Another chapter before the month ends, yay! I really hope you enjoy this one because I certainly did writing it, thank you all so much for reading and once again please forgive for any typos.
Love you all!
"And I'd give up forever to touch you, 'cause I know that you feel me somehow.
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be, and I don't wanna go home right now
And all I can taste is this moment. And all I can breathe is your life.
When sooner or later it's over, I just don't wanna miss you tonight"
-Iris-
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The Colombian sun decided not to shine that day, clouds covered the sky and the humidity clung to his skin making the black expensive suit he was wearing feel uncomfortable. He was sitting in the first row, his eyes trained in the ornamented ebony casket in front of which the priest was murmuring words in soft Spanish.
He could hear his mother's sniffles from next to him and the mere sound was enough to make his stomach recoil, his mother's hypocrisy was something he didn't have much tolerance for this days, and especially not on a day like today.
His fists clenched on top of his knees as he listened to the priest speaking about the bravery and strength the man now resting had possessed in life, as the words repeated themselves in his mind he couldn't help but let his eyes move to the elegant portrait that had been placed next to the casket.
The picture had been taken months before his health started deteriorating; in it, the man looked almost regal, he wore a dark dress shirt and had his white hair styled back, dark blue eyes creating a perfect contrast with the light bronze of his skin.
Dark blue eyes that seemed to stare back at him even at this very moment "Se valiente carajo, siempre valiente" (Be brave damn it, always brave) He could hear the soft but hard whisper as if the man was standing next to him. The same voice that never stopped speaking to him, and which took him back to that fateful night many years ago.
What he remembered the most about that night is the loudening rumble of the thunders among the eerie quietness of the house. His favorite toy, a red plastic car, was clutched tightly in his hand as he walked the wide dark corridors of his grandfather's house. The occasional lightning swallowed the darkness from time to time and made him flinch in fear.
The sound of his steps was obstreperous to his ears, a weird feeling settled in the pit of his stomach with each one he took towards his father's bedroom. Damon couldn't begin to explain the fear and anxiety that had taken hold of him in that stormy night, the only other time he had felt an emotion so strong was seconds before the tall man pulled the trigger that blew up the side of his face.
The small boy felt his body getting colder as he reached the dark wood door to his father's room, his stomach swarmed with unwanted bugs and his clammy hands gripped with more force the red toy in his hands.
"Daddy?" He called, the voice was small and full fear. His knuckles rapped on the wood without getting any response "Are you here?" He asked and once again got nothing back in response.
He breathed in deeply, his cheeks filling with air before he released it and pushed open the door of the room "Coraggioso Damon, sei sempre coraggioso" (You need to be brave Damon, always brave) He could hear the voice of his father in his head as he stepped into the room.
His legs trembled as he stumbled inside, a scream building up in his throat at the sight he found when his eyes met the window "Coraggioso Damon" His father had said but he hadn't been brave at all.
Giuseppe Salvatore's body hung from the ceiling, a rope around his neck and his favorite black suit gracing his body. His skin was purple and his hands were cold, a look of horror was forever etched into his face.
The scream never left the boy's lips; instead, Damon sat down by the body and trained his eyes on the black Italian leather shoes he had polished for him the day before. He didn't know how long he had stayed there; he only remembered that the tears were dry on his face by the time his grandfather found him.
"Do not be weak Damon" He can still hear the voice say "Unless you want to be him"
The sound of people moving to stand up brought him back from the dark memory and it was then when he realized the casket was finally being lowered down into the ground.
Emotion ran up his throat at the sight, he could feel the tears wanting to gather in his eyes but he fought them, the first rule his grandfather ever showed him was to never let anyone see your vulnerable side. He was not going to dishonor the man's memory by going against it on the day of his funeral.
Damon could feel Elena on the other side of him, he knew her hand was itching to touch him but that she wouldn't give in so easily, not this time; he had finally fucked them over beyond repair.
A month had gone by since he stormed out of her apartment and they hadn't spoken one word ever since, now he wanted nothing more than to feel her comfort, there was a hole in his chest widening open and making him feel more alone than ever and he didn't know if he was going to be able to endure it without her.
The graveyard was filled with strangers, people that claimed to have love for the old Colombian drug lord but who wanted nothing more than his head on a spike. The King had fallen and Damon had no doubt crows are ready to prowl over the burning flesh of the old man, the chess pieces had been set on the move and it was becoming exhausting to even think about the upcoming war waiting at his doorstep.
His grandfather knew of it, he had whispered his words and desires into his ear the last time he visited and the weight of it all was smothering him. He promised and for the first time in his life he wished nothing more than to break his vow, he doesn't want the crown, never has and yet he will have to fight for it if he wants to stay alive.
His eyes landed on John Gilbert's solemn face, Damon could see the madness shining below the façade he's been trying to keep, he saw the wheels turning into his head and the exhilaration the idea of boundless power is giving him. Bile rose in his throat at the flicker of smugness that washes over his face, Damon wanted nothing more than pummel him into the ground and end him once and for all but he knew he couldn't, he is playing the long game and patience has to be his best friend.
"It's time to go, my boy" The overly sweet tone in which his mother spoke to him as she grabbed his hand almost made him recoil in disgust, but he didn't. Instead, he pulled her into his embrace and walked with her towards the sleek black car waiting for them, the floral scent of her perfume is comforting somehow and he tries not to dwell too much about that fact.
John didn't speak to him on the ride back and Damon was grateful for it, he guessed the man knows better than to push his buttons in a moment like this. Their relationship was never a cordial one, John was the owner and Damon nothing but the loyal pet trained to kill but ever since the Salvatore man refused to stay in Italy and decided to come back, their relationship has turned hostile, as if the other man could somehow smell the rebellion that was brewing inside him.
Damon doesn't even stay to greet the guests, he has never understood why people are forced to entertain after burying their loved ones, he didn't want to be surrounded by a million people who only care about what piece of the pie they can get, he wanted to be on his own, with nothing but his darkness to keep him company.
The state his grandfather owned and that had come to pass to him and Stefan's hands extends on over 50 acres of land, so it was not hard for him to find a place where he could be on his own.
He stepped outside the main house and headed into the stable where he grabbed his favorite horse, a black mare named Valkiria and galloped towards a small cottage his grandfather had built at the edges of the property. It was his grandmother's favorite spot in the whole estate and the place where Damon spent many happy moments as a child, sitting by the fire while she told him old legends about her small hometown in Texas, where her grandfather had taken her away from.
The minute he stepped inside, a milliard of old memories and emotions he refused to acknowledge assaulted him, and he found himself unable to hold it all together. He allowed the tears to finally leave his eyes as he headed to the small makeshift bar by the window and grabbed a bottle of the old expensive scotch his grandfather loved to drink.
He felt the liquid burning down his throat and relished in the scorching sensation it left behind. He wanted to be numb, to not feel this overwhelming need to escape that was growing in his chest with every passing minute; he no longer wanted to be Damon Salvatore the promised child of the crime world.
He was only twenty-seven and people already pissed in their pants at the mention of his name. Damon Salvatore "La Parca" the prodigy of Colombian cartels, the rising boss of the Cosa Nostra and the hitman of the American mafia. He was a legend of the crime world and more often than not he felt like a fraud.
An uncontrollable rage started crawling up his spine and made him throw the bottle of scotch across the wall, the glass shattering and the amber liquid pooling on the floor by the window "I hate you!" He shouted at the same time he slammed his fists against the nearer wall, the pain was sharp as it traveled through his hand but instead of making him want to stop, it only ignited the fire inside him.
He went at it repeatedly until the blood coated his skin completely and only stopped when the pain had already numbed his bones "Corraggioso, sempre corragioso" He muttered under his breath while he moved back towards the bar and grabbed another bottle, tequila this time.
He had taken a couple of swigs of it when he heard footsteps approaching, something twisting in his gut at the sound of the light feet approaching his door, he didn't even need to look at the door to know who the person who had opened it was, only had to wait a couple of seconds until the soft sound of her words reached his ears "What are you doing?" She asked and he twirled around to see her frightened expression as her eyes took in the disaster he had made of his room.
He took the bottle of tequila towards his lips as he grumbled "Leave me alone Elena" He took a couple of long swigs before throwing the bottle against the wall once again, shattered glass jumping into him and landing in his clothes.
Elena released an anxious gasp as she moved towards him "You're gonna hurt yourself!" She scolded him before she removed his shirt and used it to wipe the thin frost of glass that had fallen in his jeans.
He released a humorless laugh but allowed her to clean him up and move him into the bed "There's nothing I can do to myself anymore, I no longer can feel pain" He said and for some reason the words made him feel sad.
It seemed that the emotion had taken a like to him because lately, it was all he could feel.
Elena kneeled in front of him "Damon, you're scaring me" Her hands found his and she used a discarded towel that had been lying on the bed to wipe some of the blood that had crusted into his knuckles.
"I hate him" He murmured absently, his eyes lost somewhere in the night sky that extended outside his window "I love him and I hate him at the same time. Because I promised"
"Promised what?" Elena frowned as her eyes moved away from his wounds towards his face "Damon, what are you talking about?"
His eyes filled with tears and he was unable to control them any longer "I promised I would become him" He whispered "But I can't, I don't want to"
She shuddered and gripped his hands "Oh Damon…"
He wanted to stop, wanted to keep his mouth shut and never again allow himself to be vulnerable, but he couldn't. Something had broken inside him and he didn't know how to put it back together again "I never wanted this life, I never wanted this… I just want…" He trailed off, his eyes clouding with a longing so strong it shocked him to his core "Have you ever been to Manarola? No, no you haven't" He gave her a small smile after he answered his own question "It's a small fishing village placed in the north of Italy, on the Riviera of Liguria. It rises like a balcony above the sea and it's filled with small houses painted in pastel colors… I wish I wish to live there someday"
Elena frowned "You do?"
He looked down at her "You'll love it there" He said before his hand went to touch her cheek, smears of blood tainting the clear skin of her face "You'll stand at the edge of your balcony to smell the saltiness of the sea and feel the humidity wet your face, a glass of limoncello in hand as you watch the crystal blue sea extending before you" The longing for that place, for that future, was so strong it made his body ache.
He could picture it all: shared cannoli's as they retailed stories about their days, her lithe body clad in a clear blue summer dress and her hair loose and blowing in the wind, she would greet him with a kiss and drag him into the balcony to watch the sunset while a small child rests against her chest.
"It sounds beautiful" She whispered and the emotion in her voice made him wonder if perhaps she was picturing the same thing as him if perhaps the connection they share is so strong that they even share the same dreams.
"That is my dream" He confessed as the longing in his eyes transformed to despair "To go there and cease to exist to everyone else, to lead a simple life away from all of this" A small smile curved his lips "Maybe I could become a fisherman"
Her eyes brimmed with tears as she stared up at him "Damon…It's a beautiful dream" She whispered before taking his hands and placing a gentle kiss to his wounds. He wondered how it was possible for her to feel such empathy for hands that had caused so much pain, ended so many times.
He hated to look at them sometimes.
He knew he should pull away but he didn't, he allowed her to touch and pet his hands as he whispered "But a dream and nothing more. I am doomed to this place, to this life"
She rose from her knees and went to sit next to him "No you aren't" She told him fervently before dropping his hands and cradling his face instead. "There has to be a way out"
Damon leaned into her touch, his eyes closing at the feel of her "Don't be naïve Bonita. You know I can never get out…" His words trailed off and he opened his eyes to stare at her "I couldn't leave you here among them"
Her face transformed with a hopeful expression "I could go with you" She told him "We could both disappear"
Damon felt something twist inside him, an unwanted hope filling every crevice of his body "A beautiful dream" He said once again but then his expressions dropped as the reality of their situation hit him "But you know it cannot be"
Warm clear tears rolled down her cheeks then "I fear of you and for you" She whispered, her thumb tracing gentle circles in the skin of his jaw "I fear one day I'll wake up and the Damon I know will be gone"
Emotion overwhelmed him once again "If he ever disappears would you help me bring him back?" His voice cracked at the end of the sentence and Elena couldn't stop herself anymore, she pulled him into her and cradled his body to hers as if he were nothing but a child.
His arms wrapped themselves around her middle as steel bands, his body seeking a comfort only she could provide, his soul and heart finding solace in the one place they knew would never harm them. Elena had always been his lighthouse and this time Damon believed he was ready to come home.
"Always," She said as she moved him so his head was resting on top of her lap and her hands busied themselves with the soft messy hair on his head.
His hands fisted the dark fabric of her dress at the same time he buried his face in her lap "Don't give up on me, please Len don't give up on me" He kept chanting the words as the night settled around them and the exhaustion of the last couple of days finally dragged him under.
That night he dreamed of the sea and soft breeze on his face.