καταναλωτής
.
..
...
a/n: Wow, guys, this is the longest chapter I've ever written and I hope you like it. The story isn't over, by the way. You'll just have to see what happens, won't you? Please review, guys. They really do make my day, and inspire me to write more.
.
part eight
..
You know you can't keep letting it get you down,
And you can't keep dragging that dead weight around,
If there ain't all that much to lug around,
Better run like hell when you hit the ground.
When the morning comes. When the morning comes.
...
"Why are we here?" Elena asks softly, still holding onto Damon's hand.
They move forward one foot at a time, one thought at a time. Elena can make out the smooth surface of water further up to the right. In front of the them, the worn sign reads One Night Only in curly script. The trees fade away, leaving a clearing with churned dirt and patches of green-brown weeds crawling across the earth. A structure resembling an old ferris wheel groans at the far end of the clearing, held in place by ropes stretching between the trees. Several canvas tops with faded colors lie on the ground in various spots, pinned down by rusty poles that used to hold them aloft.
"This is where my parents met," Damon says, heading for the remains of a brick wall. Elena sits down beside him, wrapping her arms around herself as a cold wind picks up, blowing through and sending dust flying. "Everyone thought that the first ferris wheel was invented by George W. Ferris in 1893, but it actually started with little carnivals such as these. They weren't named ferris wheels, of course, but they'd already been invented. George only selfishly named them after himself."
"Mankind will do anything for power," Elena mutters, smiling slightly. She looks around her, still kind of in awe. "How is any of this still here?"
Damon shrugs, "Part of it is the architecture. The support system was built in such a way that allowed the structure to remain somewhat stable even if it wasn't useable." He points towards the base of the ferris wheel, where the planks are criss-crossed tightly and buried into the ground.
"And the duct tape?" Elena asks, snorting as she notices it wrapped around the wooden beams.
Damon smiles, but it is hollow. "Duct tape can fix anything," he jokes weakly.
"Have people been trying to fix it?" Elena asks, standing up and heading towards it. She doesn't make it two seconds before stumbling and feeling her legs give out on her. It is only Damon's hand that keeps her from falling down. Her cheeks begin to burn with resentment towards death. More than anything, she hates being weak.
"Obviously," Damon answers, pulling her upright. "Myself being one of them."
"Really?" Elena asks, picturing Damon out here piecing together the ride which reminds him of his mother. The thought is touching. "Did Stefan help you?"
"No," Damon says shortly. "Stefan hardly remembers our mother. He doesn't have any reason to be out here."
"You're out here. Isn't supporting you reason enough?" Elena wonders.
"Not every sibling feels an acute calling to support their brother or sister," Damon remarks in frustration. "Not everyone can be like you, Elena."
"You can," Elena says simply. She goes to touch his hand, but Damon pulls away. "You said your parents met here?" she asks, trying to change the subject and hide how hurt she is by his coldness.
Damon nods, leading her past the wooden wheel and towards the shimmering water ahead. The ground slopes down, surrounded by tufts of grass and scraggly bushes. The moon casts a peaceful light over the ripples in the miniature lake.
"I kind of want to take my shoes off and run alongside the water," Elena muses when Damon still doesn't pipe up.
"Then why don't you?" Damon asks. There is a hint of a smile in his eyes.
Elena chokes on a laugh. "This isn't one of those Nicholas Sparks movies," she mumbles, taking off her shoes anyways and gathering them in her left hand. The bubbling water feels soothing against her bare toes.
"You remind me of my mom," Damon says.
Elena shoots him a surprised look, blushing slightly. "Is that a good thing?"
Damon nods quickly, stating, "She was a great woman, passionate about her decisions and always afraid that she was loving everyone just a little too much." A laugh escapes him, but it isn't a happy one. "My father would never admit that he missed her after she was gone, but he did. I heard him crying over his cup of wine every odd night."
"She sounds special," Elena tells him gently, hesitating. "How did they meet here?"
A real smile lights up Damon's face this time as he digs up the memory. "It was 1850. My father had hired the men to come here," he said, eyes narrowing as he tries to remember the details. Something tells Elena that he hasn't allowed himself to think about the memory in a long time, though it's burned into his retinas. "There was a lot of tension going on. Every conversation rotated around the issue of slavery. My father did not have any personal issues with it, which made it all the more amusing when he met my mother and fell in love with her." Damon takes Elena's hand again, the motion subconscious. She can feel his fingernails digging into her skin.
"My mother was helping slaves escape," Damon continues, his face beginning to smooth out. "The only reason she attended the carnival that night was to rescue the slaves whose masters were distracted by the ferris wheel and other frivolities. She was sitting over there." He points to the brick wall they had been seated at just a moment before. "At the time, there was a dirt path behind the brick wall leading to a few homes up in the hills. The owners were helping smuggle slaves over the mountains closer to the North. My mother would sneak them to the homes. Once they reached the coast, they would board ships that would take them to safety."
"And she was doing it right under your father's nose," Elena comments, kicking up some mud with her right foot. It lands in the water with a splash. "That reminds me of some of the things you've done."
"My mother and I shared a lot of traits," Damon acknowledges. "I think my mother found great joy in being able to keep secrets from one of the most feared men in town. She seemed to be the only one who wasn't afraid of him. Maybe that's why he fell in love with her." He shrugs. "Either way, she didn't expect to be discovered that night. She was sitting there, reading Uncle Tom's Cabin, when my father came up to her and asked why she would be reading such trash."
"What did she say?" Elena wonders. They come to a stop.
"She said that the best things always seem to happen right under one's nose, and she'd rather be privy to it than living in self-afflicted blindness." Damon chuckles, swinging their hands back and forth. Elena isn't sure why she hasn't torn her hand away yet, only that maybe it's okay to leave it there for the time being, nestled in his. "My father was instantly struck by her intelligence. Yet, when he asked what her name was, my mother told him to go screw himself, using the language of the day, of course."
"What was her name?" Elena asks, struck by how lovely Damon's laugh sounds right now. It isn't tainted by pain or frustration. He sounds sort of like Stefan in the first few days that she knew the younger Salvatore brother.
"Marian," Damon says gently, the name rolling perfectly off his tongue. "But after awhile, it was shortened to Mary."
Elena smiles, "Their story sounds like a Nicholas Sparks novel. Why are you so upset about it?"
Damon's whole demeanor shifts from calm to tense. His shoulders roll back and he releases Elena's hand. She feels her breathing cut off as the veins creep under his eyes, beginning to seep through the skin but not quite reaching their destination. What did I say, she wonders briefly, terror quickly cutting off all rational thought. The change is startlingly fast, only making it all the more terrifying. Damon growls, his breathing heavy, and Elena stands captivated as Damon struggles to retain his humanity. The veins begin to retract as his fangs slowly slip behind his lips.
"Damon," she breathes after a long pause. Taking a few steps back, Elena watches him straighten up and wipe his face.
"I want to kill him," Damon hisses in a voice so very cold. "I want to rip his fucking heart out." He turns, his eyes boring into her, glazed with crimson.
"Who are you talking about?" Elena whispers, wrapping her arms around herself. She goes to take another step back, fighting the urge to run away, but her legs give out on her and she crumples on the ground, pain exploding across her chest and head. Groaning, she curls into a ball and peeks through narrowed eyes up at Damon as he stalks towards her. "Damon, please-"
"We don't know who convinced her to turn," Damon is mumbling, tears of rage slipping down his cheeks. His hands curl into fists. "One day she was just lying in bed surrounded by blood and bodies torn to bits on the floor." He watches Elena shudder and nothing good or kind crosses his face, only pure hatred. Pure pain. "She was going to be okay. She would have been fine. She was learning how to control it." One of his hands digs into his face, scraping the skin as it travels down.
"What happened, Damon?" Elena asks, unable to keep from crying. Stefan was never this bad. This isn't a ripper. This is worse than a monster.
"He fucking hacked her to bits," Damon roars, lumbering towards her. He goes to reach out with one hand, then freezes, memories playing behind his own eyes this time. "Stefan was so little. I was just a kid. But I saw it. My father didn't love her enough to keep her alive. He couldn't have loved her. How could he take an axe to her if he loved her?" Terror breaks across his face, followed by more tears. The red glaze begins to disappear, leaving behind the shine of tears. "I heard her screaming and I couldn't move. I should have done something. I should have-"
"Damon," Elena whispers through her tears, reaching out for him. He leans away from her, but she can see the tension leaving his shoulders, leaving his body limp. "It wasn't your fault, Damon." When he still doesn't respond, she asks, "Is that why you turned? To prove to your father that you could control it?"
"I want to kill him," Damon mutters through his clenched hands. "I want to hurt him like he hurt her."
"He's not here, Damon," Elena murmers. Her legs hurt too much to move. "He's dead. You don't have to worry about him anymore."
Damon looks up at her, his face pale. "Why are you here?" he groans. "You said you chose Stefan. Go back to him. At least he'll keep you safe."
Elena sits up just enough to meet his gaze. Blood trickles from a tiny cut on the side of her forehead. "If you hadn't noticed," she answers fiercely, "I'm here with you. I want to be here with you. I'm not going anywhere, Damon."
Damon sits there for a minute, just breathing. Elena presses her hand to the cut and winces.
"She fed from me," Damon says faintly after a moment. "My mother called me to her one day and asked me if I wanted to help her. Of course I said yes. She kissed my neck, but it wasn't like a normal kiss. It hurt, and then it felt better than anything I've ever felt before, except for-" he cuts off, giving her a quick glance bursting with guilt. Lifting a hand up, he pulls back his hair and reveals two pale puncture marks on his neck. "I didn't know about vampires or anything. I didn't know that I was helping her transition." Damon wipes at his face, banishing the tears. "When Stefan told me that I should turn, I was thinking of her. I felt that, by drinking from me, my mother had left some part of her alive in me and more than anything I wanted to keep her there with me. So I turned."
Elena takes a few deep, gulping breaths, trying to rid the ringing feeling in her eardrums. "Oh God," she whimpers, more tears trickling down her face. "God, Damon." Before she realizes it, she is in Damon's arms and he is rocking them back and forth, whispering nonsense in her ear. But he doesn't get it. Damon just thinks that she is afraid of him, which is hardly true. Elena is only scared of the monster that appears whenever Damon is out of control, but even that is not enough to drive her away. No, she isn't upset about that.
Damon's hand strokes down the side of her waist, sending flames trickling up her skin. Elena's hand cups his cheek and she turns his face until he is looking at her. The area under his eyes is puffy and red and his sapphire eyes are glimmering much too brightly to handle. Her lips press into his jaw, then into his cheek, hesitating there. She can't make them move any further. But she doesn't need to.
"You lied," Damon breathes. She feels a tear roll down his cheek and meld against hers.
"What about?" Elena whispers back, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"About choosing Stefan," Damon says.
He didn't. Not now.
"I did choose Stefan," Elena insists, trying to look away. Damon's hand latches onto her jaw.
"Your mind chose Stefan," Damon murmers into the hollow of her throat, his nose tracing down her neck as his lips leave little kisses.
"Wh- what's the problem then?" Elena stutters.
Damon lifts his head back up, leaning in until their lips are nearly touching. "Your heart chose me," he says slowly, simply, like he's always known. His eyelashes flutter while his eyes burn with a hope so bright that Elena can't look away. His lips touch her jaw, then the side of her nose and the area just above her lips. Elena feels like she is going to pass out. Everything hurts. Everything burns. She feels utterly consumed and-
The blare of Elena's cellphone interrupts them. Every damn time, she thinks, reaching into her pocket and holding up the device.
"It's Stefan," she murmers, still feeling a little woozy from the sensation of Damon's lips against her throat, the burn of her lips where his had touched moments ago.
"Ignore it," Damon mumbles, kissing her throat again.
"Damon," Elena rasps guiltily as the phone buzzes for the fourth time, "I can't. I love him too and I have to-" she cuts off, not sure where she's going with that. "Can I, um, talk to him alone?"
Slowly, Damon nods, his eyes darkening as he slowly rises to his feet, fingers trailing over her own. The look he's giving her isn't anger so much as frustration, frustration that comes with the knowledge that she'll never really be able to choose between them. As he slips into the shadows, Elena presses the Answer button on her phone and presses it to her ear, "Hey."
"Where are you? Are you okay?" Cue mother hen number two. Sometimes he's just like Caroline.
"I'm fine," Elena reassures him, choosing not to mention how badly her stomach is aching, how hard it is to breathe, how she keeps seeing stars. It would only make him worry and Stefan is far enough away that he can't really do anything. As much as she'd like to see him, it wouldn't do to have the brothers around each other, especially with everything going on with Damon. She doesn't even know how to begin explaining that. "Listen, Stefan. I'm really glad you called."
"How could I not?" Stefan answers. "I love you." She can picture him smiling, decked out in a golden halo as he professes his love, but all she hears is promises long passed. When did loving him become the safe option?
"I love you too," Elena says, more a habit than anything. But right now, she needs it to be simple, like things were when they first started dating and the world became bright again. She doesn't need to feel confused right now, especially with what she is about to tell him. "Stefan, do you believe in heaven?"
"What do you believe?" He's always trying to please her, to mold his opinion around her own.
"Call me cliche, but I'd like to believe there are angels flying around with puffy wings and harps," Elena says with a little laugh. She thinks she hears a distinctive male voice mumbling "call me cliche, my darling prince charming, you" from the forest's edge, but chooses to ignore it.
"Just for you, there will be," Stefan says. "Elena, can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Elena whispers, already figuring what he's about to ask. Her chin begins to wobble before the words even leave his mouth, followed by an ache in her chest. It knocks the breath out of her, leaving her clawing at the ground.
"Couldn't you choose to live?" Stefan wonders softly, his pleas heartbreaking. "You could stay here and we could love each other. I could teach you how to avoid humans, how to stay on a diet of rabbit blood. It would be safe, I promise." Safe. That's what Stefan doesn't understand. Taking a deep breath, Elena looks across the clearing, towards the crumbling brick wall and the edge of the forest, catching the attention of brilliant blue eyes.
"You wouldn't be my best friend anymore."
"I just, I can't - love isn't supposed to be about controlling someone's decisions, Stefan."
"Tell me that everything is going to be okay." "I can't do that."
"I felt that, by drinking from me, my mother had left some part of her alive in me and more than anything I wanted to keep her there with me. So I turned."
Swallowing past the tears, Elena says, "I'm sorry, Stefan, but I can't."
Across the clearing, Damon's face falls.
"Elena, please," Stefan begs. She hasn't heard him this broken since they were forced to break up with each other the first time. She hasn't felt so tortured since the evening her parents were killed.
"Listen to me," Elena pleads, trying to keep her voice soft. Her eyes remain locked on Damon's face, trying to read him, but he's slammed a wall over his emotions to protect himself. "Stefan, please, just listen for a minute, okay?" She takes Stefan's silence as a cue to keep talking. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, I really do, but it won't be safe, no matter how much I wish it could be."
"I could make it safe," Stefan cuts in.
"Shh," Elena answers. "You probably could, but that's not me. Do you understand? I already live blindly, recklessly, needing to be consumed by life and love. That's what I need. And I-" she pauses to swallow again, the tears filling her eyes. "If I became a vampire, I wouldn't be able to hold myself back. I'd want to fully experience it, I'd want to be me, fully me, and I'd hurt people."
"You wouldn't hurt people," Stefan tries to interrupt again.
"Stefan," Elena mumbles, tears streaking down her pale cheeks. "You turned because Damon asked you to and because some part of you wanted to be with Katherine. Damon turned for you and his mother."
"You're with-"
"It's not important who I'm with," Elena snaps. "Stefan, the main reason I'd turn is to be consumed by the full powers of a vampire. I'd want to experience it all and with the life I have now, that would be impossible."
"You could go away," Stefan suggests weakly.
Elena shakes her head, inhaling shakily, "And be away from all of you? I couldn't do that. But that's not even it, Stefan. No matter how much I love all of you, I just don't think this is right. I never thought it was right. I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but I'm going to die. Please, just please accept that."
She can't hear him crying, but knows he is all the same. He's just trying to keep the sobs quiet so she won't feel guilty.
"I'm glad you called," Elena says, a sob rattling in her chest. "I needed to tell you goodbye."
"Tell Damon that the agreement is off," Stefan answers after a long pause. His voice is shaky. "I know you're somewhere with him."
"Okay," Elena says, knowing that it won't do any good to lie about where she is. "Stefan, I-"
"Just don't," Stefan sighs. He doesn't sound happy, but she wouldn't expect him to be. "He's my brother, Elena. We talked about it all the time. As much as I'd like it to be like it used to, just you and me, it can't. He loves you and I - I see the way you look at him, even if you won't admit it to me or anyone else, even yourself."
"Would you believe me if I said that I loved both of you?" Elena asks faintly. Fresh tears bud in her eyes as the phone shakes in her hand.
"Of course I would," Stefan answers, sounding so peaceful, so non-judgmental, that Elena is reminded just why she chose him to begin with. "If you didn't love him, you would have agreed to be with me a long time ago. But if you just loved him, then you wouldn't have waited for me even when I was determined to forget all about you and my humanity."
"Thank you," Elena says. She watches with growing sadness as Damon's shadowy figure slumps against the base of a tree. "I need to go to him now, Stefan." She doesn't have to say a name. Stefan knows that she's talking about his brother.
There is a hitch in his breathing. "Goodbye, Elena," he whispers. "Put in a good word with God for me."
She chokes on a half-sob, half-giggle, "I love you, Stefan." The dial tone is the only answer, and Elena wonders if Stefan even heard her. But she can't focus on that now, not when Damon is crouched on the roots of the tree with eyes that he's desperately trying to hide.
"Damon," Elena calls out, dropping the phone to the ground as she takes a step towards the other Salvatore brother.
He says nothing, just rising to his feet and striding towards her. She can see his eyes gleaming, the lower eyelashes wet.
"I'm sorry I-"
"Don't apologize," Damon grunts, pulling her roughly into him. She doesn't care if his hands leave bruises or not.
When their lips finally touch, Elena doesn't feel sparks, not like with Stefan. She doesn't feel fireworks. Instead, a slow burn climbs up her toes, legs, groin, waist, chest and torso, burning higher every inch that it ascends. A hunger surges into her heart and her lips latch onto his, demanding more. Damon pulls her into him, satisfying the urge, initiating another. She needs more. She needs all of him. Gasping into his mouth, Elena tries to pull away, to retain rational thought, but he won't let her. She doesn't even want to.
"I love you," Elena breathes against his lips as their kisses slow, become sweeter.
"Of course you do," Damon answers.
She hits his chest. "Don't be a jack-ass."
"I'm not," he says. "I'm just being me."
Elena's lips touch his once more, lingering, tasting. Tears scorch her eyes as he slides his fingers through hers and lifts her up, leading her towards one of the canopies by the lake. The moonlight reflects the bare skin of his back beautifully. Damon doesn't ask whether it is okay to guide her over, to lie her down and press kisses along her collarbone, his tongue worshiping her. He doesn't wonder if she'll breathe his name like a prayer, over and over. He doesn't worry about her reaction as she traces the fresh wounds on his face, the scars across his body. He doesn't second-guess the way that their fingers tighten together, resting in the grass above the canopy as they move, becoming one. He just knows that she will let him have his goodbye.
.
..
...
to be continued
...
..
.