Disclaimer: Pshhtttt, as if I own it.
So, chapter 21 hit you guys pretty hard, didn't it? I did warn you.
Dear Billimonroe, G1rlanachr0n1sm, Pandora03 and Mouse555... Ti amo. And I'm pretty sure Damon does too.
Enjoy.
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3:15AM, Christmas Day, 2010
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Pain is a curious concept. It has two sides – affliction and infliction. One hurts, and, in the long run, Damon considered, the other hurts too.
He did not enjoy inflicting pain upon other people, but there was a grim kind of satisfaction that the pain he had inflicted upon them – Elena, because of the bracelet, Stefan, because he just didn't know, or care to understand what Damon was going through, the list was endless – would be the same pain that kept everybody away.
Slowly, and a little muddled by the jumble of words in his head, he picked up the fountain pen he had borrowed from Bonnie Bennett and began to write.
"Dear Elena – And Saint Stefan, because I know you're listening,
I am sorry. For everything. There's very little else to say, I suppose, because I'm sure you know it all, sure that you can see everything all so perfectly clearly and right and just wrong. You think you have a clue about living this life, Elena? I have lost everything because of my actions, and you think that apologising can make it all okay?
Elena, ask Stefan about the words he said to me when he found me that night. Go on – I dare you. I'm sure you'll hate what you hear.
Everything hurts right now all the way down to taking simple breaths and opening my eyes to see the dawn of a brand new day – and I know that you will not respect this decision straight away, that you'll think I'm stupid and horrible and selfish – but do you know what? That's exactly what the hell I am. I don't care about the aftermath of all of this shit because think about it – after all the things that I've been through, would you?
I'm not a bad guy, Elena, and really, I mean that. I do things wrong, and I'm willing to accept that I screw up all the time, but I don't mean to do it. Well. Sometimes I do, but most of the time, it's just... everybody screws up, Elena.
Me more than most, I suppose. I simultaneously want to hurt and hug Stefan, because nearly one hundred and fifty years ago, he broke me down, and forced me to feed, to walk the earth for over a century and shut down my humanity in a way that he never did. Then, by chance, and because I was following him around, bored, I made the mistake of going into a party at quite a big house.
And I met the person who was going to become my life. I didn't know it, but that was probably the biggest mistake I've ever made... not that I'm calling Francesca a mistake. Because she was in no way wrong... I just should have walked away when I had the chance – because it broke me, and reopened me to a humanity which I was wholly unprepared to accept. But I accepted it, and I embraced it, and she infused herself into everything.
Literally everything, Elena, and that's what made it so difficult to let her go. I don't expect you to understand, and I don't expect you to know what it feels like to have to do something like that, but... just know that in the end, I think my life has been one big mistake.
I just can't keep doing it. I've made enough mistakes, hurt enough people, and the one person who could see through all of that... well. You know what happened there.
Damon."
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Italy, 1994
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"The disappearance of Francesca Salvatore, from the home she shared with her husband, and her brother- in-law, on the night of the third of January was extremely unexpected, and, as of the past twenty four hours, the search for her has been called off. After four months, it is believed that she is unwilling to come home, or, in the more unfortunate case, is unable to come home, and, unfortunately, the complete lack of evidence has led to the trail going cold."
As Damon listened to the recording, he heard nothing but static. Stefan had called the police immediately, stating that neither he, nor Damon had heard a thing from Francesca in three days, and Damon had been forced to lie, lie and lie again, in every interview he had conducted with the police, Francesca's father... hell, even to himself.
More and more, he was determined to get away – and it was approaching Christmas time, and the end of the year. He had held on for a year, trying to believe a lie of his brother's design, convincing himself that she had chosen to leave him, that she had broken his heart on purpose.
Obviously, that was untrue. She would never have done that. She felt that she had no choice in the matter, that she was evil... when she was not.
"L'imbarco sarà all'uscita numero trentacinque." The highly-made-up, plastic woman sitting at the check-in desk left Damon desperate to shower, to vomit or to simply get out of there, as fast as in-humanly possible.
"Grazie." He nodded and stepped as quickly as possible away, to the departure lounge.
This was it. He was leaving it all behind.
"It's over." He whispered, to nobody in particular, looking at the floor, then back to the ceiling, then down at the floor again. He had been in Italy for twenty years, twenty years which, at their climax, left his very core shaken, disturbed and incredibly, incredibly alone.
If anybody had been sitting beside, or opposite Damon Salvatore, as he sat alone in the departure lounge impatiently, tiredly, they would most definitely have been able to see the humanity in him switch off.
The colour in his eyes, always so bright and almost sparkling – at least, that's what Francesca had told him, deadened into a dull-glacial blue, and a crease in his forehead tightened just a little bit, a frown appearing in the corners of his mouth. Damon did not breathe for a long minute, almost feeling the walls slide up around his heart, encasing the dead organ in nothing more than empty space. He was sure that he held his soul in there as well, but he did not think of that.
As far as he was concerned, now, after he had lost Francesca, he had lost his soul-mate, and by extension, he had lost his soul.
When the boarding call came, Damon rose from the hard plastic seat, having stared so hard into the wall that he feared it would suffer permanent structural damage.
No. He didn't feel at all. He had simply glared at the wall for the better part of about three hours, hating it. Hating everything.
He strode slowly through the departures lounge, turning more than one head as he went. His silent steps and slow grace made him the fleeting object of more than one woman's affections, yet for longer than any of them could consider, he would feel an affection that he could not quite place, a warmth that washed over him in his darkest moments – a shot of tequila in a night filled with vodka cocktails.
It was a feeling that was strange, but not unpleasant, and, as he shut his eyes, reclining in his spacious, first class seat, he was sure he could feel a hand resting over his. Blinking his eyes open, and rocketing his head up, he noted that he was alone.
It was always the same. For nearly a decade, it would hurt more than anybody would ever know.
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26th December, 2010
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Elena rolled over and heard a crinkle underneath the pillow. It must have been just before dawn – so she was midway between waking up and remaining asleep, but the sound definitely woke her.
Slipping her hand underneath the soft cushion, she felt the weight of an envelope beneath her hands and pulled it from the folds of fabric.
Damon's handwriting had addressed the envelope in an effervescently sarcastic manner.
"Lady Elena Gilbert, In the Bedroom, Beneath the Pillow, With the Bedside Lamp."
She slid a fingernail under the flap, breaking the seal, just as the sun came up. Seconds later, the town was blanketed by rainfall. It did not last long, a minute, two, maybe, but as Elena slipped the paper from the envelope, read it up and down, and choked back a sob...
"Damon..." She glanced up at the window, straight into the burning sunlight.
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A/N: Chapter 23 will be up Sunday or Saturday. I haven't decided.
Reviews?
