The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. I never even said goodbye to him. Why would God take him from me after all we had suffered? I wanted so desperately to feel his arms around me, around us. It had been two weeks since the raid, and I was still no closer to seeing Damon. They moved me into an apartment building with the other women from the compound. They were just as lost as I was, but I kept to myself.
"I need to see him," I sobbed to the therapist, as she doodled in her notebook.
This woman could not care less about me. She did not, could not, understand my situation or the story that lay deep within my soul. She was paid to care and that wasn't good enough for me. I couldn't stand not trying to get him back. I needed him so much.
"We can't let you do that, Elena. He has done enough to you already," She spoke rhythmically, crossing her legs.
"You can't keep me here. I'm leaving. I don't need your permission," I hissed, standing from the chair.
"No, I can't, but I advise you to stay until we can find you a place to live out your life. Think of your baby," She smiled at me.
This woman would not control me. I was better than that. I was stronger than all of it. I smiled at her, looking her deep into her eyes.
"I'm leaving," I proclaimed, finding the door of the apartment, the therapist shocked by my bravery and resistance.
I had nothing of value to bring with me, so I left without a second glance. All I had was fifty dollars they had given me for food that month. I walked the length of the hall, finding the staircase. I refused to be controlled any longer. I didn't care that they wanted to help. They wanted to control me; tell me I was crazy. I couldn't take it anymore. I would find my own way to be with him again.
"I'm coming, Damon" I screamed as I pushed the back door of the apartment building, tears brimming in my eyes. It felt good to shout my victory.
I held my belly, finding my way to the street. I walked for some time until I finally saw the bus stop. I felt my heart jump a little as I approached it, standing under the glass dome, a bench left empty. There I sat, watching as the traffic pass for some interminable length of time. After a while, I noticed the sky had darkened, the surrounding people walking swiftly to their jobs.
"Damon," I whimpered his name, feeling afraid.
Maybe I was crazy. I didn't care, though. I just knew I had to see him again. He was not the State's property-he was mine. Forgiving Damon had taken time, but he is the only person I saw myself in. He was stubborn and determined and brave. Yes, I had nowhere to turn, but I would find a way. When a bus pulled up, I jumped from the bench frantically, my heart racing.
"Does this bus go to Larkin Street?" I asked the driver, my eyes full of so much fear.
"There is no street around here with that name." She looked at me like I was a maniac, and I felt my heart skip a beat.
"You have to help me. Please. I need to go there," I was pleading, my hand clutching the fabric of the modern dress I had been given.
"I'm sorry," She whispered and her eyes lost contact with mine when a man behind me tapped my shoulder to get on.
I let out a small cry before stepping from the bus. I returned to the bench that was still empty, bowing my head as I cried. I watched as it pulled away and I felt so alone in that moment. The streets were no longer filled with cars or men in suits. They had been replaced with emptiness, like my heart. The clouds filled the sky, and I felt the wind whip against my skin, causing me to shiver.
I sat there for a long time, letting all the emotion leave my body. I was cold and tired and lost. I refused to go back into that apartment building where I was treated like a helpless child. So I stayed, watching as person after person sat beside me, awaiting the bus. They all stared at me for a while, probably curious why a pregnant girl was sobbing on a bench in the cold.
"Do you need help, Miss?" A man finally asked me and I sniffled softly, my face still in my hands.
"I just need time," I whispered, listening as he sat beside me.
"Please tell me why you're crying," He muttered, a newspaper in his hands,
"I am looking for my husband," I mumbled, burying my face in my hands again.
"Are you from that polygamous compound that was raided a couple weeks back? I noticed your hair." I heard him adjust in his seat.
I finally looked up, shocked by his question. My furrowed brow accurately expressed my confusion. The man was around Damon's age, his face showing his prominent forehead wrinkles and brown hair
"You know about that?" I asked, staring at him with so much desperation that I could feel my hands tremble in my lap.
"Are you Elena?" His face was just as surprised as mine.
He looked so hesitant to ask, turning a page of the paper nervously.
"Who are you?" I could feel my heart racing in my chest, my breaths quickening.
"I'm Alaric Saltzman. I'm the one who helped Damon get you out of there" He smiled at me, and I thought I was going to fall off the bench.
"You know Damon? I'm going to get him out," I announced confidently.
"I've been trying to get him out for the past two weeks," He said with a smile, "So, you're the infamous, Elena?"
"I can't do this," I sobbed, and I stood up from the bench, stumbling down the pavement of the sidewalk.
I could hear his footsteps follow behind. He shouted after me, but I ignored him, my strides growing. I couldn't trust anyone anymore. It was a trick. I was on my own, and I had the power to do it. He probably thought I was crazy, too, just like everyone else.
"Elena, please. I want to help you. Damon is my friend. I made him a promise, and I will keep to it," He shouted, and at that, I stopped, turning myself to face him.
"Why should I trust you?" I snapped, spitting my words.
"Because the Prophet has taken something from each of us. We all want the same thing; revenge," His voice cracked, and I could see he was being honest.
We rode for hours in his car. He knew I had some business to finish. I told him about Diana, the woman who had shown me the good in people. This was the woman who treated me like I was a person, not a victim. She was the woman who wasn't afraid to die. I needed to find a sense of peace, and returning to her home was the only way.
"Larkin Street, right?" Alaric asked, pulling onto a seemingly familiar road.
"That's her house," I choked, feeling my throat tighten.
It was hard to hold back the emotion that welled up inside me. This is the place where I learned to heal, where I learned I was pregnant, where Diana was murdered. I felt my stomach turn inside me, and I fought the dizziness that threatened to take over.
That same yellow house with the shutters stared back at me, like it knew why I had returned. He pulled right up to it, and I let out a long cry, pulling the door open frantically. I stepped from the car, Alaric trying to hold me back. My mind was in such a trance, I couldn't even hear his yells for me to stop.
"Elena, let me make sure it's safe first," He hollered behind me as I climbed the porch steps.
The tears wouldn't stop pouring from my eyes as the memories raked through me. I reached my hand out, knocking hard with my knuckles. I waited, absorbing the familiarity of Diana's home. Moments later, the door creaked open to reveal a young man with light blue eyes and blonde hair.
"Elliott," I screamed in delight, throwing my arms around his neck.
I didn't speak for a long time, and I felt his hand gently touch my shoulder. I looked up at him, trying to keep it together long enough to explain it all to him.
"Please just know she wasn't afraid, okay? I will never forgive myself for what happened," I sobbed.
"It's made us all better," He breathed, rubbing my shoulder gently, "We've missed you so much."
I couldn't stop crying, wiping the tears from my cheeks once again. He looked at me in confusion and I abruptly stopped the tears.
"We?" I choked.
"Elliott, who's at the door?" A familiar voice shouted from inside the house.
That's when I saw her. Diana.
"Elena!" She screamed, lunging for me with a huge grin.
No, the Lord taketh, but the Lord giveth indeed.
Damon's POV
At least Hell didn't require a uniform. The orange suit only made me feel worse. I spent every waking hour in it. I sat through the weeks worth of interrogations, being reminded every day that I was a monster, and I never disagreed. They refused to give me a break, bombarding me with question after question. They wanted me to suffer and for some reason, I never fought back.
"You know how many years you'll be getting, Mr. Salvatore?" The cop hissed into my face.
"You will never see that child grow up. You will rot in a cell until your black heart stops ticking," He growled, pushing a finger into my face.
"I want to see her. She deserves to say goodbye," I whispered.
The man laughed loudly like it was a joke. He looked me in the eyes, his face turning to rage. He grabbed the collar of my suit roughly, his face just inches from my own.
"Her lawyer would never stand for that, Sonny. She doesn't want to see you. She's finally seeing how amazing life is without being raped every night. You owe it to her to let go," He spat.
"I request to see her," I almost snapped.
"I will never allow you near her. Do you understand?" He shot back, slamming his hand on the table.
"I have the right-" I began to shout, but he cut me off.
"You have the right to remain silent, buddy. You have a visitor, anyway," He began to laugh again, and it only made my blood run cold.
"Who?" I breathed, pushing my fingers through my hair, nervously.
"He calls himself the Prophet. Nice guy, too." The cop smirked, stepping towards the door of the small room, slamming it behind him.
I thought I was going to lose it right there. Mosiah Barlow was visiting me? He had won, so why was he here? Shit. I cursed to myself, gripping my hair roughly.
"Elena," I whimpered, banging my head against the metal table violently, feeling my skin crack repeatedly from the impacts.
The blood dripped down my face and I felt better, somehow. Maybe I felt that I deserved it or that I needed the reminder of my fate. Death would be too easy, wouldn't it? God was to punish me and I would let him.
"Damon!" A voice chuckled from the door and I felt my heart stop.
He looked right at me, a smirk forming on his lips.
"And will I tell you that these three lived happily ever after? I will not, for no one ever does. But there was happiness. And they did live." -Stephen King