"You did what?!" I ask, and I'm half scolding her and half legitimately curious because my ability to understand and process the English language is questionable at the moment. What's more, I'm fairly certain she's trying to tell me something without actually saying it, because she's giving me wide eyes and raised brows as she admits something about 'helping her' under conspicuously hushed tones. But I have no fucking clue what she's trying to say. Hell, I'm lucky to even know where I am right now.

I just watched my former-best-friend-turned-psychotic-immortal-killing-machine wither up and die in my arms like an insect in a time-lapse documentary, and I'm pretty sure I caused a 4-car pile-up on the highway as I drove over here like a bat-out-of-hell in complete disregard of any and all traffic laws. Most importantly I'm still trying to convince myself that Elena can't possibly be …Fuck you, I'm not saying it… No. There's obviously some other mystical, magical, juju explanation for the way Alaric just spontaneously petrified in my arms not more than an hour ago—because I seriously have no capacity to imagine a reality where I can actually put the words 'dead' and 'Elena' into the same sentence as any sort of statement of fact.

Elena. You are not dead.

I see that look in her eyes though, and all the emotions pouring out of them speak the words that she couldn't manage—fear, uncertainty, regret, sorrow, sympathy, apology, guilt. I've got over 160 years in this world, many of which have been spent hunting, seducing, and eating other humans. I can read them like a book. This time it takes me a minute to comprehend what the fuck is happening in this waking nightmare I've been thrust into, but a minute is all it takes before I'm able to flip the cover open on this particular book standing in front of me. And this nightmare just got a whole hell of a lot more fucked up.

I'm not sure what happens next, to be quite honest. I'm not really paying attention to anything or anyone else, and the next thing I know, I'm throwing open a pair of double-doors so hard they crack the tiles on the adjoining walls. And then I'm frozen. My limbs stop working and my blood runs cold in my veins—as cold as she looks lying there on that metallic slab protruding from the far wall. Everything else goes blurry, small, and dark. And all I can see is her lifeless body lying there, still and silent as the grave. Her lips are purple and her skin is as pale as snow. Her hair is matted and damp, and her eyes are closed. She looks so damn peaceful, and still—eerily, morbidly—beautiful; but none of that is even an ounce of comfort to the most dreadful pain I've ever felt rip through my body.

I grasp the corner of the entry wall like I'm holding on for dear life because I feel like someone is ripping my intestines out through my windpipe with a meat hook right now. I literally can't feel my legs, and I have no idea how I'm still standing upright because I'm fairly certain the tiles of the wall under my hand are starting to crumble. It takes everything—and I mean everything—in me to begin to slowly stagger forward, because I still don't believe what my eyes are trying to tell me. I don't even acknowledge Stefan's presence where he's sitting on the other side of the slab she's lying upon as I approach her side. And my face is literally beginning to hurt from how contorted it must be right now.

Just as I approach her side, and right as I'm about to reach my hands out to touch her face, she jolts up gasping for air like she just resurfaced from being submerged under water for an entire minute too long. My eyes go wide—wider than they already were—and I'm pretty sure my slowly beating heart, or whatever is left of it, stopped working for a few seconds. I'm staring down at her like a slimy little alien just popped out of her chest, and Stefan is already on his knees beside the slab she's now sitting on, holding her hand in his own.

She looks to her hand where Stefan's touching her, then she turns to look up at me, and she looks just as scared and confused as I feel, and my heart breaks just a little more.

"What—," she starts but her voice hitches in her throat before she tries again, looking back at Stefan now. "What's going on? What happened?"

I can't decide whether to cry or jump for joy right now. I never saw this coming. Then I realize that's not a bad question. How the fuck did this happen?

I wish I had an explanation for her, I wish I could give her all the answers she wanted, but I was just as clueless as she was. I try to find my voice. I try to say something, anything—something comforting, something soothing, something sarcastic. Fuck me, I can't even form words right now. All I can do is reach out to touch her face, hesitating as I do because I'm afraid this isn't really happening and I've just been hallucinating ever since I slammed the doors open not just a few of minutes ago. My fingers finally make contact with the soft curve of her cheek and the remnants of my fractured heart immediately drop. It is real. She is real. And just like that, I'm basking in the warmth of the summer sun—a soothing heat flowing through me the moment my fingertips make contact with her skin, and she feels so fucking good. So alive. The feeling is so strong I don't even notice how cool her skin actually is. She's looking at me now with those big, doe eyes of hers that completely disarm me, her face etched with concern that seems to be softening to my touch as she gazes up at me, but the moment doesn't last.

"Elena…, " Stefan begins, all furrowed brows and solemn eyes, and just like that she turns away from me to look at him, and after a brief moment I do to. He better have some answers, because I'm already missing her eyes.

He's got both of his hands clasped around her hand now; his voice is unsteady and his eyes are glassy, and I don't know what the hell he's about to say, but whatever it is, it can't be good. I look between them for a moment, but she's got a dark curtain of damp, matted hair obscuring her face. As if on cue, she lofts a small hand to sweep her wet hair back behind her ear, and I'm silently praising whatever god exists now because I really needed that. I needed to see her face.

"You were with Matt, in his truck, on your way back to Mystic Falls."

"Klaus died. We were heading back because Alaric staked Klaus," she said with a raspy whisper and a subtle shake of her head, like she was remembering bits and pieces. Stefan nodded and averted his eyes from her, looking down to the floor for a brief moment. When he looked back up, his eyes were full of uncertainty and anguish.

"Rebekah… she knew Klaus was dead. She came after you to stop Alaric. Matt's truck went off the side of Wickery Bridge." Tears were falling down his face now and he was practically sobbing as he continued, "I tried, Elena. I tried to get to you as fast as I could. When I found you, you were both trapped in the truck at the bottom of the river."

Goddammit, Stefan. This is not the fucking time to blubber.

"Matt? Where's Matt? Is he alright?" Her free hand shot up to her mouth. Leave it to Elena to be concerned about the quarterback after she just woke up on a cold slab of death. I reach out to place my hand at the nape of her neck, my fingers trying to massage away her worry and tension. I really just needed to touch her. She turns her head to peer back at me, but she doesn't pull away.

I'm trying not to think about our last conversation on the phone.

I think Stefan was trying to smile, but it turned into more of a grimace. "He's fine Elena. He'll be just fine. But… He was unconscious under water. I tried to pull you out—"

"But I wouldn't let you. I made you get him first." She interjected mid-sentence, and Stefan just closed his eyes and nodded, a few more tears streaking down his face.

"Wait, what?" The words just came out of me even as I was trying to process what had been said so far. They both looked up at me now, and I don't even realize my hands are balled up into fists at my side.

"Damon—" Stefan began but Elena interrupted him again.

"But how am I here?"

"Meredith. That's what she meant," I answered, almost like I was thinking aloud to myself. I looked down to her, and a part of me already knew it, but I guess I just hadn't really let it hit me yet. "When you were here before, after you hit your head, she said she lied about how bad your injuries really were. She said she needed to help you." I paused for a moment because this next part is just now registering for me, even as the words leave my lips, "You're in transition, Elena."

I know it's fucked up, and I know it's not what she wanted, but I don't care. She's alive—well, alive enough—and that's all that matters to me. Better she be in transition than a corpse. I don't know what I'd do if she were truly dead—death and destruction of biblical proportions would surely ensue. I'm liking Meredith a lot more right now, but I still feel gutted when her glossy dark eyes drift down from mine and she mouths a silent 'oh' as my words sink in. I try to ignore that feeling of emptiness I'm left with as her eyes abandon mine again. Instead, I occupy myself with thoughts of exciting and innovative ways—all of which include some form of fire—to end that bitch, Barbieklaus. Oh yeah, she's fucking dead next time I see her.

"After I pulled Matt out of the water… when I came back for you, I was just too late. I wasn't fast enough."

I don't know how long it took, seemed like about a split second, and I've got my forearm pressing against Stefan's throat, pinning him to the far wall. I start to hear a muffled crunching sound as my arm begins to crush his larynx before the broken shards of tile from the wall behind him even clatter to the floor below. I don't hear Elena's gasp, or her screaming my name in protest. The blood is gushing into my eyes and my fangs have dropped down to say hello. I'm blind, deaf and numb with pure rage, and I'm actually surprised it took this long for the keg to explode. I guess I was just having trouble digesting all the crazy tonight.

Stefan is choking out a gargled death rattle, grasping ineffectually at my arm, and I'm just watching him slowly die, not even caring to give him a chance to spit out any excuse, clarification, or rationalization. Nothing he could say now would make any difference. Elena's grasping at my shoulder, tugging at my leather jacket, trying to pull me back as she continues to scream at me to stop, but I don't budge. My face in inches away from my brother's, and I'm just glaring at him as he's choking out on his last few breaths. Then I hear her sobs and tears spilling out over her pleas. It's like someone just dumped a bucket of freezing cold water over my head, and I can't help but turn to look at her, letting my brother fall to the floor before I had finished breaking his neck.

Quick as she can she's at his side, and he's all crumpled up hacking up blood into his hands. I look at them both there on the floor, my brother getting coddled by the girl I love—the girl who he let die in the same fucking river that her parents died in—and I'm not sure what's worse, my shattered heart or my seething anger. So I do what comes natural, what feels best, or rather what feels less—I go cold and callous. I need about five stiff drinks and no less than one warm body to drain completely dry right now before I lose whatever pitiful grasp on my sanity I've still got.

I've reached my limit for the night. The girl I love broke up with me over the phone on my own deathbed, and we weren't even together. How the fuck does that work, anyway? I faced certain death at the hands of my once-best-friend. I watched my once-best-friend die for a second time. Elena was dead. My own brother let her die. Elena's now in transition. And I'm just fucking spent. I don't know what I should be feeling right now, but all I am feeling is overwhelmed. I've got a million emotions crashing over me like a tidal wave, and my body just physically can't take it right now, to mention nothing of my heart or my mind—both of which are in complete disarray.

I don't say another word as I stalk out of the hospital and head back to the boarding house. Meredith tried to stop me again, but I didn't give her the chance to waylay me with anything else. I never bothered picking up that warm body on the way home.