Disclaimer: TVD is not mine. Neither are the song lyrics.

Hi all!
So, this story was one I always wanted to finish but couldn't figure out the best way to do that. The ideas I had for a full multi-chapter story just didn't work, so I cut it down. And, I think this was the best route to take. I hope you guys like it! Now, without further adieu... here's the first installment of this three-chapter saga.

~1~

Death: (n) the action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.

Resurrection: (n) the revitalization or revival of something.

Life: (n) the condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death.

Will you fight for the cause
Can you teach the savage mind, their ways are wrong
Help them see, what they want and what they need
And if we have to twist their arms
They know not what they do is wrong
And if you said I would go to heaven
Now maybe I'll try

~Better Than Ezra, Heaven~

The Last Dance

The first time I had resigned myself to dying had been a shock. I realized that it is the only way my best friend could be saved and I knew I would give my life for hers without consciously acknowledging it. I had only truly accepted it recently, which lifted some of the weight from my shoulders.

I'm only shocked because I can't bring myself to feel sad about it. It's surprisingly easy to feel good about my choice. Noble. And I know, deep down, that I'm doing what's best for everyone involved. It's weird—the gap between what I imagined I would do and what I will do is a large one.

What a difference a few months could make.

Before everything changed, I thought very little about the intricacies of life. I was a normal seventeen-year-old girl, interested in hanging out with my two best friends and which guys would make for a suitable boyfriend. Shopping, school, and cheerleading took up the entirety of my schedule and I didn't have a care in the world.

In times like these, I feel stupid for taking those things for granted.

Especially since the harrowing situations, I find myself in are never of my own doing.

Stefan and Damon's arrival in Mystic Falls is a memory I recall with extreme distaste. There was something about Stefan that chilled me to the bone, and I only realized the worst was yet to come.

I hadn't been introduced to Damon yet.

I can feel his blue eyes on me from the opposite side of the gymnasium. At first, I do my best to ignore him, to lose him in the sea of peace signs and strobe lights, to listen to the catchy little songs playing from the stereo located by the double doors. He is one body in a sea of them—it should be easy to pretend he isn't watching me, but it's not.

Even surrounded by a mob of go-go boots and beehive hairdos, Damon Salvatore is still the most noticeable person in the room

Go figure.

The older Salvatore has this unappealing habit where he must always be the center of attention. What probably started as a run-of-the-mill episode of sibling rivalry has had hundreds of years to fester. The result is the most severe case of arrogance I've ever encountered.

And I'm feeding into it.

Disgusted with myself, I stare into my dance partner's warm brown eyes. I have more important things to handle.

Like telling my boyfriend we might not get the future he so desperately desires. We will not grow old and die together. There will be no children or pets. No house or white picket fence. And while I won't be by his side, he still needs to go on. My ending will be his beginning.

And I'm at peace with my decision. I'm a witch, something that would have been my undoing even if I remained blissfully unaware of my abilities. While wielding magical powers seems awesome, it's anything but. It's a curse, one I live every single day, and I'm tired.

Of it all.

Elena, she still has a chance. She can escape all of this. If I end Klaus, she won't be lauded for her doppelgänger status. She can return to a life one might believe would be boring. She's still human. Hell, she doesn't even have to worry about Care; immortality comes with so many perks.

But for me? I can't be normal.

My life is not a romance novel, it's a nightmare.

One that keeps getting worse.

I try to soothe Jeremy, the sweet boy who had my back when no one else did, but I'm having very little success. Loyalty is one of Jeremy's best traits, but it is also his most glaring flaw. He can't let go.

So, I lie. It's not something I'm proud of, but I also know a half-truth will be the least of my boyfriend's concerns when the night is over.

It's weird, thinking that having a fifty percent chance of survival seems like the best option. It's best to not throw out a higher number. I don't want to get his hopes too high

Eventually, I find myself looking away from Jeremy's comforting, brown eyes and into Damon's electric blues. A jolt runs through my body. I attribute it to annoyance. Don't I deserve at least an hour of peace? Why does he constantly have to storm in on the few pleasant moments the universe allows me, fucking them up beyond repair?

"May I?"

I force myself to nod. My confirmation is almost imperceptible. Well, it is to a human. I can tell because Jeremy tightens his grip on my hand. Damon, however, has very keen senses and positions himself in between me and my date. Looking over Damon's shoulder, I squeeze Jer's hand lightly.

It's okay, I tell him with my eyes.

And he lets me go, though not without hesitation and a heavy sigh.

"You heard me talking to Jeremy, didn't you?" I ask. I hope my voice sounds even, as it's hard to concentrate on much of anything with his hand around my waist.

"Is it true?"

"Yes," I reply, as he spins me around. The next thing I know, my back is pressed against his torso.

I hate being so close to Damon. It feels way too intimate, invasive, but I maintain my composure. Shying away from the vampire will only make him want to dance longer.

"The part about you having a fifty-fifty chance of survival?" his breath tickles my ear. "Is that true?"

Don't flinch. "He was upset; I didn't want him to worry."

"So, you'd lay it all on the line for Elena? No matter what?"

I know he's trying to antagonize me. I also know that he already knows the answer. While inside I'm terrified, I don't let that hinder my decision. I couldn't live with myself if I let Elena—my best friend, my sister—die. That would be my hell. The regret, grief, and sorrow would be too much. I want to tell him that death will be easy. What do I have to look forward to? My dad's not around, my mom abandoned me, and Grams is in the ground.

I won't ever get the happily ever after—so why bother?

"No matter what."

"Good," he mumbles, and I detect a hint of…not sadness, but not the joy I had been expecting. And while my impending demise doesn't make him smile, I can't help feeling a little hurt by his response.

Well, I guess I can't be that offended. I'd say the same thing about him if our roles were switched. I can't pretend that I'd be too broken up if he died.

I narrow my eyes. "You can't tell her."

"… it's a shame. All that power… isn't there any way to increase your odds?" There's a glint in his eyes that makes my heart rate increase.

"Careful Damon," I tease. "I might think you actually care."

Smug grin. Eye roll. Typical Damon Salvatore reaction. "Wouldn't want that."

Another spin. This one leaves me a little confused, agitated, and off-kilter. I'm not sure what to think about the flicker of compassion I see on his face.

It's gone so quickly that I'm second-guessing its occurrence.

Because, no, Damon would most certainly not want that.

The march down the halls of Mystic Falls high school is a strange one.

Just days prior, I had been going from classroom to classroom like every other student. I was masquerading as someone who had every intention of going to prom and signing yearbooks on the last day of the school year. No one knew that my days were numbered, that I was walking around with a death sentence looming over my head—not even my friends, who were all too aware of the threat barreling toward us like a freight train.

Damon is the only one who put the puzzle pieces together.

This is funny in a morbid sort of way because he definitely isn't a friend. There are many days that I wish I could act we never met, that I never looked into his eyes and wondered if he could be anything other than a monster.

If I could have afforded it, I may have stopped to laugh at the irony of this clusterfuck.

But time is running out. I know this without actually having any concrete proof. Technically, seeing as Klaus is far worse than my temporary partner-in-crime, I wouldn't be surprised if he abandoned his current plans in favor of one that might cause more damage.

I can feel his presence, however, and since his exact location. Over time, my premonitions became second nature. I had gotten so used to them that the feeling of foreboding dread no longer shakes me to my core.

They don't frighten me anymore.

At least, I believed that until now.

A coldness accompanies the knots twisting in my guts. I'm chilled to the bones, so much so that my limbs ache. The end is near, and death is whispering in my ear, welcoming me with open arms.

I feel like I'm going to vomit.

Without making the conscious decision to do so, I head in the direction of the cafeteria. He's there. Ready and waiting. The amount of excitement thrumming in the air around me is unsettling.

And just like that, I'm in the belly of the beast.

The rational part of me is shouting, urging me to go no further than the entryway. My fight or flight instinct is kicking in and my life plays like a movie, each scene a brief snapshot. I see my mother and father, smiling ear to ear—one of the few memories I have of my mom. Of both of my parents together. Grams, meeting Elena and Caroline, school, Stefan, Damon, and fire.

Those moments morph into a glimpse of the future I'd never have. Graduation, college, wedding bells, babies, a happily ever after. This saddens me for many reasons. One, because it is a sick joke. Why taunt myself with something I will never experience? And two, the man standing by my side is out of focus. I can't figure out who it is, but something in the back of my head tells me I don't want to know.

The thought is rattling. Scary. And I want to break down. Right here, right now. In front of the man that has been haunting me in my nightmares for weeks—plaguing my waking hours with crippling anxiety.

I keep my composure, though, and manage to look him in the eyes. Everything about Alaric is so wrong. He looks so different, though nothing about his appearance has changed outwardly. It's all about his aura, that malicious glint in this eyes, the way he sits with his feet propped up so casually. None of it reminds me of my history teacher and it's terrifying.

So, despite my fear, I force myself to lessen the gap between us. The closer I get, the more I realize that I'm staring into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

But my ultimate goal is to rip this monster's heart out. So, what does that make me? Putting Klaus in the ground doesn't bother me. But Ric? I'm almost glad that I won't survive. Living with that burden would be awful. I don't want my actions to eat me from the inside out. I don't want to care.

Even the possibility of apathy makes me uneasy.

"What took you so long?" Klaus asks. What a loser. He's so full of himself that he can't resist giving an opening monologue to his prey. He's nothing more than a run-of-the-mill TV villain.

When I don't respond, he twirls the knife he's holding in his hand. "Do you want to do this the easy way... or the hard way?"

We both know the answer already, so I cut to the chase. I lift my hand, readying myself for the onslaught of pure energy. I can feel the power burning in my fingertips. It's exhilarating.

Klaus' hand contorts in the most awkward position I have ever seen. He drops the knife and tries not to let his pain show—it doesn't work.

"The hard way... got it."

Another burst of magic. This time it's aimed at his shoulder.

I try not to flinch at the sound of his bones cracking. Normally, this would not bother me, but the fact that I'm essentially hurting Ric does not make me feel good about doing any of this. That, and the sound is so much louder than it should be—the first sign of a power overload.

I grit my teeth, steeling myself for Klaus' next move.

He pushes his shoulder back into place. "You'd... really kill your favorite history teacher?"

"It's what Alaric would want," I answer coldly, "and he'd want you to suffer first."

I'm a little surprised at how defiant I sound. I hadn't been sure I'd be able to speak, let alone challenge him, but staying quiet would give him some sort of twisted respect. And I can't allow that.

The monster raises his chin, that bone-chilling expression intensifying. "Look at you," he says, almost to himself. "Is that all you've got?"

"Let's find out." I wipe the small stream of blood that has begun to trickle down my face on my sleeve.

I ignore the obvious strain all this magic is putting on my body. I ignore the feeble protests the sane part of my mind is making. I decide that it's about time I give in to the madness and all the trauma it brings. I embrace the agony, feed off it as it rushes like poison in my veins. Revel in it.

I hear the faint sound of Damon's voice just outside the door. "Let her do this!"

Shit!

I hadn't been expecting Stefan to put two and two together, at least not until after this was over. I didn't realize that Elena would figure everything out. And here they are—ready to ruin the carefully brainstormed plan Damon and I came up with.

Taking a deep breath, I think of Emily, of Lucy, of all my other ancestors. I remember their pain, the burning torment I felt at the broken-down house. I beg them to help me. The power I felt earlier is nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to this. Fire. That's all I know. I hear their screams echoing in my ears, though the sound is so close that it feels like I'm standing next to them, burning at the stake.

Papers begin to litter the cafeteria floor. Posters for the 60's dance tonight, fundraiser forms, and spirit wear advertisements swirl around me. The lights flicker and I can taste the blood dripping from my nose and into my mouth. Everything becomes more intense as Klaus writhes in pain, groaning as I send bursts of magic at him.

Tables and chairs fall over. Some fly across the room as if they weigh nothing more than a feather. Light bulbs shatter, the broken glass falls upon us, and I can feel the shards pierce my skin. A loud zapping noise—sparks are raining down on our heads. The glass encasing the snacks in the vending machine cracks. More blood, so much that I'm afraid I might drown. I can feel the air pressing down on my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Klaus seems to be feeling the same, which makes me happy—or as happy as I can be when my bones are dissolving underneath my skin.

"Bonnie!"

It takes every ounce of my strength to turn around and look at her through the electric storm. And then it takes the rest of my sanity to send a burst of magic at the doors, which then slam shut and lock.

A warm blanket is wrapped around my body. It feels nice at first, but it quickly turns into a straight jacket. I can't move my arms or legs. Cotton fills my mouth and I want to choke, only to realize that my lips are sewn shut. I want to convulse, cry, shout, anything that will make this go away... but I can't.

I can hear the thud my body makes as it hits the tiled floor. My skull smacks into it at full speed and I see stars. The bile in my stomach churns, causing me to wonder if death by aspirating my vomit is a real risk or if it is simply a side effect of the spell.

Probably a punishment. If you don't adhere to the strict moral standards of every witch before you, you will suffer the consequences.

And even though I would do anything to stop the agony, I can only lie here in silence.

The doors open... footsteps... tears.

"Bonnie!" Elena cries, slapping my cheeks, hoping that I regain consciousness. "Hey, Bonnie. Bonnie!"

She presses her fingers to the side of my neck. "Stefan, I- I can't f- find a pulse Stefan!" she says hysterically. She's sniffling now, and her tears are rolling down her cheeks and hitting me in the face.

They feel like knives. Worse than the pieces of glass embedded in my arms and legs.

"Stefan," desperation is saturating her tone. "Do something! G- give her blood! Just do something! Please, Stefan!"

"It's too late," he says, voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, no, n- no."

A new voice enters the pandemonium. "Stefan, get Elena out of here. I'll deal with the body."

"What do you mean 'deal with it?'" I've never heard my best friend so pissed off before. I would have laughed if it didn't hurt so much to fight the paralysis.

"Sheriff Forbes can't know about—"

"This is Bonnie!"

"Get her home. Now." Damon says, and then in a quieter tone, "so I can clean this up." At first, I think he's talking to Stefan, but it becomes clear that he only means for me to hear—since he's the only one who knows what's going on.

Stefan wraps Elena in his arms and coaxes her from her spot on the floor. "Jeremy... oh God. Jeremy!"

The sound of his name makes me want to cry with relief... Jeremy is fine. Safe. Thank God!

Damon's conflicted eyes meet my dead ones. I'm taken aback by how tortured they look. I can see a thousand emotions swimming in his blue irises. And, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he looks like he's close to tears.

The sorrow is gone in an instant.

It's replaced by a mask of indifference as his fingers caress the side of my face and over my eyelids.

And then comes the darkness.

I hate it. With every second that passes I start to believe that I really am dying, fading into nothing. The pain of being lifted from the floor is the only thing to remind me that I'm alive. It's like I'm a marionette and my only support is Damon, who has lost all his will to be gentle. Because things like truces are only good for anything in the space of a moment... or maybe two, seeing as he was the first person to figure out my little trick.

I didn't even have to say anything.

All my Damon-centric thoughts stop when Jeremy approaches. He starts to say something, but whatever it is he's saying is cut off by a bang!

Total isolation.

Sensory deprivation.

The drive to my hideaway feels much longer than it is. Being cut-off from everything leaves me with nothing else to do then to stew in my thoughts. Elena and Jeremy—they must be devastated. This was the only way… I wish I could have found some way to tell Elena beforehand, but it hadn't gone over well.

And here I thought deceiving the Gilberts would be the easiest task to accomplish. Instead, it's left me feeling… sad. I had been prepared to deal with the loneliness, the listlessness of my secret life, but I didn't do this all by myself.

I had Damon.

And while I'm never pleased to be within a five-foot radius of the douchebag, I'm glad he was by my side tonight. Maybe he is good for something…