Dark Side.
Chapter 12: The Return. Part II.
Mystic Falls Hospital's fourth floor is a reasonably quiet place, all things considered. Cassandra finds Caroline in Room 4.06, a somewhat small private room. Aside from the bed, a nightstand, a small bathroom through the left, a television encaged to a tv set on the upper right corner, and a banged up beige chair, the room has little in it. Just the basics, no luxuries. Cass marvels at the fact, despite all this, Caroline appears perfectly content.
When she walked in, Matt and Caroline were sharing a respectable, chaste kiss on the lips. The two humans greeted her eagerly, with Matt going so far as to offer up his seat beside the bed, claiming he was late for work anyway. So, that's how she ended up here, sitting next to an excited Caroline. And, surprisingly, she finds that she can't stop laughing.
"I know!" Caroline shakes her head. Her blonde hair doesn't bounce with the movement as it usually would. It's a reminder to the vampire of what her blonde friend went through. Of the fact that the only reason Caroline is alive right now is vampire blood. "It was dreadful, which is why I never wear strapless bikini tops. Ever."
"I mean, at least it happened when you were twelve." Cassandra shrugs. "You know, less boob."
"I developed early!" Caroline rebuts. "I already had boobs."
"Oh, no!" Cassandra snorts.
The ugliest laughter she's ever heard stumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. It makes Caroline laugh, too. It's a considerate amount of time until their giggles subside. Cassandra doesn't really know what's gotten into her; she just knows that Caroline's wardrobe mishap five years ago is the funniest shit she's heard in a while. Also, she's really grateful that she even gets to have this conversation right now.
"So…" Caroline starts, swallowing the rest of her giggles and sobering up like it's a sport and she's world champion.
"So…?" Cassandra repeats.
She's no longer laughing either, but her lips are stretched at the seriousness in Caroline's face.
"Are you sleeping with Damon Salvatore?"
The smile wipes off Cassandra's face in a second. Caroline rises her eyebrows, a gesture both questioning and demanding.
"What? No!" Cassandra shakes her head. "Why would you ask that?"
"Well, I saw you two talking yesterday, and, alright, I was quite far away." Caroline shrugs with one shoulder before lifting her index finger up in the air. "But I am never wrong about this stuff!"
"You're wrong this time." She chuckles, slightly disbelieving. Jesus, talk about jumping to conclusions. "I am definitely not having sex with Damon."
Caroline studies her for a moment with such scrutiny, Cassandra suddenly feels self-conscious. Like the young human will somehow be able to read the past in Cassandra's face. After a second too long, at least in Cassandra's opinion, Caroline drops her accusing finger back into her lap, and her face lights up into the bubbly expression Cassandra has started to tie to gossip.
"Okay, good." Caroline nods. She visually takes a deep breath in before delving into a short, quick monologue: "I know he looks great with his sexiness and leather jacket and bad-boy vibe he has going on, but he's bad news. Trust me."
Another nod from the blonde girl. The words peak Cassandra's interest. Elena explained to her weeks ago that while, yes, Damon manipulated Caroline and told her everything about vampires while they were 'dating', Stefan compelled her to forget it all after he managed to get Damon into the Boarding House cellar. The question was raised whether Stefan's compulsion had been strong enough or not, given his animal blood diet, but everyone assured her that Caroline didn't remember anything. Now, however, Cassandra wonders if Caroline remembers something, and simply wishes to pretend like she doesn't. After all, why would she give such clear a warning about Damon?
"Huh…" Cassandra exhales, tone of voice as light as possible as to not make Caroline suspicious. As far as Caroline should know, this is just two normal, human friends having a mundane conversation about someone else. "Bad news as in… he'll use me for sex and never call me again? Or bad news as in we'll get into a fight and I'll be found two weeks later in a shallow grave somewhere off the falls?"
Caroline blinks, mouth slightly agape. Cassandra waits, wondering if her friend's stunned silence comes from a memory unlocking or wonder at Cassandra's morbid comment.
"What? No!" Caroline lets out a breathy laugh, unknowingly repeating Cassandra's words back to her. "The first one, you creep!"
"Oh, well, that's boring." Cassandra feigns disappointment in a teasing manner.
Caroline accompanies the roll of her eyes with a shake of her head. Her mouth is stretched up into a smile that Cassandra can't help but reciprocate.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you had company."
The two girls turn to the threshold, where Bonnie stands. The brunette has one hand on the doorknob and while her words were apologetic, there's no apology in her stance. It's defiant, a hurricane hitting land.
"Oh, it's okay! We can all hang out."
Caroline beckons Bonnie further into the room with an inviting hand and an eager tone. There's a beat of silence, during which witch and hybrid stare at one another in a challenge. Eventually, Cassandra is the one who stands down, not wanting to start something that would jeopardize her friendship with Caroline.
"You know, I actually need to be home early today." Cassandra stands from the surprisingly comfortable chair. "I'll see you soon, okay, Care?"
Caroline nods, hugging the redhead goodbye. On her wait out the door, she sends Bonnie an icy glare, before confidently walking down the hallway. She doesn't stop when she hears the witch walking after her, doesn't even slow down. Until, that is, Bonnie half-yells a statement that makes Cassandra frown in almost-confusion.
"Katherine was at the Mayor's funeral today!" Bonnie's words can only lead to a conversation that can out them all. Which is why, taking a deep breath in and praying to whatever deity is out there for patience, Cassandra turns around. She walks towards Bonnie, ignoring the way the witch seems to boast on capturing Cassandra's attention. "Pretending to be Elena."
"Okay." She nods. And waits. And Bonnie says nothing else. Honestly, Cassandra complains quietly. "What do you want me to do with that information?"
"She tried to kill me." Bonnie adds.
"What? That makes no sense." Katherine shouldn't want to kill Bonnie. If anything, she should try to somehow get into her good graces so that they would have another powerful witch stored in their arsenal. "Why would Katherine want to kill you?"
"I don't know. You tell me." Bonnie's left eyebrow rises up into her hairline.
"If I wanted you dead, Bonnie, I wouldn't send my friend after you." Cassandra scoffs. "I'd do it myself."
"Unless you wanted to keep your friendship with Elena and everyone else here." Bonnie challenges immediately. Clearly, these are words she's already ruminated, has already planned. "If Katherine did it, well, she's the only villain around, right?"
Cassandra fights the urge to laugh. Where did she get that idea from? A low-budget mystery crime after-school special?
"You're… not even worth the air I consume when talking to you." Cassandra manages, marvelling at Bonnie's stupidity. "Go! Do, think, say whatever you want."
At this point, she quite literally shushes her. Something flashes behind Bonnie's eyes, a spark reminiscent to the one also found in Cassandra's own eyes. She doesn't care. This insolent girl will not one up her ever again. With a silent threat, Bonnie twirls around and storms back the way she came. Cassandra lets out an angry exhale. Judas, humans are judgemental as fuck.
Stefan Salvatore's room is everything she thought it wouldn't be. Still, it is a room that somehow manages to scream out Stefan and a life well-lived, even if it's not what comes to mind when thinking of her young-not-so-young friend. It's a striking contrast from his brother's, that's for certain, while still maintaining some similarities. At least based in the view she gets from the door.
Cassandra ventures further into the room, curiosity peaked. She'd been roaming through the Boarding House for the last hour or so—having accidentally entered when Katherine was leaving and making a point of not being seen by a disappearing Damon—trying to get a real sense of the house and not just the homely feeling she'd get whenever she entered the foyer. There's a kind of memory etched to her brain whenever she roams the dark halls and dimly lit rooms, a feeling of remembering something she never lived. An itch Cassandra knows will not be satisfied until she knows every crevice in the house that's big enough to be considered a mansion.
She didn't focus too much on Damon's room. She wouldn't deny she wanted to explore it further than a simple glance, but she figured Damon wouldn't appreciate her snooping around. Especially since they had had yet another fight that, while short, weighed precariously over their frail friendship. So, she made her way to the basement, discovered a large fridge stocked up with an assortment of different blood bags, made her way up to the library, then the studio, and the main room connecting the dining room with the living room and kitchen. She found the garage, chanced a glance out the long stone steps leading towards the gardens, briefly wondered how far the estate stretched. She even found a room she would like for herself and made a note of it in case she ever needed to stay in the old house.
The Boarding House, Cassandra had realized as she walked down the hallway and up the steps leading to Stefan's room, is the kind of home that screams luxury and ancient wealth. The house doesn't follow one particular style of interior design, but a hundred different ones, decades and centuries mixing together until one is overcome with an extemporal decadence in which is hard to decipher whether one is standing in the nineteenth century or the twentieth or the fifteenth. Which is why she likes it so much.
That feeling increases as she finally crosses the threshold of Stefan's room. On her left, there is a large, tall chiffonier of polished dark wood, its top surface littered with trinkets of all sorts. She eyes the items curiously, finds a folded fan made of dark ebony wood and pink silk. Opening it, Cassandra wonders why Stefan would keep such an item, especially since the fifth row of wood has been snapped off, the silk dancing back and forth unaware of its missing partner. Deeming it an object of sentimental value, Cassandra drops it back where it belongs.
Further along that same wall is a door that must lead to the en suite bathroom, and, beside it, a large armoire that can rival her own in size. Before this, she would have thought Stefan as a man of practicality when it came to dressing, but now she figures the man, as many vampires are wont to do, is a bit of a hoarder when it comes to clothes. Cassandra can't blame him. Fabrics and the fashion industry only seem to be in decline lately.
Another cursory glance about the room has her appreciatively surprised. Truth be told, she'd expected less Ernest Hemmingway and more American Psycho, but maybe that's because her memory of Stefan is tainted by a monster with his face. The dichotomy of Stefan's personality, which in Cassandra's opinion is his one fatal flaw, is nowhere to be seen in this dark-toned room with a feigned kind of tidiness about it. Still, its four walls scream out Stefan Salvatore nonetheless.
The bookshelf to her right is covered floor to ceiling with old, leather-bound books, their spines all dark greens and maroons and earthy browns. Their presence is a reminder of the Salvatore brothers being not so different, after all. Both Damon and Stefan are avid readers; a habit that grew from being born in a time where there was no other entertainment easy at hand. There are journals everywhere, too, some in the bookshelves, some by the floor near it, others stacked up in chronological order by the dresser closest to her. They vary in size and binding, but their color is the same: bible-black with gold engravings.
While the bed is smack in the middle of the oversized room, Cassandra feels the real epicenter of it is a desk located towards the window. She's no entirely sure why her attention keeps drifting back to it but is old enough to know that when intuition calls with such fervor, one should follow it.
It isn't until she's right by it, that she understands why. The desk wasn't calling to her subconscious, but her magic. It is charged with energy, more so than any other object in this room. Immediately, Cassandra understands this is the place where Stefan keeps the really important stuff, things that connect to his one-hundred-and-sixty-two years on this earth more than anything else around her. There's an open journal on the surface, today's entry yet to be written. Here before her sits every single thing she's missed in written form.
Cassandra can't help herself.
She flips to the first page of the journal.
UPDATED: 16/01/2020