Cancer.
Hearing the word made Elena feel weak and ill all over again. It all started with the tiniest of headaches. It was barely perceptible—it was an annoyance more than anything. She attributed it to heat, to stress, to allergies to anything and everything but a brain tumor. And then came the changes in her personality. Everyone credited it to Stefan leaving town. "Poor thing," they said. She became wild, reckless, angry. This wasn't the Elena that everyone knew. She wasn't soft spoken, considerate and kind anymore. She began to act out. Elena recalled an incident she had with Bonnie…
"Elena, this is getting out of hand. You need help…"
Elena turned and stared blankly at Bonnie before bursting into laughter. She cradled the bottle of vodka that was positioned in between her legs. She lifted it to her lips and took another swig—feeling it burn down her throat and into the pit of her stomach. She put the bottle on her bed side table.
"I'm sorry, Bon, really. But you're being ridiculous."
"Am I," Bonnie snapped, her tone tinged with annoyance.
"You are. And its getting really old. I mean, get a hobby. I don't need a babysitter."
"Yeah, well—You don't need a sitter & I don't need a drunk slut for a best friend either." She stood suddenly and ran from the room.
Elena listened as her feet pounded down the stairs. She heard the jingle of her keys as she grabbed her purse and she waited for—
Bonnie slammed the door.
Elena shrugged and laid back.
'Drunk slut,' she thought. 'Whatever.'
It wasn't until two months later, when she had a seizure in home room, did she get to see a doctor. And it was then that she first heard the words Glioblastoma multiforme…followed by the words malignant and inoperable. Her world, what was left of it, collapsed. She had sat numbly in a chair beside Jenna who was quietly crying. The doctor droned on and on about their options—about the aggressive treatment she could undergo to prolong her life for a few months or how they could do nothing at all and let nature take its course. Nature! There was nothing natural about this. She wasn't ready to go. Not like this. She wanted to see the world. She wanted to experience life outside Mystic Falls. She wanted to get married and have children. None of this was going to happen now. It wasn't in the cards for her. She had locked herself in her room for two days until it hit her. It was like a bolt of lightning just stuck her, and she sat up in bed.
"No, no, no" she thought rapidly, "That's crazy."
…but…was it?
She hadn't gone over every detail but yes...she didn't have to die.
"Stefan," she had whispered. "Come back."
But it was clear; even then, Stefan would come back after what happened. And so her mind locked onto Damon. Damon… with his sardonic smirk and blue eyes—with his zest for darkness and cruelty. He was the epitome of danger. But she didn't care. True, her plan was concocted with a damaged mine, but it didn't matter. She was sure that this was the right choice…the only choice.
And so a week later, she waited for the right moment before putting her plan into action.
Jenna leaned over Elena's bed and smoothed her hair. She kissed her forehead, her eyes were glassy. Her eyes had been in a perpetual state of puffiness since they had received the news. Elena wondered how she had any tears left.
"Everything is going to be okay, Aunt Jenna," she whispered.
Jenna kissed her forehead and gave a half laugh.
"You shouldn't be comforting me." She kissed Elena's forehead and put her hand on her shoulder.
"Try and get some rest," she said.
"You first," Elena smiled softly.
Jenna turned off the light and walked from the room.
Elena lay very still. She listened to Jenna's footsteps fade away as she went into her own room. She waited still until she was sure both she and Jeremy were fast asleep. She pulled the covers off of herself quickly. She was already wearing a thin black dress. She pulled her ponytail loose and let her fall passed her shoulders. She pulled out a letter from her dresser. She set it on her bed. She rested her palm over it for a moment, the paper lightly crackling with pressure. She sighed and went into her closet and grabbed a bottle of vodka from her hatbox. She took generous gulps before grabbing a pair of flats and slipping out of the window.
Damon felt her presence even before she knocked. Elena and he were not close with good reason. They were oil and water. They did not mesh. And yet, there was always some sort of animalistic pull that they felt whenever they were together. He resented her. She was nothing like Katherine and yet she was everything like her. Her love for Stefan was sickening. It was a waste. A tragedy. He loathed weakness and he continually found it all over her. And yet, there she was, knocking on his door. He didn't bother to answer. Instead he poured himself a glass of whiskey and settled onto his chaise. The whiskey was exquisite—it was dark, sweet and warm. He imagined her blood was much of the same. Her footsteps were quiet as she walked to his bedroom door. Her knock was light, nervous. She pushed open the door when she heard no response.
"Why, do come in," Damon said sarcastically.
"I knocked…" She said, putting her purse down.
He knew she was sick. He had watched her often. He knew the same day that she did. He saw her leaving the hospital and it didn't take long, with the help of compelling her doctor, to find out what was wrong. Yet he did nothing. He had sat around for days, morose, mulling over Elena. He was already mourning her and she wasn't even dead yet.
Yet here she was, standing in front of him. But for what? That was the question. Then it hit him, like a ton of bricks. Her scent. It was sweet, beautiful as it always was…but there was something else. It was frightening. He could smell the death , it clung to her like an asp. He knew it was because of what was festering inside her. He stood suddenly and walked towards her. He lifted her chin to look at him.
"Why are you here," he asked softly.
Elena felt uncomfortable under his gaze and she moved her head away and crossed the room.
"I have a favor to ask," she said.
"Ha. Of course you do." He said finally.
Elena said nothing and sat on the edge of his bed.
"So what have you been up to," she asked casually.
"Really? Are we going to play that game?" He asked.
"What game?"
"Nothing," he sighed. "What have I been up to…hmm…oh you know, the usual. Killing babies and causing havoc among the lovely patrons of Mystic Falls."
Elena rolled her eyes.
Damon lounged back again on his chaise and folded his hands behind his head.
"So…this favor…do tell."
Elena wagered on what to do next.
"I cant just blurt it out," she panicked. And before she knew what she was doing, she walked over to Damon and was standing beside him. She looked down at him.
He watched as the inner turmoil she was experiencing affected her features. What did this little girl want now? Stefan, maybe? To beg him to track his baby brother down? He began to roll his eyes…and stopped mid-roll as her hand reached out and she touched the side of his face. It was just the tips of her fingers, but they carried an intense electric current as it slid across his jaw and then up towards his lips. Her fingers ever so softly traced and Damon's first instinct was to bite down on her hand and feast…
He did not move. Elena moved down and straddled him. Still he did not move. Elena's hand slid over the side of his face while she dipped her mouth to his neck. She bit it lightly and felt him tense. She moved down his body, kissing him over his shirt until she got to his waist. Her fingers glided over his belt. He grabbed her hand suddenly in a vicious grip that was so painful that Elena cried out. He yanked her up his body, to eye level.
"What are you doing," he asked.
Elena yanked her arm away suddenly and stood up. She walked across the room.
"I don't know," she said quickly.
"You don't know," Damon repeated.
He laughed and situated his belt buckle and stood.
"You don't know. And yet you were more the willing to offer yourself up like some whore? You must want something real bad."
Elena turned suddenly, her eyes widened.
"How dare you."
"No, Elena. You're in my house. Don't try and fucking play me like some high school boy. What do you want?"
She held her breath.
"I want you to turn me," She said finally.
Damon's heart leapt into his throat. Turn her. He knew this must be her last option but he didn't care. Turn her. He would finally be able to taste the blood that sung to him every time she was in his presence. He would finally be able to drink the wine that drove his brother away. The thought was arousing, dangerous.
"Why would I do that," He asked dryly.
"Because…" Elena drifted off.
"What a wonderful reason. I'm bored."
"Why wouldn't you want to turn me?" She asked suddenly, walking towards him.
"I've seen how you look at me. I know that you've wanted me from the first moment you saw me..."
"I don't see you," he said cooly. "I see Katherine."
It was as if he punched her in the stomach.
She was paralyzed for a moment before she barely nodded.
"This was a mistake," she rasped and retreated towards the door.
Damon moved in a flash to block her exit. He crossed his arms.
"Beg," he purred.
"What? No, you're disgusting."
Damon laughed cruelly.
"So disgusting that you put yourself on a platter for me a second ago?"
Elena reared back and slapped him. The sound was like a whip cracking through silence. Elena saw how his features briefly contorted as he momentarily lost his composure. He grabbed her and pressed her into the wall, his hand snugly at her throat.
"Save your pride," he said. "Tell me the truth of why you want me to turn you and I'll do it."
Truth? Lie? Truth? Lie?
"There is nothing for me," she said quickly. "These people, this life. There is nothing for me. I don't want to grow old and whither. Its like a flower—I sprout, I bloom and then the petals fall away and then Im nothing—Im gone. And I know there is something between us. I can feel it. Its like a magnet. I don't want to keep away anymore. I'll be yours…forever."
"You'll be mine," he humored her.
"Yes, Damon. Just please…do it now."
She craned her neck, offering it to him.
She waited and he did nothing, instead he stared down at her strangely.
"What are you waiting for," she asked. And after a beat…"Will it…hurt?"
"Like hell," he said, moving away. "But I asked for the truth. You can see yourself out."
Elena's heart sank. This was happening all wrong…she only had one more thing up her sleeve. She moved to her bag quickly and brought out a paring knife.
"What are you doing," he laughed, undaunted.
His laugher died away quickly when she lifted the knife up to herself and slid it across her neck. She whimpered as she did so, and then the knife clattered to the floor. Blood was beginning to seep down her neck.
"Turn me or I'm dead," she muttered, losing her balance.
"Goddamnit, Elena," he rushed to her and gathered her in his arms.
He had planned to toy with her for a while longer but she put a wrench in his plans. The scent of her blood was overwhelming as he carried her to his bed. He moved over her and looked at her. She was dying. The blood was trickling from her neck and if he didn't move soon she would be gone. He dipped his head to her neck and tasted her blood. Words couldn't describe the euphoria. He was shaking. It was as if being on the very edge of an orgasm—it was intense, beautiful and exhilarating. He felt himself grow hard in between her thighs.
"Jesus," he hissed.
She was dying and it was the most thrilling and exciting feeling he had ever encountered. He tangled one hand up in her hair and sunk his teeth into her neck…
"So you knew the entire time?"
"Yes."
"And you just…let me make a fool of myself?"
"I didn't let you do anything."
Elena said nothing and only sighed.
"This isn't some idiotic little fairytale, Elena. Hey—look at me?"
Elena's eyes drifted from the body of the dead woman to the calming eyes of Damon.
"This isn't a fairytale," he repeated. "I'm not your Prince Charming and this isn't going to be happily ever after."
Elena shut her eyes.
"Elena," he said softly. "Look at me."
She opened her eyes and held back fresh tears.
"But," he said. "I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. I protect what's mine. Remember that."
He looked down at the dead body. Who was this woman and why was she here?
"Go clean up," he said. "I'll take care of this."
Elena felt drained, defeated. She moved from Damon and began to walk away.
He came up behind her suddenly and turned her around.
He kissed her, hard, on the mouth. His eyes searched her for a long moment until he was satisfied he wouldn't find what he was looking for. He then turned her back around and nudged her up the stairs.