Disclaimer: I do not own the song lyrics or The Vampire Diaries. Or the quote used within the chapter.

~2~

They showed you a statue and told you to pray
They built you a temple and locked you away
But they never told you the price that you pay
For things that you might have done...
Only the good die young

~Billy Joel, Only the Good Die Young~

The Mourning Day

My second death is real.

And in some ways, it had been easier than the fake death I staged for Klaus. In others, it is much harder. I assumed that dying—really dying—would be like turning off a light. And maybe it is, for normal people, but I'm not exactly normal.

I'm a witch.

And a ghost.

Doomed to watch as the world goes on without me. Forced to look on as the house I used to live in becomes an eye-sore, with broken shutters, cobwebs, and dust. I don't even have the comfort of seeing my father grow old, live a supernatural-free life. No, instead, I only screamed as he was killed, as the light in his eyes dimmed, face going blank. I can't erase the image of the blood pouring out of his wounds from my mind. I will forever see the way he choked and sputtered, the way his flesh hung from his neck in jagged pieces. How his entire body stiffened. The sense of finality hanging in the air.

That's what makes me believe death is simpler for those blissfully ignorant to the supernatural, for the people who don't know about the monsters that roam the Earth. Or humans who aren't, in any way, magical or fantastic. I haven't seen my dad once since he passed away.

I try to convince myself that I'm happy to witness Jeremy go off to college and do great things. To see Caroline and Elena get their happily ever after, their forever. Especially Elena, who has finally gotten her epic love story straightened out. I'm elated that Matt will be able to put distance between him and this Godforsaken town.

And I am overjoyed for them, but I can't ignore the twinge of resentment growing in the pit of my stomach. Part of me is jealous I won't get an average life, that I won't expire of old age.

That I won't ever get peace.

And, while I didn't want my loved ones to know I kicked the bucket, I'm slightly disappointed that a string of emails was all it took to satisfy their curiosity.

Empty words filled my absence and I began to feel like I wasn't as important as I thought. But then plans for a goodbye ceremony began to take shape, grief set in, and now sadness takes over me as I realize that I will see them mourn my death.

I don't know what to think about that.

Plenty of people plan their own funerals.

They go over their wills, spend time with their loved ones, and make requests about the ill-fated day. Things like, "please make sure your Uncle Frank doesn't get drunk and start a fight with Uncle Jack," or "make sure they put on that song that's always playing in the background of those animal shelter commercials."

And it's funny—they won't even know if anyone has honored their final wishes. Except it doesn't feel so silly now that I have a front-row seat to my memorial service.

I knew I would end up dead. I had no qualms about that, I accepted it, foolishly thinking that dead is synonymous with gone. That so-called "knowledge" is the reason why I'm standing in the middle of the woods, admiring the scenery. I have nothing else to do. I can't touch anything. The feeling isn't a sense that remains when you die. The sun streaming through the treetops offers me no warmth. I place my hand against a nearby trunk, but it's not bumpy or rough on my skin. The weight of Jeremy's feet snap fallen branches, but when I stomp on one, nothing happens.

It's driving me crazy.

I'm so close to the land of the living, but I'm not quite there. I'm almost and while that word may comfort weary travelers, it is my undoing.

But I have to be accepting of it because I am stuck.

I don't have a direction to move toward. I'm unable to transcend the barrier between passive spectator and active participant, nor can I find ride off into the proverbial sunset. I'm tethered here, and it frustrates me, which then gives way to guilt. I can see that Jeremy is hurting for me, and that causes me even more anguish.

I catch him looking at old pictures when he thinks I'm not around (I've been able to be a fly on the wall on a few occasions). I hear him saying I love you before an errant tear rolls down his cheek.

I end up with my back pressed against the wall of his closet, cursing as I remember that it won't provide me with any actual support, and curl into a ball. Legs pulled close to my chest, arms wrapped around my torso, and head on my knees. And before I know it, I wind up sobbing uncontrollably.

It's at this point that Jer usually senses my presence and yanks open the closet door.

I feel bad because this happened only hours ago, as he was dressing in his Sunday best, preparing for my funeral. The first time I hid from him, his reaction hadn't been negative, though I was referred to as creepy for a few days. Today is different—the sorrow is etched in every part of his face. The tight line of his mouth, the glassy eyes, dark circles, and the wrinkles between his furrowed eyebrows.

My heart breaks every time I look at him.

And his facial expression hasn't faltered once since we've ventured into the wilderness.

"I'm sorry, Jer," I whisper. "I just… sometimes I need a moment to come to terms with this." I make a sweeping hand gesture as if the natural foliage surrounding us is the issue.

He turns his head and gives me a half-hearted grin. "I know… it's weird. But at least I still have you, right?"

"Right."

He reaches toward me, fingers spread apart as if he is making a handprint in cement. He's looking for comfort, the reassurance of skin-to-skin contact, but there isn't any to be had. I raise my hand to his but there's nothing.

No sensation, no unity.

It somehow just makes everything worse.

Luckily, we don't get much time to wallow. I spot them, my friends, hiking toward my grave marker… except my body isn't underneath the tree stump they decided to honor me with. It's a spiritual thing. It's what I would want, to be one with nature.

Care and Elena are the ones I see first, weaving in and out of the maze of trees in short black dresses and heels. Then Matt in his sensible suit, followed by… Damon, who is dressed for the occasion.

I'm not sure what I had been expecting from the group's resident asshole, but it isn't the sullen expression I see him wearing now.

The mourners gather around the small clearing, my friends clutching mementos from the many years we spent together. Care places a pom-pom on the tree, sniffling, crying, mouth downturned into a frown. She steps back to where she stood before, next to Elena. Matt approaches and places a whistle beside the red-and-black pom-pom. He is trying to conceal his grief, but it's beginning to seep through.

Each expression of pain and sadness is just another nail in my coffin (pun intended), Dull, rusty nails that have no other use than to destroy, torture, and infect.

Elena, blubbering, holds her hand above the tree stump and releases a fistful of white feathers. The remainder of my magic being a thing of wonderment brings me the worst pain yet.

I used to feel so powerful, so free, as the magic thrummed through my body, as I bent objects to my will. When all I used it for was parlor tricks.

Now I don't have any of it and I feel useless. Empty. And that just makes this whole apparition deal more depressing than it would be otherwise. I'm not me. I've been deprived of everything, everyone, I love.

It fucking sucks.

Damon brings my book of spells over, placing it gently next to everything else. A jolt runs through my body as I'm brought back to the night of the sixties dance, the depth of the blue-eyed vampire's turmoil as he closed my own lifeless eyes, and it's like I'm there. I can't help but think I'm not understanding something. I'm missing a crucial piece of a puzzle, but I don't have time to figure it out—everything is fading away. I feel disoriented as I return to the here and now.

Care and Elena are weeping, embracing as their bodies tremble, wracked with sobs. I can't do this. I don't want to see this. Can't I catch one break? All I've ever wanted to do was protect those I care about, to keep them safe and happy, but everything I sacrificed to make that a reality is circling the drain.

I'm helpless. I have nowhere to run. No place to hide. What can I do to make this better? Don't they know I did all these things to ease their suffering? They are not supposed to mourn my death; They're supposed to go on and enjoy the lives they have.

But they won't stop, can't see the silver lining, so I resign myself to allowing them to grieve, to let them shed the pain my death has piled upon their shoulders.

There isn't another option.

Jeremy seems torn as he looks at his older sister, almost like he feels bad that I don't get to see them being jovial, recognizing that their joy is my only wish.

Poor Jer, he's been through the emotional wringer. Maybe I can change the vibe a bit. "It's okay—they need this." My voice is gentle. "I need this."

He nods, reaching over to grab the bell he brought for the service.

"We ring this bell," he begins somberly. "In honor of Bonnie. In remembrance for her," ding, ding. "I'm not sure what else to say…"

It's then that I know what I need to do. I can't receive reassurance—hell, I can't even give it directly, but Jeremy can.

"Say I'm not going anywhere. Say that even though they couldn't see me, that I've been there the whole time.

"She says that she's not going anywhere… that she's been here all along. Bonnie wanted you to have the summer of your life…"

I can feel the relief settling over everyone like I threw a stone into a puddle and little ripples are fanning around the center, gradually fading away. I walk around to each person in the circle, giving them each a moment to remind them that it's okay. That this is a hard time, but it too shall pass. I approach Elena first. As I stand beside her, I hope she realizes just how close we are. "And I saw you happy," I feel my joy growing as the words leave my mouth in Jer's voice. "And I know you think you can't have a normal life, that you have to be here for everyone, but you don't. Everyone will find their way. So, you are going to re-pack your things and you're going to go back to college, and you are going to live it up."

She lets out a shaky breath.

And Matt… he is crying now, too, bombarded by his self-torment, which is silly. He's Matt. The guy who will always stand by you, who will always give you a shoulder to cry on. A person who is just good.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Matt," I say lightly. "You know I would've sent you three hundred emails back if I could." How could I lump him in with the group that assumed everything was a-okay on my end? Matt just knew that something was off even before he was actually informed. "I miss you."

"Caroline," I start my peace knowing that there aren't enough words to describe how much she is loved, what her friendship means to me. "You decorated that dorm room like your life depended on it." She laughs through her tears, right along with me. "And I know college wasn't what you expected—and I know you feel like something's missing…"

"Tyler," the dark-haired werewolf appears as if my words conjured him up. Caroline turns, a look of joy spreading across her features, and runs into his arms.

She hangs onto his arm as he brings his offering to my grave—a single, white rose.

Both couples embrace and I'm overcome with bittersweet contentment. This is what I envisioned every time I was faced with a life-threatening (or ending) situation, their love is what gave me the strength to go through with it.

"This is good; this is what I wanted. I'll be okay." I tell Jeremy, who responds by reaching for my hand again, this time I take it without hesitation.

I try to take comfort in the delusion of going through the motions will ease the lingering doubt bubbling in my gut. Sure, I won't be able to heal with time, but they will. That's a big enough reward. Not every heroine saves the day, gets the guy, and recovers from the damage.

But then… some endings are better that way, even if they don't feel like it. I close my eyes, inhale, and hold the breath I don't need to expel. When my eyelids flutter, I catch flashes of blue, slightly blurred through tears I didn't realize I was crying.

I wipe my face with the sleeve of my jacket, immediately wishing that I let them continue. My vision is better when it's obscured because I don't have to acknowledge what's happening, even though no one else is aware of the subtle shift in the air. Damon is staring right at me. Like he can pinpoint my exact location.

It elicits an unexpected response from me, which is a little scary since my body isn't really a body at all. A chill runs down my spine and my gaze doesn't waver from Damon's. I cannot turn away, I want to, but I'm paralyzed.

Damon knows.

I don't know what he knows, not really, but I can make a guess. He instinctively understands what it feels like to play second fiddle, to never get any gratification, no matter how hard you try.

Even now, he doesn't seem satisfied. He has the girl—the girl he's been pining over for years—and still, that spark in his eyes isn't there. The fire that burns within him when he's angry or determined.

Almost like happily ever after isn't all it's cracked up to be.