A/N: It's been two months, and I feel absolutely horrible for leaving all of you hanging like I did. Thank you so much for the support!

Please mind my ranting:

For all of the Guests questioning the reason behind the character's miscarriage: You obviously do not bother to read the Author's Notes that I take time to write, hoping to better connect with my readers, and that's honestly okay. But demanding answers that I thoughtfully provide for you will not fly. I'm sorry if you are not happy with the sudden change, but I do seem to recall rather popular FF authors doing the same for a completely different reason, and their readers were able to handle it maturely.

Just like many other writers, I cope with my feelings by writing, and Rock the Ballet has been my baby for months now, so it seemed fit to work my emotions into the story that I hold high in regard so for once you can all feel the emotional impact this has had on my life. Thank you to the supporters, and as to the bashers, I feel this site would do better if you take the time to read.

Ah, sorry for the ranting, but it's been long overdue. ;)

So…without further ado…

Rock the Ballet:

Chapter 20: These Things That I've Done

When she was six years old, growing up in a town without a name, with an absentee father and a reckless mother, she would dream.

She didn't have much to look forward to, she realized this at the age of five, while her father, twenty years ahead of her, still believed in the fairytale American Dream. He wanted the big house on the hill, perfect wife with their perfect little children living his little fairytale.

It was part of the reason he left when she was three and her brother, Derek was five. He had come home from his mundane job, looked around at his mundane home, locked eyes with his toddler daughter sitting in her playpen before turning on his heel and disappearing into the world.

When she was six and her brother was eight, he had taken her to the park up the street on one of those days when their mother had one of her 'special friends' over. They were swinging, taking in the normalcy surrounding them, when her brother turned to her.

"We don't have much, Elena, but we can dream. They can't take that from us." His eyes were clouded, as if he was years beyond his age. With all of the things they had witnessed, it wasn't a surprise to Elena that his eyes were cold, no innocence in the depths of the deep brown.

She could only nod, but even then he had turned his head back to watch the happy family sitting on the bench.

Her brother was wrong. He would stop dreaming the day he was killed in a botched burglary at the age of nineteen. He had been accepted into Brown University and was taking a year to ensure his sister graduated high school.

She stopped dreaming herself until the day her younger cousin, Jeremy came to live with her and her mother. And the day she passed on Derek's words of wisdom was the day she could let go of her brother.

"Will you be alright?" Jeremy clamped his hand onto Elena's shoulder, helping her sit on the couch.

She stared up at him, "I'll be fine in a while, Jer. Right now, I just need to be alone." She rolled onto her side, immediately folding into fetal position.

Jeremy sighed, wondering how much loss she could take in her life before she would crumble completely. He collapsed in a chair, running a hand through his locks.

Bonnie sat on his lap, whispering, "I need to talk with you." He nodded, expecting her to go on. She frowned, "In the kitchen."

Caroline was making herself coffee when the two walked in. She smiled sadly at Jeremy, "Hey, Jer."

He smiled back, "What's up?"

Bonnie sat on the counter, "Did someone tell Damon? Does he even know that she was hospitalized?"

Caroline and Jeremy visibly paled, for they hadn't remembered the ill-tempered man. He was most likely worried sick about her. Poor man.

Day had faded into night. Night had faded into day. He couldn't really tell them apart anymore. He was sick of life. Sick and tired of being the black sheep.

Who cares if Father never cared for me? Who cares if Elena never loved me?

The thought hit him like a train to the gut. His kids didn't deserve being separated from their father just because their mother is a conniving bitch.

He slid across to the edge of the bed, intending to storm into her apartment and demand answers. When his feet touched the ground and his body was upright, he immediately felt the world rush around his head.

"Ughhhh…no." Before collapsing back onto the bed.

The pounding on the door never stopped. It was constant, like his heart he wished it would just stop.

A muffled voice would occasionally yell out, "God dammit, Damon! Open this fucking door!" More pounding. It continued for nearly an hour before there was silence once more.

"Thank fucking God." He mumbled, digging his head into the pillow.

He heard a body slide down the door, "Damon," Markus' voice cracked, "Everything is so fucking messed up. I don't know what to do, man," He sighed, "I had the girl of my dream, and I did what I do best, I fucked up, I fucked up royally. She's gone, I'm a mess, and you're a mess."

Damon, never hearing Markus so broken as he was just then, sat up, ignoring the ringing in his ears. Markus slammed his head back against the door, "I'm done. I give up, Damon. You were always the rock in the group, and now, you've turned into me, man. We're both screwed up. Just…please, just open this fucking door and we can talk."

Damon shut his eyes, his gravelly voice answering, "Just go away, Markus."

Markus, defeated, stayed on the ground, letting his chin rest against his chest. He felt as if his world has completely collapsed. His love life, band, and friendships were in shambles.

A voice, so heavenly and yet so broken, spoke, "You really need to learn how to lock your doors."

"Someone's gotta tell him." Bonnie mumbled, sipping her coffee.

Caroline sighed, "Shouldn't Elena tell him? I mean, that's a pretty devastating thing to tell the father of your…" She trailed off, afraid to finish. They weren't here anymore, so he really wasn't the father of anything. The thought depressed her.

Her heart immediately turned to a puddle of mush thinking of the already emotionally broken man. She lifted her chin and looked straight ahead, not at anyone in particular. She didn't think she could look at anyone at that moment. "I'll do it."

Markus stumbled to his feet, practically tripping over his own feet in absolute shock. "C-Care?"

Her eyes narrowed. He froze, arms at his side in defeat, "Sorry. Caroline."

She nodded numbly before pointing towards the door, "He's in there?" He nodded, too dazed for words. She walked around him to stop in front of the door, "Damon?"

Damon's head snapped up. Caroline? What the hell? His stomach began to knot, a sick feeling settling there.

"Please open the door. I really need to speak with you." She was practically begging by this point.

The feeling in his stomach was pushing him towards the door, even as he stumbled in his post-drug haze. What a fucking mistake that was. His mind had shut down the night he had purchased those drugs. It was like second nature for him to resort to that seedy hotel when his mind was on the brink of collapse, like a runaway orphan who keeps coming back to the abusive orphanage. Turning the lock, he slowly opened the door, preparing himself for the gasps.

Caroline's hand flew to her mouth. Markus turned his head away, sickened at the sight.

His eyes were bloodshot. Lack of sleep does that to a person. The stubble lining his chin was due to three days without showering. He was pretty sure he smelt like the dumpster behind the building. He hung his head in shame. "Come in." He mumbled.

She obliged, immediately turning on the lamp by the television. She tried to hide the aghast expression most likely splayed across her face.

His room was...like a tornado had ripped through a murder scene. She finally realized why his knuckles were bloody, as were the sheets on his bed. The holes in the wall were the only explanation, as well as the shattered mirror and kicked-in bathroom door.

Damon remembered none of the destruction of the room. Drugs do that to him. Complete and utter black-out.

She sat on the bed and motioned for him to do the same. Once he was situated next to her, she inhaled sharply, catching a whiff of his odor. She nearly gagged. "Damon," Her eyes locked with his, "What I'm about to tell you…it…you may not handle it well."

The worst scenarios ran through his mind. Elena's dead. Elena's dead. Elena's dead.

She saw his eyes glaze over as if preparing himself for the inevitable hurt. Her eyes brimmed with tears, "Elena was hospitalized a few days ago, and I'm sorry no one called you. I'm so sorry that you have to find out like this, but Elena is in no condition for something like this-"

Damon's eyes narrowed, "Just tell me, Caroline. I can handle it."

A tear streaked down her cheek, "Elena miscarried."

When he was living on his own, in a big world ready to jump him at any given moment, he had quite literally fallen into the world of drugs.

His roommate, Matt Burns was already labeled by him as sketchy when he first moved in. He was really never around, usually coming home at strange hours, always carrying around a backpack. Damon had attributed all of this to him being a student at the college not too far away from their apartment.

Damon had set up a gig for Serpenti, and had told Matt that he wouldn't be home until about ten. Matt's eyes had brightened, "Cool." It had seemed a bit odd, but he didn't seem like the type to have a wild party on a Tuesday.

When the gig had fallen through, turns out the manager of the nightclub had already booked another band, Damon had wound up returning home at seven thirty, tired and pissed off. When Anthony dropped him off, he had mentioned that he had never seen so many cars parked on the block. Damon chalked it up to the rowdy neighbors downstairs having a party.

When he entered the apartment, his temper flared. Matt was unconscious on the couch as nearly twenty people were getting a high from the cocaine splayed across the coffee table. He was on the verge of shouting at the top of his lungs when a beautiful blonde smirked at him and motioned with her finger. Immediately in a trance, he walked to her where she did a quick shot and asked, "You want some?"

Naively, he nodded and allowed her to show him before snorting up the white substance. The room had begun to become brighter, everything seemingly personified.

This's gotta be some whacky shit.

Matt, in a haze, cracked his eyes open and smirked at the image of his "I'm-high-on-life-so-I-don't-need-drugs" roommate stumbling around the room. For the rest of the night, Damon mistook a lamp for a woman, being able maintain a conversation with the inanimate object. And apparently a make-out session telling by the photographs taken.

The addiction didn't kick him in the head until he was snorting cocaine nearly once a day, teetering dangerously on the brink of mental collapse.

It was his loyal bandmates that saved him. Anthony and Armand had kicked Matt's ass, while Markus checked Damon into a rehabilitation center. They were there for him while he struggled to kick his addiction.

"How is she?" The voice sounded broken.

Bonnie sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, "She wants to be alone right now," She looked towards the couch where Elena still laid tranquil, "I don't think she's fully accepted it yet."

Tears brimmed the rims of her eyes. She hated seeing anyone go through something as horrible as this. Not only did she lose her children, she lost her anchor. Bonnie could only hope that Damon would not take it as bad as Elena did.

Markus' ocean blues were squeezed shut, a shudder grasping his body as the anguished and sorrowful scream filled the apartment.

Silence. It frightened her. Yet it beckoned to her, offerings its warmth and comfort. Left in a dead-end world, she embraced the silence, allowing it to wrap its arms around her small frame.

As her arm curled around her knees, her other lay on her stomach. She felt empty. Bare. Humiliated that she could not protect her own children from her own body's rejection. The emptiness consumed her entire being, swallowing her whole.

Yet she did not care. She couldn't, not when her life's shining stars had been dulled and plucked from the sky.

Bare.

Empty.

Nothing else.

She felt empty.