Chapter 6 – The Reaping

-Elena-

Stefan Salvatore is a God.

Have you ever had a man whisper against your ear, his lips grazing your skin, releasing your name in an uninhibited, prayerful way? It's sensual, tantalizing… godly even.

I'm already tensing from the heat of our bodies moving together; his forceful thrusts and the ceaseless friction of his callused hands on my over-sensitive skin – one guiding my hips up to meet his, the other now cupping the side of my face as he destroys my every nerve with his hot mouth on my neck. But then he pulls back ever so slightly, slows his pace and inhales sharply through his teeth – right against my ear he says my name in that graveled voice of his – sensuous, nearly indecent - and I know I'm done with

I'm unraveling beneath him with the begging way he says my name.

I'm so very close to losing control – my mind fading in and out of rational thought - and he says it again, just like before but more groan, his hand roughly gripping low on my hip. Uncontrollably, my legs flex and my calves press against his backside, pushing the length of him into me again just as his teeth scrape against the nape of my neck and my eyes flutter back into my head. If I had any oxygen I know I'd be moaning and begging him to continue, but I'm barely able to breathe at all as Stefan's rhythm turns to an assaulting pace and I feel myself coming undone.

My mind is literally useless right about now, I'm just a bundle of nerves and liquid and heat, but when I open my eyes, my blurred vision somehow lands on that picture peeking out of my mother's journal on the bedside table – cold, sapphire blue eyes looking back at me.

Then I'm still – Stefan's body rigid on top of me, motionless. Maybe I'm imagining it, but I swear to you his skin is suddenly scorching hot.

Extending his arms, locked at the elbows with his hands pressing into the mattress on each side of my shoulders, he's looking down at me like he doesn't recognize me – his lips, red and swollen from the friction of our kisses, are parted as he inhales deeply, out of breath. Because it seems so out of place, it takes me a long second to see the anger in his eyes… anger like molten lava, anger like I haven't witnessed in his leaf-green eyes since Wilmington. Anger like I've never seen focused on me…

I smile up at him, nervous I guess, and it seems to flare the rage smoldering in his darkening eyes.

Then I figure it out – my thoughts coming back into place, no longer lost in him - when I saw the picture, and recognized the blue eyes looking back at me… I said Damon.

"Oh my God, no" I start, speaking in a panicked, quick way – reaching up to hold him, my arms beneath his, hands splayed flat on his scalding hot back and pulling at his shoulders as if I somehow now what's coming next and my grip may keep him in place.

It doesn't.

Stefan is off of the bed in a split-second, jerking his body away from me.

"Stefan." I sit up, terrified, not sure what to do as I watch him moving quickly into our closet, calling after him, "Stefan, no. I –"

In barely any time at all, he's stepping out of the closet and pulling on a white tee-shirt, a pair of dark blue jeans zipped, but unfastened at his waist.

"Stefan. Stefan please, I –" I'm begging him but cannot seem to get past saying his name – all the words are stuck in my throat. Half turned away from me, he runs both of his hands through his hair, lacing his fingers behind his head and inhaling deeply through his nose – a momentary meditation – jaw clenched tightly, eyes shut, brow deeply knitted.

"Stefan, I-"

He cuts me off, suddenly glaring at me, his hands fisted at his sides. There is a mixture of hate and hurt in his eyes and actual pain searing through me in place of our gravity when he says, "You were thinking of him?!" Spitting out the words like they leave a bad taste in his mouth, like he's disgusted by the thought, by me. I shake my head, my vocal chords paralyzed by the rush of emotions – sorrow, regret, fear, shame, love… always, no matter what, there is love for Stefan.

I start to go to him, my legs wobbly from our phenomenal love making and the fear now flowing through me, but he lifts his hand up to me, palm open, fingers spread, and shakes his head – eyes focused on something in front of him.

His telling me to stop, to not come to him; it really hurts me. I know I sound like a sorrowful child when I say, "Stefan?"

Biting into his bottom lip like he does when he's upset, he lowers his hand and crosses his arms over his chest for a moment, then rests his hands on his waist and asks through gritted teeth, "Did he hit on you?"

"What? No!" The tone of my voice sounds shocked, like that would never happen – but we both know it could, and we both know it has in the past, and what's worse, we both know how I reacted to Damon's advances. It's been more than seven years and still, I'm as guilty and shameful about what I did to Stefan by being with his brother as I was the day I came home from Spain and confessed my offenses. Time has done nothing to ease the ache of the sins I committed against Stefan, my soul mate.

Now slipping on his boots, I feel helpless, watching him getting ready to leave - to get away from me.

In a soft tone, I try and explain, "Stefan, I wasn't thinking about Da… about him." When I started to say Damon's name for a second time since we left our friends on the beach, I saw Stefan's back expand with his quick inhale, bowing up, nearly exploding. So I referred to Damon as him… just like my mother did in her journals. "I – I was –"

He cuts me off again, speaking loudly, nearly yelling at me, "You said his name, Elena!" Finally turning to face me, his burning stare burrows into my face. I know I look surprised even as I turn slightly away from his glare; my eyes are wide and round as I'm not used to seeing him like this – my cool, calm, Stefan is lost for the moment. As if he's explaining the obvious, Stefan gives me this grimace of a smile, points at me as he says, "We're having sex and you say your ex-boyfriends name…" Pressing his fingers harshly against his chest, his voice is raw, "my brothers name," Turning, he starts a small, pacing half-circle from the closet to the exit. It takes three or four laps for him to gather his thoughts. His body is giving off a raging heat that seems to have increased the temperature of our bedroom while I stand naked at the end of our bed and try to think of some way to stop the unraveling before me. In a disbelieving, yet condemning tone, shaking his head with those telling-eyes of his focused at some invisible spot near my toes, he asks, "and I'm supposed to believe you weren't thinking about him!?"

"Stefa-" My voice is drowned out by the sound of his fist slamming into the sheetrock wall – once, twice, three times – then opening our bedroom door and leaving a fourth hole in the wall with the force he used to swing it open.

-Bonnie-

I should've just went on to bed when I heard Stefan start yelling. With Jeremy in the shower, I was in the kitchen getting a drink of water when I first caught his angry voice and the oddness of it kept me in place. I've been through a lot with Stefan, and I think this might be the first time I've ever heard him yell in anger like this – I guess that's what held my attention as I tried to hear what he was saying. Then when the loud booms were followed by that unmistakable sound of a door being slammed against the wall, it was too late for me to escape back to the extra bedroom.

He looked to be more than angry… livid, maybe – walking quickly into the kitchen and taking his wallet and a set of keys from the isle – his eyes looking at me just long enough to make me want to shrink back against the kitchen counter – then he was out the door, slamming it so hard that a picture hanging on a nearby wall fell to the floor and the glass front shattered.

I'm stunned, I guess, still standing in the same place, holding my empty glass, when Elena comes hurriedly into the kitchen.

"Did he leave?" She asks, looking as shocked as I know I do. I just nod, trying to figure out how Elena and Stefan went from a very public bit of foreplay to Stefan losing his cool and heading out into the night at just after midnight. "Did he say where he was going?"

"What happened?" I ask, shaking my head no.

Reluctantly, Elena tells me everything – by the time she's finished, I know all about Damon and Mrs. Miranda, about Elena's poor timing when she figured out who her mom was sleeping with, as well as Stefan's misunderstanding as to why she said Damon's name in the heat of the moment.

Call me a pessimist, but I'm not surprised – Damon is a dog. A very handsome, smooth talking, experienced heartbreaker that most, if not all girls, would have a hard time resisting.

"Call him, explain. Text if you have to." I say, holding the picture of Damon and a young Miranda Sommers in my hands gingerly, like I'm holding the evidence that will break some legal case wide open. I guess that's exactly what it is… without this picture its going to be really difficult to convince Stefan that Elena's saying Damon's name was innocent – a moment of clarity during that few seconds right before you come crashing down.

Frustrated, worried about Stefan and rightfully angry with Damon, Elena rests her face in her hands, leaning onto the dining table, "He didn't take his cell phone. I don't know if he even took the time to put on a pair of boxers… he wanted to get away from me so badly." Looking up at me with wide eyes, Elena sounds like a scared little girl when she says, "What if he doesn't come back, Bonnie?"

It's so strange how Elena still doesn't understand how unique her relationship is with Stefan… everyone else can see it's unbreakable, why can't she? I guess I'm looking at her like she's insane, because she continues without me saying anything.

"You're right. He'd never leave Allie and Grayson, no matter what I'd done."

Smiling, I take her hand and talk to her the way I do my students when they are feeling blue, left out, or just lonely, "Don't be silly, Elena. Stefan would never leave you." It takes a second, but I see the shadow of doubt in Elena's eyes fade away. She gives me a nod, returning my smile. We sit there for a bit, silent, in the quiet house, listening to the sound of the tide coming in through the open windows. When she checks the clock on the microwave, I see she's starting to worry about Stefan again – he's been gone for more than an hour – so I change the subject. "So, are you going to confront Damon?"

It worked. Almost immediately I see a flare in Elena's eyes. "Yes. Absolutely. How could he not tell me?" I almost say you know, Damon, but Elena continues, "But I've got to find out if that was the last of it. I can't expect him to tell me the truth."

"How far did you read?" I ask, a shiver passing through me as the cool air blows in.

Standing, Elena answers me as she heads into the kitchen, "Just until she left for college." Starting a pot of coffee, she says over her shoulder. "I need to read the rest of her journals before I confront him."

I don't know why – I mean this is a really weird situation, Damon sleeping with her mom – but I smile wide from my memories of us in college, pulling all-nighters around a table with a couple pots of coffee and bags of pita chips and cheap, greasy pizza's from the Student Center. "I'll get the boxes."

-Elena-

…Abby's engaged! I'm happy for her. I am. But as much as I love Abby, I know that she's 'in love' with the idea of being in love and not with James. You can't tell Abby anything – when she sets her mind to something, it's as good as set in stone…

…John and Isobel are much too young to raise a child. She's still in high school for God's sake! I shouldn't have budded in, but I just couldn't help it. Here was my brother in law, just a baby himself, telling Grayson that he was in big trouble because he'd got his girlfriend pregnant and, of course, they had no money, no jobs, she had no health insurance, and he had to beg her not to go to one of those strip-mall clinics to abort their child. Abort their child? Grayson and I have been trying to conceive for years… YEARS! We started during my last semester of college and 39 ovulation cycles later I'm still not pregnant. Carol is pregnant. Abby is pregnant. Hell, Kelly is pregnant AGAIN. So I said it. I put it out there. Three words – we can help…

…I wasn't sure until I saw her. For months I've been doing all I could to be involved with Isobel – strange girl, that one – I've read all the books and taken her shopping. Its become a weekly appointment to take Isobel out to lunch, into town for a visit with Grayson, then trail behind her at the mall while she unenthusiastically handles the cutest, tiniest little onsies and blankets like they're dishrags. Isobel doesn't know how lucky she is to be able to experience pregnancy… Anyway, as I've said I've read fifty books or more, atleast ten of those baby-name books, and I had a list of possibilities – Gracie, after Grayson, Noelle, just because I like it, and Mary Hannah after our mothers. But the instant I saw her dark, Gilbert-brown eyes, shining up at me, my daughter gazing up me, her mother, I said outloud, "Hello, Elena."…

I blink away tears in my eyes, imagining what my mom must have felt when she wrote about holding me for the first time and wishing that she could've known Allie and Grayson. Thankfully, Bonnie starts in on an entry from a few years later.

"Listen to this, Elena. Mayor Lockwood called to speak with Grayson this afternoon. I could tell something was wrong, something serious – in my mind I worried that I'd been found out. My secret week with the vampire had come back to haunt me – but after a bit of pressing, Richard told me of something much worse. It's like something out of a science fiction novel – curses and van helsing, doppelgangers and witchcraft – all of it coming to a head around my beautiful Elena." Looking up at me, Bonnie asks, "Van Helsing?"

"It's from Bram Stoker's Dracula." I take the final drink of my second cup of coffee. "He was a hunter, hired to kill Count Dracula."

We share a small moment of silence, looking at one another and coming to the same conclusion, speaking simultaneously, "Mikael."

Bonnie turns her attention back to the diary in her hands and I start on another one – 2005 – pouring another cup of coffee.

The night goes on like this for quite a while. Most of the time we're quiet, reading to ourselves, but then one of us will speak unexpectedly and share a funny or sad bit of one of mom's entries. There's a lot of laughing and a lot of tears, both of us getting an inside view of our mothers and our childhoods. I feel so bad for Bonnie, for my mom, when Bonnie reads:

Elena asked me if I'd have 'the talk' with Bonnie… said that with her mother gone, Bonnie was terrified of starting her period. Of course I agreed, how could I not? If it weren't for me and Grayson pleading with Abby to spell the hunter, Abby would still be with her beautiful little girl. The morning that James called, looking for Abby, frantic with worry, I knew what had happened – and from that very moment I've sworn to take care of Bonnie like she is my own child. I'm doing what I can; taking her with Elena and I for our girls night, porting them to and from school and cheerleading practice, and I'll find a way to have the birds and bee's talk with her – but I'm no replacement for Abby. Her leaving Bonnie is yet another deed I'll have to answer for one day.

I'm about to apologize – my ruining of Bonnie's life started much earlier than I had realized – but Bonnie speaks before I can, "Why would she blame herself for Abby running off? She left us because she wanted to start over… nothing could've been done to change that." Sliding her hair behind her ears, I'm filled with a sad sense of joy when Bonnie sighs, "I wish I could tell her that I don't blame her… not at all."

We go through the rest pretty smoothly – other than the to-be-expected troubles of a upper-middle class woman and her two children, there's not any drama to speak of, though mom mentions researching a K. Pierce from Georgia, as well as some detailed information about the councils vast knowledge of the towns bloody history. The burning of the witches when the town had not even been settled yet, the vampires wrangled up and killed in 1864, even the Samantha Gilbert murders. I guess it's because none of this comes to me as news – I mean, my life was drowning in all of those details not so long ago – but by the time I finish up with 2008, I'm exhausted and Bonnie is nearly asleep with her head on the table. I push away the reminders coursing through my mind about Stefan… still not home.

"How many more?" She asks, her voice muffled as she speaks into the bend of her elbow.

Through I yawn, I say, "Two." Both of giving a sigh of relief that the end is near. We started this just after midnight and, from the pitch black of the western sky outside of the open windows and the weight of my eyelids, I know it must be getting very, very close to dawn. Determined to finish and hoping to stay awake for when Stefan finally makes it back, I take the last two journals from the now empty box and place the gray and yellow fabric covered one in front of Bonnie, then lean back in my chair to start on the red leather book I remember sitting on the dresser the morning of the day she died – her last diary.

The spine hasn't even bent when Allie's hand on my shoulder nearly startles me into a heart attack.

"Mommy." I'm out of my seat, adrenaline coursing through my tired muscles and Bonnie giggling at my reaction. "Mommy, I saw a scorpio." Clinging to my leg, her head resting on my hip, Allie's still half asleep, her green eyes – Stefan's eyes – look up at me like she's looking through me.

Bonnie asks the question that is sitting at the tip of my tongue, looking at Allie with a concerned, yet fascinated expression. "Is she sleep walking?"

"No." My voice is high pitched and I don't know why… there are a few things about Allie that are, well, let's say unique. I'd never noticed it, probably because I'd been with her since the moment she was conceived, but Stefan caught it and when he pointed it out to me – how Allie seems to answer questions you haven't spoken yet, the way she picks up languages… have I mentioned that at six years old she speaks fluent Thai and Italian? Stefan and I have agreed to never mention it to her – we don't want Allie to feel like she's odd or different. Being a kid is hard enough without all of the possible supernatural variables Stefan and I may or may not have put into play. I don't want to talk about the possible sleep walking as it may lead to other topics, so I give up on my hope of waiting for Stefan and finishing the journals. Picking her up, Allie is fully asleep the moment her head rests against my shoulder, so I whisper. "I think I'm going to go on to bed."

The moment I step into my bedroom and spot the large holes in the wall, I reminded of our argument. I remember his face, looking down at me – me still foggy from being so close to an explosive orgasm and ignorant to what I'd done. I can almost feel the raging heat of his skin against my fingertips. All of these thoughts, a million different scenarios as to how things will play out between us once he finally comes home, and a deep, deep fear that he may not come home at all makes sleep difficult to find. I don't know how long I lay there with Allie attached to my body – sporadically waking up just enough to tell me about the imaginary scorpion that she's scared of, her monster under the bed, I guess. But, after a long while of mentally tossing and turning, but actually staying very still as not to wake Allie, I finally fall asleep.

It's sleep - the restless, struggle to find peace, can't get comfortable kind of sleep that I used to feel was a gift – back when I was compelled and grieving for Stefan without knowing what I was longing for. Those days when any kind of sleep at all was a blessing – and then I found him and my heart healed and I was whole, since then sleep has been easy and warm, safe. Safe with his arms around me. I'm in a half-nightmare, half-dream state of mind, picturing Stefan in so many scenes – a mixture of memories and fears – that I barely wake at all, hardly register the gravity caress through me.

When Allie wakes me just an hour or so later and he's already gone again, that's when I realize that I wasn't dreaming of inhaling his warm, clean scent. I didn't imagine seeing him change into his running clothes – he really did brush Allie's hair out of her face. I'm almost 100% sure that he even touched my hip gently, softly… can a touch be sad?

-Stefan-
I wouldn't use the word 'miss', as I don't long for it, or even remember my time as a vampire fondly – most of the time, I'd look down and find my hands in tight fists at my side – but, it was easier to stay up all night, then go for a five mile run to burn off my craving, or too much alcohol, or anger…

My every muscle is screaming at me – sending an aching reprimand through my nerve endings, punishing me for putting them through this God awful night. In the dark, still really, really pissed off and incredibly dejected about our argument, pounding out a few miles seemed like a good idea. Two miles in, still dark – the horizon just barely lighter than black, purple like a deep bruise, it still felt good so I took my long loop instead of cutting back through the docks. Now morning light is waking up the day and everything I did last night seems wrong. All of it – the yelling, the rage, slamming my fist through the wall, leaving, running with no rest and this pressure inside of me that is honestly becoming painful – it was all a bad, horrible decision.

Chilled from the morning breeze hitting my sweaty body, but still burning hot internally from the rage I've felt since the instant she said his name, I pop my neck and pull off my soaked shirt, then lean back onto the Adirondack to let the breeze slip over my entire body. Reaching over my head and gripping the planks of the chair with both hands, I shiver from the quick cooling of my skin – close my eyes and wonder if I'll get used to things like this again – the tiny chill-bumps on my forearms, my throbbing headache, and sore muscles – human things that most find undesirable, but I cherish.

When I get the strength back in my legs, I'll go in and take a shower – maybe some Tylenol.

When I get the strength back in my ego, I'll apologize to my wife for acting like a lunatic and storming off.

I just drove around. I didn't go anywhere really. To be honest I wanted to come home, but how can I storm out one minute and come back the next? Kind of loses it's emphasis if you can't even commit to it for at least a couple of hours.

So I drove up and down the coast line a few times, through the rice fields on the outskirts of the village. Finally, I just parked. I sat there for a good two hours, laying on the hood of my truck and trying to find some reasoning as to why what happened, happened – something to explain away this feeling of rejection, of inadequacy. A missed piece of information that could quiet the voice in my head that keeps telling me that still, after all these years, I'm not enough.

At one time, the outdoors was my escape, a place to hunt, a place to hide. I guess that's something that hasn't changed. Come to think of it, it was the same when I was a boy. One of the last memories I have of my mother is her scolding me, really laying into me when she found me asleep on the front porch in the middle of the night. At the time, I thought she was over-reacting. I'd done it a hundred times. I was six. Nearly a man – ha! Now that I'm a parent, I figure she must have been worried out of her mind when I wasn't in my bed.

Anyway, once I'd calmed down and compartmentalized everything, I got back in my SUV and came home. When I saw Elena I instantly wanted her – that's when I decided to run. Running used to help me burn off cravings; surely it would help me with wanting my wife who wants my brother. I couldn't find my phone so I took Elena's for the music. I'm so tired – physically and mentally – that my normal playlist of Bon Jovi, Guns N Roses, and the Foo Fighters is just causing my headache to throb like a heart, right behind my eyes, so I'm listening to Elena's Itunes. She's more of a Taylor Swift, Ron Pope, Lily Allen kind of girl, but her 'I Love Stefan' playlist has some songs that I like. I felt a bit cynical – seeing those words, I Love Stefan – with my mind replaying her voice, that way, saying his name.

– Elena has feelings for Damon? Okay. I knew that already, right? Yes. That, I will not forget. Ever.

- My wife was imagining my brother while we were making love – that's the part that took hours to work through.

To be honest, I can't say I've actually processed it, but I'm dealing with it. Just recanting it for sake of reminding myself why I went for a run at all is bubbling the venom-like acid inside of me and I'm considering doing another mile when I feel that pull – our gravity – always pulling me to her.

Keeping my eyes closed, my fingers gripping the wood of the chair tightly, I can feel the muscles in my chest and torso reacting to the frequency between us – the closer she gets, the stronger the sensation grows, and the calmer I feel.

I'm still angry. I'm still hurt, but because of my love for her, just her presence is soothing my temper. I feel my too fast heart rate slow immediately from her fingertips against my face. When she sits on my lap, one foot on each side of the low sitting chair, my head ache disappears. Elena takes the earbud from my right ear then she's pressing her chest against mine, her cheek against my neck, and her hands on my shoulder blades – hugging me, holding me tightly while we listen to Ryan Adam's singing into our ears.

I love her.

I don't want to want to hug her back… but it's too hard to fight and I don't even hesitate returning her embrace, turning my face into hers, my chapped lips find her soft, smooth cheek.

"Stefan." She says in a whisper as the lyrics of the chorus begin. She waits for the line to finish – I promise you that I will keep you safe from harm – love you all the rest of my days. "I love you."

I don't reply. Not verbally. Instead, I slip my hand beneath the oversized, knitted sweatshirt she's wearing and graze my thumb up and down the small of her back. It's not that I don't believe her; I know that Elena loves me – but I also know that if we were to scale it, our relationship would be heavily weighted to one side. Years ago, back when Katherine came to Mystic Falls and Damon focused his bruised ego on Elena, that's how early on I realized that I love Elena much, much more than she loves me.

Last night's setback was just a reminder of a fact I already knew.

"I was so afraid you weren't going to come back." See. I love her much more than she can even understand if she actually thought, even for a second, that I wouldn't return. There is nothing – nothing – that can change my devotion for her.

In the past, I've attributed her fear of me leaving to the fact that she's lost so many people – her entire family, taken away from her without notice in horrible, tragic ways… me included. Twice. So when I start to feel a little aggravated as I'm reminded by the gaping difference in the way we love each other, I remind myself that Elena is still that seventeen year old girl who's world was stolen away from her that night on Wickery Bridge.

I tell her what I know she wants to hear – needs to hear. "Where would I go without you, Elena? You own me." It's true. I'm only me when I am with her. My heart resides in her chest. My soul, held by her body.

Alone, I'm empty.

I feel her smile against my shoulder as she somehow manages to move even closer against me; that frequency we share is so warm and sweet, tingling between us and into my fibers.

Sometimes, Elena just needs to be reminded that I am hers.

Let it go, when I met you. All the clouds parted and your light came shining through.

"I'm sorry." I kiss her hair; inhale the scent of her into me. "I shouldn't have reacted like that. It's normal…" Even as I'm saying it I don't know if I believe my own words. "for you to have some residual feelings for Damon. And with him here -" Maybe I am as whipped as Damon says.

She speaks over me, just a bit louder than my quiet voice, "I wasn't thinking of him." I almost call her out on lying to me – there's no reason. I'll live with it. Just be honest… that's all I want from her. If she still has feelings for Damon – love, lust, whatever – just don't lie. "I swear to you, Stefan. I never think of Damon. Not like that…" She sits back, low on my waist and that pressure I mentioned – nearly painful. Well, now it actually hurts. My wife is beautiful – uncombed, dark as night hair gently blowing over her shoulders, a few wild strands flying over her face. The sweater she's wearing is too big, hanging off of one shoulder – her tanned skin looks like caramel and I consider leaning up to taste it. "Not anymore." Elena's clear eyes have that look in them – like she loves me as much as I love her. "It was. God, Stefan that was the most horrible timing, I know. But you have to be believe me when I tell you I was not thinking of anyone but you. I love you."

I don't. I don't believe her.

"My mom's journals; she knew Damon." Just by the way she says the word knew, I already get what that means and it makes the flare of anger in Elena's eyes seem very fitting. I don't say anything – no comments at all – I just let Elena talk. Vent. By the time she finishes telling me about her and Bonnie staying up all night with the journals, she's much less angry.

"Are you going to confront him?" I ask – silently hoping she does. Maybe I'm biased when I say this, but sometimes it feels like she lets him get away with a lot more than she would allow from anyone else.

"Yes. I am. That's why we stayed up. I wanted to be sure that they hadn't met up again… later on, ya know."

The wind gusts against us, pushing her long hair into her face, the ends tickling my neck and shoulders, so I use my hands to gather the length of it at – cupping her hypnotizingly beautiful face in a bonnet of dark strands. When she gives me that smile of hers, the one that crinkles up her nose just a bit she's adorable… really, the sweetest smile, I forget that I was mad at all and I just want to kiss her.

So I do.

I love her. The taste of her. The feeling of her hands on my chest, her breath on my skin.

That painful pressure, it's nearly debilitating.

"Elena!" Bonnie's voice has always had that cold-shower effect on me and I break away from the deepening kiss the instant it hits my eardrums. "Elena, come here!" She calls from the deck. With her forehead against mine, Elena gives a little laugh at the frustration on my face… I don't mean to but I roll my eyes, something like a sullen teenager, giving a loud sigh as she stands, leaving me with a quick kiss in my hair. "I found something!"

-Elena-

Trotting up the stairs, I have a huge smile on my face – so happy that Stefan came home to me. That we cleared everything up… just like before, after Denver, he didn't even question me. I could have showed him the picture of Damon with his arm hanging around my mom's shoulders, the journal entries, but Stefan didn't even ask for proof. My husband loves me unconditionally, doesn't he?

I run my fingers through Liam's soft curls, sitting in the high chair next to Bonnie at the outdoor table as he eats his honey-nut cheerios and Allie says close – fascinated by babies. "Ready for our girl's day out?" I ask, turning to my best friend, still wearing my Stefan-induced grin.

But the look on Bonnie's face instantly steals away my smile. Holding the red leather journal of my mother's to her chest, she says, "I found something."

I knew I'd pay for what I did so many years ago. I've never told a soul about the week I spent playing pretend with him… as far as Grayson knows, he's the only man I've even been with. I've let him believe that lie for more than two decades! How could I expect to live a lie, to go on without ever paying for what I'd done?
At 43, I've had a blessed life. I have two wonderful children, a husband who adores me - our marriage isn't perfect, but we've got a strong relationship – we love each other the same as we always have. I've got lots of great friends and a home in the town that I love so very much. Jeremy is quickly growing into a handsome young man, and I can already see that he's found a great love of art. Though his drawings may still be a bit juvenile, there is a lot of potential there. My beautiful boy is kind and sensitive – a blessing to call my son.
Elena will be seventeen in a few months (we've started shopping for her Miss Mystic Falls pageant dress), like me, she's very involved in the community and has roots deeply wound in our home town. She's simply beautiful – intelligent, thoughtful, caring – I couldn't have designed a better daughter if I'd been given the chance. I truly have a great life.
So why I had the fleeting thought of giving it all up, of leaving everything and everyone behind, the instant I saw those sapphire eyes, I'll never understand. Even though I know that it was just a passing fantasy, my conscience flying back to that week where I loved him and he loved me and leaving everything was something I was actually considering, I'm still deeply ashamed to admit that I felt a tremor of excitement course through me with the idea of running away with him.
I felt the same attraction – raw, erotic, deeply-engrained – just like when I met him 24 years ago. But things are different now. Besides my blessed life and my beautiful marriage and family, I now understand what he is… mixed in with all those carnal desires was also an overwhelming sense of fear. I know what those blue eyes would look like if he saw my daughter. I know what his perfectly shaped teeth would morph into should he decide to be done with me. Even though I was aware of his condition back then, now I know what he truly is… Like Mikael, he's a monster, they all are. And like Mikael, I know he must have been here to find the doppelganger.
I tried to leave and act like I didn't recognize him – but before I could get away from the bar and out of the swinging doors of The Grille, he'd made his way to me and I couldn't escape. My fear of him seemed to shock him and thrill him all the same… he used it to try and press me about Katherine and a grimoire, some stone or jewel. He even mocked me by asking if I'd consider going to the upcoming Founder's Party with him! He knew I was lying when I told him I didn't know anything that could help him. My heart rate must have given me away if not my shifting eyes and shaking hands.
Finally letting me leave, I know he meant his words when he said, "Now don't go running home to that husband of yours and confessing all of our sins – I'm not quite ready for the town to know they've got a vampire problem and I'd hate to kill the prettiest cougar in Virginia."
I didn't listen to him. I should have, but I didn't, and I called Jenna to come and stay with Jeremy while Grayson and I attend a quickly put together council meeting. I need to get my mind wrapped around what is happening… happening all over again! Abby, the only person I know who could possibly help Grayson and I protect Elena from being used as a doppelganger is no where to be found, and I'm going to have to explain to Grayson how I know a vampire at all!
I just wish Elena would come on home – she was supposed to have been here more than an hour ago to 'spend some family time together', but she's not made it back from cheerleading practice and isn't answering her phone. The thought that he's found her already is keeping me from being able to concentrate… that's why I'm writing now, to try and focus my thoughts.
I guess if we must, Grayson and I will pick up our family and run – of all the fates in the world, the last thing I ever want my daughter to know is the destruction that comes along with those monsters.

Elena called. She went to some party just outside of town and needs a ride – Thank goodness nothing has happened to her. Grayson is on the phone with Zach Salvatore regarding getting us a shipment of some herb the mayor suggested we use, then we're going to get Elena… the plan is, we'll tell her about the vampires and her value to them.
I'm terrified. I just have the worst feeling about tonight.

**MORE TO COME**

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