καταναλωτής

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a/n: I'm so sorry I haven't updated in a few days. I have been in a bad place lately and I just couldn't bring myself to write anything. But here I am, as promised. I really hope that you enjoy this chapter and again, I am truly sorry for not updating sooner. Forgive me?

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part six

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Drowning in here, the air is not fair, it pierces my lungs, don't want to run. Move, slow, and let them know that I will pray for who I am, but I won't pray for who I'm not.

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She wakes up to the sound of quiet footsteps outside. Curiously, Elena peeps through the dusty blinds and feels the barest hint of a smile curl onto her lips as she spots the jogger bent over, trying her shoelaces. Without even thinking, she slides out of bed, padding gently past the roaring flames in the loft. Damon has his face buried into the couch, dried tears staining his cheeks. There is an empty cup on the table next to him, but he doesn't seem to be looking at it. It seems as if there isn't any life in him.

I'm doing this, Elena thinks guiltily. I can't do it. I've got to make him happy, somehow.

The footsteps from outside echo again. Giving Damon's still figure a last glance, Elena noiselessly opens the door and slips outside into the cool breeze.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman apologizes, straightening up and backing off of the lawn. "My shoelaces came undone."

"No problem," Elena answers, the words slipping coldly through.

The jogger's eyes glimmer with a hint of fear, but it is quickly replaced with an innocent smile. Tightening the ponytail holder around her mane of blonde hair, the woman begins to jog again. After waiting a few seconds, Elena begins to follow, not even bothering with jogging. It doesn't take long for the sun to creep behind the hills, casting everything in a twilight hue.

Finally, the woman seems to sense something. She looks back and sees Elena. Her brow furrows, lips opening in a silent question. "Oh, are you jogging too?"

"No," Elena says simply.

The woman speeds up a little, giving Elena a worried glance. Then she turns around, breaking into a run that isn't meant to look forced, but does. Her breathing picks up and her heart begins to thud against her chest. Elena sniffs the air, can practically taste the woman's sweet blood on her tongue.

"Hey," Elena calls out just loudly enough to catch the woman's attention.

"Yes?" The woman answers cautiously, sweating beginning to bead on the furrows in her forehead. Her muscles roll and then tighten as the rational half of her plans to run away, probably home to a husband that doesn't pay attention to her and kids that refuse to eat their vegetables. However, as her pupils dilate, the other half of her surfaces, one that is enthralled by Elena's mystery, the half of her that is going to get her killed.

"I'm sorry," Elena whispers, genuinely meaning it. She smiles regretfully, thinking of just yesterday when she was adament about staying away from the temptation, refusing to become this monster who inflicts pain on innocent people. And yet here she is, smiling just enough to reveal the pointed tips of her fangs. Elena knows she looks beautiful, chilling too, and she hates it.

The woman inhales sharply, beginning to back away. "I should - um, get home," she stutters, trying to play it off.

She is terrified. The scent of her fear is delicious.

Elena follows her slowly, the smile widening on her face as the woman begins to sprint away, cries rasping in the back of her throat. The victims always feel as if they actually have a chance once they are confronted with the demons of the night. Please, she scoffs, continuing to follow the woman and wondering if she should snap her neck or drink slowly, savor each sip. Elena has seen Stefan and Damon in their darkest moments, watched them hum with desire as they followed their prey without any sense of regret.

"No," the woman shrieks as she runs. "Please."

Elena sighs, beginning to get bored. "I'm sorry," she says again, slowly, the veins beginning to bud under her eyes, gruesome shades of red and green.

The woman chokes on a sob.

There is a whoosh as Elena sprints forward. A crack splits the air, followed by a gurgled scream cut short.

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"Elena," someone is hissing. "Elena, stop!"

Elena continues to thrash underneath the hands holding her, choking on the blood in her mouth. "I'm sorry," she cries, trying to rip the person's arms away from her chest. "I didn't mean to kill her." Her head pounds and she can feel the fresh pain in her gums, threatening to erupt. Every particle in her body feels just about ready to burst and she hates the feeling, hates how out of control she feels. How could she kill somebody. What is wrong with her?

"Elena, you didn't kill anybody," the person answers slowly. "Please calm-"

"I broke her neck," Elena screeches, the world blurring around her, slipping in and out of color. Tears slide, hot, down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't kill anybody," the voice repeats, stuck between frantic worry and annoyance. "Do I need to knock you out? I have a baseball bat in the closet down the hall."

She recognizes the voice and wonders if he's been drinking. His words don't sound slurred. Slowly, painfully, Elena extracts herself from the world of horror creeping like black slime over her skin and forces herself to look up at Damon. The tears are still budding in her eyes, but the soft cries this time are from fear, not from rage or insanity.

"It felt so real," Elena whispers numbly. Another tear streaks down her cheek, dripping off the edge of her jaw.

"You were dreaming," Damon says, not quite a guess, not quite an understanding.

"I killed a woman," Elena says , remembering the woman's scream as Elena's fangs had pierced her neck, how blood had dotted her pretty blonde hair. "I couldn't stop myself. I-" was a monster. She doesn't want to say it, but by the look on Damon's face, it seems that he gets it.

Elena throws her arms around him, burying her head into his neck. It's probably the most selfish thing in the world to get this close to the Salvatore she didn't choose, but some part of her that she doesn't like to recognize needs Damon's presence desperately. A slow burn builds in the edges of her fingertips gripping the back of his neck, traveling down her shoulders and across the rest of her body. Her lips remember glowing as he'd kissed them and Elena pushes away the thought, focusing on the fact that Damon is here and he cares.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asks quietly after he's held her for a good ten minutes.

"Only about a half hour," Damon responds. His voice is light, but in the depths of his icy blue eyes, Elena can see every feeling he's trying to hide from her.

"Oh," Elena says, kind of disappointed that it wasn't longer. If she'd been unconscious, she wouldn't have had to face the conflicting opinions of everyone around her and her own indecision. "Did Stefan call?" She hopes that Stefan hasn't been doing anything stupid.

Damon smiles, but it's purely sarcastic. "Don't worry," he says, "my brother isn't in Ripperville. He's just...entertaining a drink or two at the Grill, is all."

Elena winces. "He shouldn't be-"

"Don't play that game," Damon snaps. He shrugs. "You can be mad at him all you want, but I don't think that my little brother can handle sitting by your bed-side and watching the girl that he loves slowly dying."

"And you can?" Elena asks sharply.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Damon responds wearily. He shrugs his shoulders up and down, trying to appear frustrated.

Her first instinct is to push away, gently say his name in an admonishing way which will make him understand that he needs to back away. At least, that worked when Elena thought she knew that Stefan was it for her. But now she's dying, and Damon's here, even when she's pushed him away too many times to count. Just once, he deserves not to be pushed away. She takes a deep breath.

"Yeah," Elena tells him, "you are." She wipes the skin under her eyes and winces at the flaky residue of makeup and tears her fingers encounter. She must look awful. Where is a mirror when she needs one?

Damon only looks surprised for a second. Then the casual smirk she knows so well settles back on his lips. "You're acting nice."

"Yes," Elena says slowly, eyebrows raising. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no," Damon says with a grin. "Just let me enjoy this for a second."

"Enjoy what?" Elena asks, gritting her teeth as he continues to eye with that cocky smile of his that drives her crazy. He's about to hold something over her that will probably set her off and he knows it, the bastard.

"Oh nothing," Damon says, his voice all sing-song like. "I just find it nice that for once in your life, you're pursuing me."

Elena jumps at the words. The memory of his lips tracing her own like they have a silent language all their own comes up again and she curses the fact that her cheeks are flaming.

"You're thinking about kissing me," Damon practically croons.

Leaning away from him and crossing her arms, Elena scoffs, "Please, let's not blow things out of proportion."

"Oh," Damon purrs, "okay. Who are you thinking about then?"

Elena says nothing.

"Is it Matt?" Damon asks. "No, he doesn't consume you. Jeremy...well, unless you're into that..."

"Who says I want anyone to consume me?" Elena asks, jutting out her chin defiantly.

In a flash, Damon is in front of her, on top of her, pinning her back against the headrest with his face much too close to her own. His eyes trace her face, eager and afraid all in one. Elena sees his lips part and her own follow without question. Her thoughts become a pile of mush as a delicious burning feeling travels through the core of her being. His tongue darts out, tracing the outline of her mouth, and she quivers, loving the way he molds perfectly around her. It consumes her and hurts her and makes her feels so indescribably full, and it seems impossible that it should be so.

"I say so," Damon murmers, his eyes softening as they linger on each aspect of her face. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Elena."

"I'm not afraid," Elena manages to whisper. She feels choked up.

"You're shivering," he points out. Keeping one of his hands braced, he uses his other hand to brush the outline of her face, hesitating on her jawline as he lifts her chin ever so slightly, aligning her lips.

Elena feels like she is going to cry. "Oh," she says.

I haven't been afraid of you in a long time. That's what she wants to say. But her damn tongue betrays her, as usual.

He lifts himself off of her then, and Elena almost misses the warmth of him. Thankfully, he doesn't leave the room, stopping at the edge of her bed to eye her inquisitively. "Do you have a bucket list?" he asks.

It catches Elena off guard. "I guess," she answers slowly. "It was more the knowledge that I wanted to be with the people I love, doing things that I love, on the last day of my life." Shrugging, she fixes her brown eyes on him and waits for him to speak.

"Can I show you something?" Damon asks, his face still smooth, soft. He holds out his hand.

She can hear the unspoken question. Am I really the person you want to be with when you're dying, Elena?

And just like the days when they were hunting for Stefan, when Elena promised that she trusted Damon, when she'd follow him anywhere, her hand slips into his. Their fingers interlock perfectly.

"Let's go," Elena tells him, smiling.

Damon's smile echoes her own, bright and warm.

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to be continued

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