Disclaimer: No, I don't own them. I own a copy of Otis Redding's boomting song though. Uhhuh, I called it boomting. I don't own the lyrics to that, either, but I think 'tis a bit necessary...
To quote Elphaba (Wicked): "One more Disaster I can add to My Generous Supply..."
Enjoy!
2010
Elena left him there, alone with his thoughts as he tried to explain how he could hear her, again. This time she was louder, this time she was begging, but the words were always the same.
Damon! Please, please... do this, for me! If you love me, you'll do this...
He bit his bottom lip as he stared up at the ceiling, fighting to stave off the guilt, the sickness that overcame him. If you love me. He thought of those four words more than once, and every time he did he had to bite back the rush of pain that came with it.
He did not enjoy murder. He heard her words every time he killed. For better, or for worse.
"Did you love her?" Elena's voice broke through the words, and he managed two words – ones that made her gasp and look away.
"To death," He nodded, and for a dreadful moment, he thought his heart might fail. A pair of arms enveloped him, and for a second he hoped, no, he thought they belonged to her. He knew it was impossible, yet he knew that it would be perfection to feel her again, and he wanted it. He did not move to console Elena, as he knew she was trying to do for him, instead raising his hand to his hair and pressing his forehead to his forearm as he felt the lump in his throat and the burn at his eyes. He could barely breathe, even though he would never admit a weakness like that to anyone.
Minutes later, Elena, suddenly filled with discomfort, pulled back and away to see his face drawn into an awful grimace, pain and sheer hatred filling his features. He did not want this, she knew, and he did not know how to stop his own pain. He looked up at Elena as she quietly cleared her throat, but bowed his head as he saw the pity on her face. He did not need her pity, and he certainly did not want it.
He did not want any of it.
Italy, 1992
She sat at the edge of her mother's bed, her legs crossed and her eyes closed. A strengthening breath, then she looked upon the shadow of the woman who used to be her mother. With sunken eyes and a paled countenance staring back at her, she could do nothing but draw away.
"Francesca, darling," Her mother gripped her hand and pulled her upright, almost out of her seat. She had a surprisingly strong grip for a dying woman, Francesca mused, and then, she is cold. "Don't lean away;" With a smile, her mother attempted to sit up, "I'm not contagious."
"Do not speak like that!" Francesca was upright in a second, leaning forward and frowning at her mother. The sudden movement sent a surge of heat flooding between her legs, followed by the sticky dampness she probably should have been ashamed of. She knew if she took no action, it would slide down her thighs and into some kind of reality. Immediately, she pressed her legs tighter together, feeling her face grow warm.
It had been Damon, however, who had caused such a meltdown, and that was what left her smiling, yet still somewhat embarrassed. Her lips curved into a half-smile, and she ran her hand against the fabric of her nightdress and she looked back up at her mother.
"By now, I think you must understand, my darling," Francesca's mother reached over to touch her daughter's hand again, and she smiled lightly. "That there is no turning back from this. I most likely will not recover, and I need to..." She pulled her closer and quietly patted her hand. "I need to speak with you about..." Her breath was slow, and she shuddered as she exhaled his name, "Damon."
"What about him, mother?" Francesca frowned slightly, entirely confused. She barely spoke of Damon around her parents, just a mention every-so-often, so there was no reason for her mother's distaste, was there?
"I know his type." She whispered, and Francesca bit back the retort of 'how could you?' as her mother leaned forward and spoke the words she never thought she would hear. "I know he is a vampire, Francesca, and you need to know that you have to be..." There was silence as her mother weighed her choice of her next word, "Careful."
"Sorry?" She raised her palm to silence her daughter, and, as she had been taught to, Francesca stilled to wait for her mother's explanation.
"You have to be careful. Please... don't get too attached to him." She stopped and watched her daughter's dismay for a moment. "He is a Salvatore, is he not?" Salvation, Francesca nearly whispered, though she remained silent for fear of her mother's fury.
"Yes, mother." She nodded.
"Then he is dangerous. Do not let yourself get hurt because of him, sweetheart." Her mother sighed, closing her eyes, "They are dangerous. They bring trouble with them, the Salvatores, and I do not want you to get hurt."
Her mother bit her tongue then, for the words which were about to come – You have never been in love before - were obviously true, yet would have flustered her daughter beyond comprehension. In the darkness of the nights Francesca had spent without Damon – for her mother did know that Damon had been a regular, yet almost invisible houseguest for nearly two years – she had heard her daughter speak in her sleep about how she adored him.
"Are they so bad, mother?" Francesca would not argue with her mother, not while she was entombed in her bedcovers like this. It was hell to watch her mother suffer through this alone, yet Francesca knew there was nothing even Damon could do.
"They, in themselves, are not bad. It is the aftermath they cause which is terrible." She stopped, "Consider, Francesca, what will happen to you when Damon leaves." A thought crossed the younger girl's mind, and her mother wondered whether it had been the right thing to say. "Consider..." She stopped, "Perhaps consider what will happen later on. He may not leave," She stopped and frowned slightly, sucking on her bottom lip hopefully, "But then again, he may change his mind. There may be an ending," She sighed, "And he may move onto new beginnings. Without you."
It was silent in the room between them, and Francesca wanted to scream, just to break it, and to bring Damon to her. At least, she hoped it would bring Damon to her.
"I am sorry, Francesca," Her mother sighed, "Truly, I am." She paused again, "This was inane, and, I apologise for waking you-" Her breath came in a pant, and she gripped her chest, suddenly and tightly, fisting her bedclothes in her hands. "Your father!" She called quickly, then, cringing, "Quickly!"
"Mother!" Silence, the low gurgle of her mother's breath as she breathed her last. "Madre? Madre?" Francesca could not breathe. Everything seemed constricted and tight and suddenly she was on the floor, pulling at the duvet, at the covers which slid to the floor.
She felt frozen in time as she heard her mother's words intermingling with those of the music she had assumed was in her head.
"I left my home in Georgia,
Headed for the 'Frisco bay,
'Cause I've had nothing to live for,
And look like nothin's gonna come my way"
Her head snapped up at the sound of the radio, playing so softly that she would not have noticed it as their conversation had progressed. Now that she was sitting alone on the floor, for in the back of her mind, she knew her mother was gone, she wished for his arms to be around her, carrying her to her bed and clutching her, trying to make her forget.
Her father found her soon enough, however, with the radio still playing Otis Redding, her conversation replaying in her head constantly – What will you do when he leaves you behind?
When she managed to stumble back to bed, her father assuring her that they would speak in the morning, she found her bedroom empty. There was the lingering scent of Damon, and there was the lingering colour of blood on her bed sheets, which she knew she would need to banish before the sun rose. Without the comfort of Damon to envelop her, and wondering whether this was the moment he had decided to leave her and move on, she closed her eyes and fought back the tears that all-too-soon flooded down her face.
Even breathing was burning when she rolled away from the cool touch of his fingertips in the darkness. She wanted to scream at him, but found her voice broken and hoarse before she could even utter his name.
"You promised." She whispered, and as he lay down beside her, Damon did not realise exactly how much damage a broken promise could do.
2010
"I let her down," He murmured, suddenly pushing himself away from Elena. She sat up straight and clenched her hands into fists, knowing her nails would be cutting ribbons into her flesh.
"No, Damon," The brunette began, going to touch his shoulder or his hand, the way he was curled up, she was not entirely sure. "You didn'-"
"You don't know the half of it, Elena!" His hand came down and her eyes followed his fingers. Her comforter was ripped in half in the time it took to blink. "You don't understand at all!" As he tried to wrench away from her grip again, she held fast, but drew worse than blood.
The moment Elena pulled the black leather band from Damon's wrist was the moment that his world ceased to matter.
