Ah, here it is, the finale to my terribly unloved story Dowager that I spent so long working on and yet has failed to get a single review! *chuckles*
For the loyal people who have read it, thank you very much, I appreciate your time. I hope you have enjoyed at least some of it. I had fun writing it.
May I advise that if you don't like sex and violence, this chapter may not be for you. And, er, it all gets a bit kinky…. So you have been warned.
Anyway, enjoy.
SFP x
Dowager
Chapter 3: Loose Ends
The bell rang and Caroline was fast on her feet. Elena was slow to follow; she appeared to be sat frozen at her desk, staring into space.
"Elena, I thought you'd be dying to get out of here? Aren't you having dinner with Stefan tonight?" Caroline asked.
"Um, yeah…I guess so."
"Ok, well, I've got practice, I gotta run. Catch you later!" She said sunnily and then breezed out of the classroom as though only two minutes before she hadn't dropped the bomb which had left Elena reeling. She gathered her things slowly and walked out to her car in a kind of daze. As she sat behind the wheel she cursed herself for her stupidity.
They had been chatting about life, love and her relationship with Stefan, when Caroline suddenly said, 'I wonder how many times he's been married?'. The question was completely logical, but she had never even considered it for a moment. Her boyfriend was 162 years old; of course he would have been married before. Of course! But when Caroline had simple mentioned it, without even missing a beat of their conversation - Elena had felt sick to her stomach. Why had it never occurred to her before?
When she finally turned the key in the ignition her cell rang. It vibrated from her purse with noisy persistence and she regarded it as if it were alien to her. It kept ringing, so eventually she killed her engine and took the call.
"Elena, would you mind please picking up some heavy cream if you are passing the store?" Stefan asked politely.
"Sure…"
"Thanks. See you soon." He hung up.
She turned the key and began her drive on autopilot. She drove straight through Mystic and even past the 7-Eleven. She didn't stop until she was at the Salvatore boarding house.
"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted her with a kiss, "you got here quickly." He was somewhat puzzled. He put his hand out and she looked confused. "The cream…?" he nudged.
"Oh, sorry, I forgot..." She said and walked past him into the house. He had literally spoken to her only five minutes before. Following her inside, a sense of worry began to creep over him.
"Don't worry, I won't interrupt you two lovebirds, I am on my way out." Damon said, patting down his pockets for his keys. He began a hunt for them under sofa cushions.
She didn't respond. Instead, she turned and looked at Stefan, putting out her hand to touch his arm. He had to listen to what she came here to say.
"Are you all right?" He asked.
"Have you ever been married?" She said, her troubled brown eyes immediately searching his own.
The question stopped both brothers in their tracks.
"Wow." Stefan knitted his eyebrows together. "Where did that come from?"
Damon dropped to the sofa with a thud. Stefan took Elena's arm and steered her to it too, forcing her to sit. She sat awkwardly on the edge, hands pressed firmly between her knees.
"Weren't you about to leave?" Stefan directed at his brother.
"Not a chance." Damon grinned impishly. In fact, he removed his jacket and made himself comfortable. Stefan ignored him and turned back to Elena.
"Has someone said something to you?" He asked carefully.
"Why? Should they have?" She snapped, worried there was something else she didn't want to hear.
"No, no, calm down. I just meant, what brought this on?"
"I seriously can't believe you haven't had this conversation! Priceless." Damon chuckled.
"Shut up, Damon!" Stefan growled.
"You haven't answered me." Elena said. Stefan put out a hand to stroke her leg, but she flinched away from him. He sighed unhappily.
"Elena, I am not doing this in front of him. We'll talk later."
"No. He'll at least tell me the truth. Damon, has he been married before? And whilst we're at it, have you?"
The abruptness of her tone took them both by surprise. Damon raised an eyebrow; his previous cockiness almost entirely disappeared when she turned the question onto him.
"Elena…" he began, "I'm not sure what to say to you…?" He looked at Stefan for guidance, but found none.
Stefan forced her hand into his own and reluctantly she turned to face him, her cheeks flushed red.
"I'll tell you everything you want to know, but we are not going to do it like this." He said. "Damon is going to stay for dinner and we are all going to talk."
"I am?" Damon took one look at Stefan's face and realized there was no arguing. "Oh, apparently I am."
"Stop treating me like a child." Elena said. She got up and marched straight over to where they kept their spirits and poured herself a large whiskey.
"Damon?" She said, offering the alcohol.
"Well, cocktail hour has come rather early," he said, "but why not?"
His tone would have sounded the same as normal to most ears, but Stefan knew that Damon was as concerned as he was. Elena's behavior was troubling erratic, and it seemed as though she was spoiling for a fight. Neither brother particularly enjoyed female confrontation, despite seeming to always get themselves mixed up in it. It appeared to be a Salvatore family trait.
Elena held up the bottle and looked at Stefan who shook his head no. Oh God, he was fretting about her - as always. She really hated that. She just wanted the truth.
She handed Damon his Scotch and sat down next to him.
"I'm going to start cooking," Stefan said, "you can come and join me if you want to. Or not, it's up to you." He left the room with a distinct air of a man who was not in the mood to talk about this, or anything.
She downed her drink in one and got up to fix another.
"Well, I'm glad to see my Glenfiddich is to your liking, but really, you might want to eat something first." Damon said to her.
"Don't patronize me." She said, deliberately downing a second and pouring herself a third.
"Oh boy, tonight's going to be fun…" He muttered under his breath, but aloud he added cheerfully "Never drink alone!" and held his glass out for a refill. She obliged and came and sat back down next to him. She knew Stefan would be listening intently from the kitchen, so she made it worth his while.
"Tell me." He shook his head.
"Not yet."
"I want to know."
"And you will. Be patient." There was no way he was doing this without Stefan. It was too complex, too tiring.
She huffed and sipped at her drink. (At least she had slowed down on that front, he thought.)
"Come on," he said, taking her glass from her and carrying it through to the dining room. "Let's go watch Stefan make himself useful." She followed him, but only because that was the way her drink was heading.
Once in the dining room, they worked together to set the table. Damon ran down to the cellar and brought up a couple of bottles of wine. He picked the lowest alcohol content stuff he could find before taking it back upstairs. She was looking surly and when he asked her if she wanted to come through to the kitchen, she refused to move - so he left her there and went by himself.
Stefan was furiously chopping, taking his frustration out on an eggplant. When Damon came in, they exchanged glances.
"How is she?" Stefan asked in a lowered voice.
Damon pulled a face. "I hope this meal is almost ready." He said, miming the action of her knocking back drinks. He left his brother to his work and returned to the dining room, grabbing a glass of tap water as an afterthought.
They had been sat in awkward silence for the best part of the meal, waiting for Elena to take the lead. Damon was just about to say 'well, its been fun, but…', when she finally spoke.
"Stefan, when I look at you, you are the same age as I am. I forget the life you have lead and the relationships you have had. I don't mean sex, I mean everything. All the people you have come into contact with…" she said as if finishing some train of thought she had had some time ago. "But your actual relationships, the people you have loved; I guess we don't talk about those. Caroline today said something about how you 'must have been married' in the past and I felt so stupid, because I hadn't even thought of it. Not once. Then I remembered your real age and I thought how small and insignificant our time together must be to you."
Damon looked over the table to Stefan, he knew that that comment would have cut deep and he could see that it had. It was time he interrupted.
"We've lived a long time Elena, its true," he said, "but the significant people in our lives stay significant whether we have known them for a day, or twenty years. Just like they do for you."
She looked at Stefan, who had his hands clasped and head bowed as if he was praying. He balanced his head on his forefingers.
"Will you answer me Stefan? Have you ever been married?" She looked at him directly but he kept his head lowered. Eventually he looked her in the eyes.
"No." He said, "But there was someone I wanted to, once."
She turned to face the other brother. "Damon?" He also shook his head in the negative.
"Forgive me for saying so, but I find that kind of hard to believe." She got up angrily and marched out of the dining room. The men got up to follow her. When they found her, she was back by the spirits pouring another drink.
"Who was she, Stefan? This person you wanted to marry, but oh-so-conveniently forgot to."
"Sit down please, Elena." She stood defiantly and finally somewhat losing his temper, he raised his voice. "Elena, sit down."
She pouted but did what she was asked. They joined her.
"Her name was Shelley Demonte and she was… special to me." Stefan began, his lips felt dry and he passed his tongue across them whilst wondering how to continue. She was finally quiet and listening intently, so he knew he had to go on.
"We met in troubled times, it was difficult to be together."
"It was the sixties, Elena. She was black." Damon translated bluntly. Stefan gave him a look, but Damon shrugged. There was no point skirting around the issue.
Elena thought about that. She wasn't sure what she expected to hear (to be honest, she hadn't thought that far ahead), but she was fairly sure that first hand experience of bigotry wasn't top of the list. She had a million questions, but she started with the most important one.
"Did you love her?"
He raised his eyebrows as he thought about that.
"I thought so at the time." He admitted. "I cared for her, deeply, but the issues always seemed to get in the way. People like us, well, it was hard."
"Did you know her?" She asked Damon.
"We met." He replied, looking across at Stefan when he answered.
"You said you wanted to marry her – why didn't you?" She asked, returning her line of questioning to Stefan.
"Life got in the way." He said simply. Damon rolled his eyes.
"What he means to say is that they tried to, but it didn't happen."
"So what happened? What aren't you telling me?" She raised her own voice now, even though she hated to be the 'hysterical woman', she felt like one. Stefan looked up at Damon, who briefly held his gaze. Elena thought she must have been drunk because it seemed to her that Stefan seemed to be asking permission of his brother to tell his own life story. It was all very confusing. Damon gave him the slightest of nods. What was going on between them? Why had Stefan asked him to stay in the first place? She was getting really irritated with the pair of them, stalling and not being direct. She wanted to scream. Eventually Stefan began to speak.
"We drove a long way, out of our state, out of the goddamn country almost, to a church I had found where the pastor would do it – for a healthy bribe. It was still illegal back then to marry outside your race, you see." He paused, got up and fixed himself a drink. "We had very little money and no plan what to do after, but we figured we would get by, no matter how hard it was. But I'm not so sure of that anymore." He admitted. "Things were tense back then. Even driving in the car together people would be shocked if they saw us. They used to spit - name call. All kinds of things. Ugly times." He shook his head.
She glanced at Damon, who appeared to be listening to this potted history patiently.
"Shelley wasn't sure we could even get through it without someone trying to stop us. Don't get me wrong, she was tough, but she had been married before and her husband had died trying to bring about civil rights. She was scared of all the trouble us being married would bring. I always wonder if I didn't push her into it." He added reflectively. He ran his hand through his hair. The guilt he obviously felt played across his face, but he continued. "Anyway, I took her to the church and when we turned up, we interrupted another wedding." He took a sip of his drink and his eyes flicked up to Damon. Damon said nothing.
"It was Damon, Elena. It was his wedding we interrupted." She blinked.
"That's impossible."
"You'd think. But Damon was trying to marry a rich widow whose family didn't approve. They were supposed to be happy about it, but they didn't want the wedding to happen. Money was involved you see. The sons had identified him for the crook he most assuredly was." Stefan met Damon's eyes again and a look passed between them that was hard to identify. "The sons got lawyers to try and stop it, so he took his fiancé on the run to the most out of the way place he could find. Marry quickly - no questions asked."
She looked between them, shocked at what was being said. She couldn't read the tension in the air – they seemed to blame each other for something that had gone down. It was too strange for words, but the tension in the room made her head buzz.
"He was furious when we interrupted. His fiancé's sons were in pursuit and I delayed the ceremony just long enough so they could find the place, march in and create a scene. When they discovered that we were brothers and I had turned up to marry a black woman… Well, that just about made them explode. They claimed it was a lawful impediment to the marriage and the pastor said he wanted no more to do with either of us."
Elena felt her stomach lurch. She couldn't take her eyes of Damon now. As his brother narrated his own story, she realized how inexplicably linked their lives were and always had been. Katherine was the least of it. There was so much history between them. Would she be part of that history too? Her brain seemed to be on a go-slow, she was finding it difficult to make the connections any more.
Stefan continued, but she could only focus on the little twitch in Damon's jaw.
"When the pastor we had driven three days to see announced he was done with us and with Damon's people flinging racist insults at her, well… I am sure you can imagine the rest. Shelley wanted no more part of it."
Elena furrowed her brow.
"If she loved you," she said, "she'd have gone through with it no matter what. She'd have found a way." Stefan shook his head.
"I think it was the out she had been looking for all along. She turned tail and ran from that place. I never saw her again. Plus, Damon gave me a right hook; I still have the scar. See?" He indicated a small scar on his cheekbone.
She wasn't interested in that, that was just standard sibling stuff. She had a two-inch long scar on her leg from when Jeremy chucked a toy truck at her when they were little.
"Damon, did you love your fiancé?"
"It was for the money, darling." He said. "I was a little strapped back then."
She couldn't help feeling that she expected better from them both. She shook her head, but the cloudiness refused to lift.
"Stefan why didn't you go after Shelley?"
"Don't you think I tried? I looked high and low, but she was gone. I went back to the city, to her apartment, but she had left all her things and never came back for them. I even tried to trace her people, though they were long since estranged. She knew how to vanish, Elena. She didn't want to be found."
He drank the dregs of his whisky, put the glass down and went over to her. He knelt down on her level and stroked her knees.
"I have a heart Elena, maybe not like yours, but I do have a heart. I loved Shelley and I was devastated we wouldn't be together. But my relationship with her, or anyone else for that matter – doesn't even begin to compare to what I have with you."
She reached for his hands and held them tight. They briefly kissed and Damon consoled himself with his drink. She turned to face him now as Stefan returned to his seat.
"What was your fiancé's name, Damon?"
"Eleanor Critchlow, of the Lexington Critchlows." He said mockingly.
"What happened to her? I mean she must have been upset at the way things turned out?"
There was a pause, which seemed to chill the room.
"She hung herself."
"My God! I'm so sorry."
Damon didn't acknowledge her with a response, but she noticed that his jaw remained tense. She wasn't quite sure she wholly believed that he had only been marrying this woman for the money. If he was, then why was he trying so hard not to look upset? The drink made her careless and she said her thoughts out loud.
"You cared for her."
He stood up angrily.
"She was a cash-cow Elena. Nothing more, nothing less. Don't try and romanticize me or my relationships." He began to leave, and then said as an afterthought, "There has been fucking and getting fucked and that is about it."
As he walked towards the stairs and she stood up suddenly (perhaps not such a great idea).
"Damon!" he delayed but she had to address his back. "Damon, I'm sorry."
"Not necessary." He began back up the stairs.
"No, Damon. I'm sorry you never got to find out what could have happened between you. Maybe it would have worked out."
He paused at that and then disappeared entirely.
After the discomfort of the previous exchange, Elena was happy to be with Stefan alone. The room seemed to return to some sense of calm.
"If there are ever things you want to know, just ask me." Stefan said as he settled beside her in the place Damon had vacated. "I don't know how much you want to know, you have to tell me."
"Okay then…" Fine, maybe she would call his bluff, "how many women have you slept with?" The drink cut right to the point.
"Sixty four."
She wasn't expecting him to answer at all, so she paused now to align her thoughts. Her brain refused to do the math, but it didn't seem like all that many. Not over so many years.
"Why so few?"
It was his turn to be surprised; he thought she would be angry.
"I'm choosy." He said and then corrected himself. "Actually, that's not true. I didn't used to be choosy, but I calmed down a lot as I got older. In the end, Elena, you have to understand that sex is often just a tool for vampires to acquire human blood. If you take blood out of the equation, you want to avoid being intimate with people in that way; its just temptation."
He looked towards the stairs and thought about his brother. "It was kind, what you said to him."
"Do you think he loved her?"
"I don't know, but I saw how he reacted when you suggested it. Maybe he had feelings for her, you know, in as much as Damon has feelings."
"Hasn't there been anyone else, anybody at all that you wanted to marry?" She asked incredulously.
"Not until now." He said looking at her, but he could see that her eyes were swimming slightly and the significance of the statement was completely lost on her. "But you need to go to bed." He added with a wry smile. "Come on. Let me carry you."
"I can walk!" She said stubbornly. She stood up and tottered over to the stairs, beginning her ascent as if it were an assault on Everest. "Stefan, do you think Damon will find love?" She asked loudly, swaying outside Damon's door.
"I hope so." He said, knowing they would be heard. "I really do."
She woke at three a.m. with a raging thirst and a need for Advil. When they went to bed, Stefan had consumed half a prescription's worth of sleeping pills to put himself out for the count, so she was going to have to get whatever she needed for herself.
She slipped out of bed and made her way down towards the kitchen where Stefan had put her things. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she found Damon sat in candlelight, drinking blood. Although her head was killing her, she still felt pride enough in her appearance to run her hands over her bed-hair. He seemed lost in his thoughts and so she temporarily slipped past him into the kitchen and found the drugs in her purse. A wave of nausea hit her, but it passed and she took the pills with a large glass of water. She knew she had to go over to him and say something, things felt awkward and she wanted to clear it up.
"Damon." She said, coming into the living room and sitting next to him. She pulled her legs up and huddled herself, it was cool down here and she was only wearing a vest top and shorts. He saw she was cold and considered placing an arm around her, but tossed his jacket around her shoulders instead. She took it gratefully, and pulled it close around her body, it smelled a little of his aftershave and warm leather. He was about to move away from her and return to bed, so she asked him to stay.
"Please come and sit with me a while."
"Can't sleep?" He asked as he settled back down.
"Too much drink." She admitted with a smile. He returned it.
"No such thing." He added conspiratorially. She appreciated the kindness.
Where to start? How could she verbalize what she was thinking? He was so tricky; she knew that if she said the wrong thing he would slip away from her. She was sure she wasn't at her most coherent best right now, but she may never get another opportunity like this. She must have been staring at him, because suddenly he frowned.
"Stop it, Elena. Stop feeling sorry for me." He drained his glass of blood and put it down. How did he do that? How did he always know what she was thinking?
"Stop it with the big eyes, the meaningful glances and the kind words for 'poor old Damon'. I don't need your bloody pity!"
She turned to face him.
"We can't help it if we want you to be happy!" She said, cross that he had seen right into her. "Why is it such a bad thing? Why I can't I want that for you?" The change from the use of 'we' to 'I' was not lost on him.
Anger suddenly roused him and he jumped to his feet.
"Because it's not your right!" She stood and letting his jacket slip from her shoulders got right up in his face. She knew that he could feel her booze-tinged breath, but she didn't care. Let him think she was drunk – what did it matter anyway?
He couldn't understand his anger, where it came from or why it felt so raw. He knew she wasn't scared of him and it royally pissed him off. She would never back down, never give in. Why couldn't she just let him alone instead of constantly prodding at scars and making him think and feel about things that were better left forgotten? She should be scared, terrified even, in awe of his power to destroy her.
Impulsively he grabbed her above her elbows, shaking her and raising her almost off her feet so she had to struggle to stand on her tiptoes. His teeth shot out and veins protruded and he showed her his true self, every bit of the vampire she was supposed to fear.
"I could kill you," he said breathlessly, "I could rip the head from your neck before you could even blink. I could kill your family, your friends, your neighbors, before your feet touched the floor."
He gripped her harder, leaving half-moon bruises where his fingers dug into her flesh. Never had he wanted to hurt her more. She looked him fiercely in the eyes, defiance running through every pore of her body.
"Why don't you then? Why don't you just kill me, Damon? Put an end to it!"
She tipped her head back and the sound of the blood throbbing through her jugular hit him like a freight train. Her blood, the essence of her being; he knew that if he could have her now he would be rid of this pain that gnawed him from the inside out. He pulled her right against his body and she offered her throat, a subordinate gesture that was anything but. It made him want to drain her dry.
"Do it, Damon. Tear my throat out!"
He roared, a blood curdling, furious sound from the depths of his being, but still she was defiant - still had the upper hand. He pulled her throat to his teeth, where they pricked at her flesh. He paused, his hesitation a mockery of who he was. Her pale, vanilla flesh was throbbing with the elevated beat of her heart. It was thundering, taunting him, calling out… making him hard.
He wanted the taste of her, wanted to tear into her. So what was stopping him? He felt his power slipping away from him, he had already begun to relax his grip and her scrabbling feet had now found purchase. Her chest was rising and falling with rapid breaths. Despite her helplessness, she had contempt written through every cell of her being; her black eyes recalcitrant with her own righteousness.
With that, he hesitated no longer and plunged his teeth into her, insatiable in his desire. She screamed, tears exploding from her eyes, her hands struggling to push herself away.
He sucked and sucked, pulling her energy from her body, getting hot from her fear and her anger. He could understand everything from her blood; her mood, her health, her heat and to his surprise, her desire - the very soul of who she was. It took every ounce of his control to stop and he lowered her to her feet. She leaned back, shock writ large on her face. Her left hand automatically went to her throat finding the wound there and stemming the flow of the blood. She was shaking, whether from loss of blood or rage he cared not. She leaned back and with her free hand slapped his face hard. His head was pushed to one side from the blow, but now he turned it slowly to look her direct in the eyes and he languidly licked the essence of her off his lips. Furious, she made to slap him again, but as her hand approached his face he grabbed it with his own. He yanked her towards him and their eyes met.
Before they knew what was happening, their lips were bruising each other with the intensity of their kiss. He could smell the blood at her throat and he knew he wasn't sated; he wanted to consume her, get under her skin. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around him, and he stumbled backwards, half throwing, half falling with her onto the sofa behind him. He pawed at her body and she helped him free her of her clothes. She practically ripped his shirt off of him and he frantically undid his belt buckle. He was barely free of his pants when he thrust his cock inside of her. She cried out; a deep and throaty rasping sound, as intense in her lust as he was in his. She put her hand behind the back of his neck and pulled him down to her lips. He kissed he hurriedly as he plowed into her, fucking her as hard as anyone he ever had, whether human or vampire. The wound at her neck opened and he leaned down and licked at the oozing blood. She put her hand onto his ass and pulled him into her, meeting his rhythm with her own, moaning with desire.
When she came, she cried out. He followed, juddering for many seconds then collapsing on her body, the rush of her blood still running through his veins. She was breathing heavily and he lay with his head on her chest, matching the movements of her rise and fall. She got her breath back and suddenly the horror at what had happened set in. She began pushing at him, desperate to get out from under him.
"Get off, get off of me!" She said. He was so shocked at first that he didn't immediately move, but when he realized she was in genuine distress, he scrambled to get off of her. She jumped up and grabbed for her clothes, covering herself with shaking limbs.
"What have we done?" She said, pulling on her clothes as fast as she could. He was so stunned and amazed, that it took him a moment to realize she was about to run out on him. He jumped to his feet, quickly zipped up his fly and ran to her. When he turned her to face him, he was shocked at what he saw. Blood encrusted her hair and was all over her clothes and her body, her arms were bruised, her eyes were red and filled with tears and worst of all was the ugly, gaping wound at her throat. He reached out to stroke her face, regret heavy in his heart.
"Oh Elena, I am so sorry." He said. "I never meant for it to be like this." He had never been more sincere.
She pulled away from his touch.
"Don't come near me!" She said. She ran to his phone and picked it up. He stood there, wondering what to do, how to make this right.
"Jeremy?…. Yes I know what time it is!…. I need you to come get me from Stefan's…. No, I can't drive myself. Please, Jer! I need you." She said, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill. Her voice wavered with emotion. Damon stepped towards her, wanting to comfort her, but she put her hand up defensively and shook her head. He stood still, feeling terrible. Is this what he wanted?
"Elena, at least let me…."
"No!"
He sank into the chair behind him and looked at her, his body tense with anxiety. She stood there, crying silently, mascara running down her face, mingling with the blood.
They waited in uncomfortable silence like that for fifteen minutes; Elena neither moved nor sat down, just stood there in dying candlelight, as the flames extinguished themselves one by one. Damon looked at her the whole time, concern leaving a weary expression on his face.
Eventually they heard the sound of a car pulling into the drive. He jumped to his feet, but she was quick to run past him to the door. When she flung it open, Jeremy was already running towards the house, a stake in his hand. She ran barefoot towards him.
Damon walked towards the door, but did not reveal himself.
"Elena, what happened?" Jeremy was asking as she ran into his arms. "Is that blood? Did Stefan hurt you? Jesus Christ, I'll fucking kill him!"
"No Jeremy! Just get me out of here." She begged.
"I'll kill him!" He said trying to push past her, but she pushed back with all her strength and directed him towards the car. He looked at the house, utter incomprehension on his face.
Elena got in the car and reluctantly he followed. The engine fired and they roared away, their tires spinning on the gravel.
Damon closed the door and sank down behind it.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
They didn't hear from her for almost a week. Stefan couldn't understand why she wouldn't return his calls.
"Where the hell is she? Why doesn't she call back?" He said, pacing continuously. He took Damon's lack of an answer as lack of interest, even though that was as far from truth as it could possibly be.
Eventually he drove off to find her and when he couldn't, he came back in a sour mood and marched to his room, slamming the door.
Damon had to find her first.
When Damon's number came up on her phone, she immediately hit reject call. But he kept ringing back and eventually after the fifth time, she threw the phone in her trashcan. It kept ringing and ringing and she put her hands over her ears to drown out the sound. Eventually, she fished the phone out and answered the call.
"What!" She shouted, "What do you want? Leave me alone!"
"I'm outside, Elena. We need to talk." Damon said, his voice sad. She thundered down her stairs and flung open the front door. She turned straight around and ran back up to her room. He took a breath and followed her, as calmly as he could.
When he reached her bedroom, he knocked lightly and entered. She was sat crossed-legged on the bed in full-length pajamas that covered her arms and legs. Her face was turned down and she seemed so quiet and frail that she was almost unrecognizable from her former self. He went over to her and gently lifted her chin with his fingers, he turned her face towards him and his eyes flicked to her throat. There was a small square band-aid there, but the bruising bled out from under it. He took her hand and gently pushed her sleeve above her elbow, it was dark with purple and yellow bruises. He dropped the sleeve, but kept hold of her hand. He sat down on the bed beside her and bit down his anger and revulsion at what he himself had done.
"If I say I am sorry, it's just words. Just useless, hopeless words. But I don't have anything else." He reached out and with the back of his fingers very gently stroked her face.
"If I could take it back, I would. All of it. Everything I have ever done to hurt you." He squeezed her hand, but still she looked at the bed beneath her.
"Your blood, the blood I never had a right to take from you, it's a part of me now. It makes me function. You have forever changed me, my being, my make-up. We are deeply connected." He sighed. Words were so useless. He imagined what Eleanor might have said, 'Why, she's just a peach darling!' and somehow it made him feel worse. He looked at her and sighed lightly as tears began to stream down her face, he brushed them away with his thumb. "Don't cry, Elena. Please don't cry."
She sniffed and when the tears continued to pour, he frowned, and then pulled her into his body. She stiffened at first, but eventually she put her arms around him and let herself be rocked as he said 'Shh, shh… there, there.' When the tears had passed, she lay with her head on his lap, her body still and quiet once more. He stroked her hair and marveled at its softness. How could he ever have forgotten how fragile she was?
"Let Stefan love you." He said. "He is what I can never be." He leaned down and lay the lightest of kisses on her cheek, then lifted her head and slid out from under her, putting her gently back down on the bed. He hesitated, playing for time; he didn't want to take his leave of her and he knew it, what he wanted to do was to climb into that bed and hold her. Instead, he took her hand and kissed it.
She spoke.
"Damon, I want you to know something. What we did, was because I wanted it too. But what we have between us, is wrong… its poison." She swallowed. "We'd just end up hurting each other, our friends, our family - your family, Damon." She said pointedly and he nodded. He understood.
He had hurt everyone he had ever loved, why would she be any different? But Elena was no weeping widow, no checkbook with benefits. And as he walked away, he felt he could hear Eleanor's laughter. Maybe this was her curse, what she really bequeathed to him along with the money he never deserved; she had left him her pain - the pain of love that would never be reciprocated, never be wanted or desired, where passion and need would only ever lead to emotional destitution and misery. And maybe somehow it was Shelley's gift to Stefan too, as he would never have Elena's whole heart - a little bit of it would always belong to someone else, someone who had her blood running through his body.
This was to be his life now, this torment, this existence in the shadows. He may not be hanging from a beam in a cheap motel room, a stranger's belt around his neck, but the nature of it was the same. It was over. So over.