in her jacket pocket.
