Note: I know it has been awhile, but I'mk doing what I can with the very little time I have on my hands. Please, if you're able to support me, do so through your in depths review and/or buying me a coffee (link in the profile and over my tumblr at paintedwithwords). Enjoy.
#
Elena puts the syringe down to rub her eyes with two fingers. She's been on her feet all day and she's tired. Bonnie can't help but stare as she watches her friend pull out a pair of eyeglasses, with a frame in dark tortoise, from a pocket of her backpack.
"I didn't know you wore glasses, now," the comment sounds silly compared to five minutes ago, when she was blabbering about cholera.
"A recent change," her friend explains with an embarrassed grin. "I have to study a lot and my eyes gets tired," she says, cleaning Damon's skin with rubbing alcohol.
"Well, you seem born for it," Bonnie says, standing one foot away from the bed, feeling like she's occupying a place that is not hers and feeling like she owes her something. Elena can take care of Damon now, has the means to do it, and she should turn on her heels and leave the room instead of playing witness to this.
Elena giggles at that. "Oh, I was definitely not," she assures her, and it's not the self-indulgent tone she always used when she wanted for her friend to tell her the opposite. She means it. "I have to work a lot just to catch up to everyone else." She taps the vein on Damon's arm. "I guess spending my time worrying mostly about my love life and which vampire to date was not entirely a sensible idea."
Bonnie wasn't expecting such an admission from Elena, never asked for it in the first place. At some point, it has become a constant struggle for Elena, being pulled in different directions, wanting one but then not being able to forget the other. At the time, it seemed like her choice was the centre of all. Now, she's mocking her own attitude like she has outgrown love. Or maybe it's just that having settled down, deciding to get married, quieted down all her anxiety and she's ready for different things.
Still, it feels kind of upsetting somehow.
Bonnie blinks watching as the needle enters the skin, the look of concentration on Elena's face, the way the light of the lampstand shines on her glasses and she finds everything so changed since she went away. Damon is human, and Elena is growing up and she still feel the need to cocoon her, shelter her from any kind of pain, even the slightest, even if it means to shape her into the person she's trying so hard to become.
"You're very intelligent, Elena, and you're—"
"I'm not saying I'm stupid," she says, turning to her with a soft smile, "But I slacked a lot, and now I need to work twice as hard as anyone else. That's why I don't have much time for the wedding." She offers a grimace, "Sorry."
"It's okay," Bonnie replies, "Just… why the rush? I mean, one day I'm sure you'll regret not doing this with Damon. You could just postpone the wedding to a better moment."
"Five years?" the other girl asks.
"Well… yes? I…no, just…" She doesn't want to insist on this, doesn't want Elena to doubt she's talking only for her own good, not because she feels more and more bound to Damon every day they spend together planning a life she's not an integral part of, not because she wants to disentangle herself of this mess and be free to be anywhere else she'd like to be, not because she's not ready to be there and watch it happen and be happy.
"Why in a month?"
Elena is about to explain to her that it happened so soon and she didn't stop to do the math, to think of all the things that must be prepared for a wedding, to think of each detail. She just went with it, followed Damon's plan because she was never good at anything else but following someone else's lead. He's always had that fire that could mesmerize her, make her head feel light and dizzy. He's always been fascinating like that. And even now, as a man, he has still that spark that made him as attractive as a fantasy.
Inside her fantasy she wore a beautiful flowy dress, and the day was bright, and everything came together magically. Inside her dream there was no budget to take into account, no choice between cotton cardstock and velvet cardstock – she actually likes the shimmering one better, but she hasn't even thought about contradicting Caroline. Sometimes her friend, as she carries on with her descriptions and grand plans, seems to be remaking her and Stefan's wedding, and she doesn't want to hurt her by interrupting her dream. She herself sometimes seems to have the same one.
Not that she's mad enough to think she's about to marry Stefan, because she knows better. After all that's happened, though, his absence is so palpable and real, it's like he just went away, and maybe, possibly, he'll find out he was wrong to go, and he'll come back.
If she wasn't fully aware of who she is going to marry, she would have brought the dress she had always envisioned when she was sixteen and walking next to Stefan on the wooden bridge at the school party was all it took for her to imagine him next to her for all the years to come. That night, she tore the page off of one of Jenna's magazines, thinking that one day she would have gotten married in the dress that was displayed on that glossy page. It was an ivory Chantilly tied A-line bridal gown over nude sparkle net and cashmere chiffon. It had a Venice lace applique accent strapless bodice with a sweetheart necklace and the skirt had layered Chantilly lace with a chapel train. It was so beautiful, so perfect. She had called bridal stores every year to make sure that it hadn't gone out of production and she knew where to find it when the moment came. She called even when she became a vampire and her affection seemed to sway overnight from one brother to the other, even if in her dream, when she walked the isle there was still always Stefan waiting for her at the altar.
Now the moment has arrived, and she cannot think of that dress without her heart breaking. Without thinking the bodice would envelop her chest so tightly it would suffocate her. No, she cannot think of that dress.
She's hidden that magazine page, tucked away into an old sweater, folded in a drawer at the lake house so that she'll never see it again, or ever lose it.
"I just though why not," she says, looking a bit at a loss, and Damon had a way of making even the craziest thing seem somehow reasonable, right; and, when it's done and it's over, she's left staring at the ruins wondering how it all happened.
"He said let's get married, and it seemed like a good idea…" she shrugs. Actually, he said, "Let's call Bonnie. We'll make up some reason for her to come back. I'm sick and tired of this bratty attitude of hers. Going away like that and not bothering to even send a miserable postcard. Let's call her and tell her you're dying… okay, no, that's a bit too much. Let's call her and tell her we're getting married, huh? I mean, it would be about time, wouldn't it? Yes, so, let's get married. What are we even waiting for? With our outstanding record we could just die tomorrow. It seems kind of stupid to wait around, so let's do it, Elena." But it's useless to tell Bonnie that, it's useless and a bit mortifying that it all came from a trick Damon came up with so that he'd have Bonnie back. Elena likes to think that her selfish days are over and behind her. And up to now, she wasn't truly bothered by how her marriage proposal had come to be; but now it does, it does a tiny bit.
"I can't just go back on it now..." she continues. "I know I haven't done much, and I'm sorry to burden you" she adds sincerely, "But I don't just want to be a good wife, I want to be a good person and a good doctor, and I'm doing my best."
"You already are a good person," Bonnie tells her, warmly, reaching out to her to hold her hand and squeeze her fingers.
Elena smiles at that. "Of course you'd say that. You're my friend and all you did since I met you was be there for me."
"We're sisters," Bonnie replies, the words rolling off her tongue easily. "You did the same for me."
"I didn't," Elena admits, lowering her eyes with shame. "It's true, I didn't. I was self-centered and blind. You were always thinking about anyone else but yourself, and I took it for granted, because you were the strong one and you could never say no to me," she admits. "I had to rely on you and everybody but now…now, I can do my part." Her doe eyes grow larger as she explains with a thrill, "Today, it's been the first time I could really, truly do something for Damon. Truth is, I got worried when I heard your message, but most of all I couldn't wait to finally do something for him," she admits. "And yeah, I probably sound egoist even now but all these years I had to sit back and watch you save the day, and I refused to feel guilty about it because you were strong and you could manage, while I was weak and could do nothing else but ask you to help me out. But now it's different. Now there's something I can do. One day, I'll be a doctor and I won't be useless anymore, and I won't sit back and watch someone else take the burden for me. I need to do this. It's too important for me, but I don't want to disappoint Damon by asking him to wait."
Elena lowers her eyes, her smile saddening as she admits, "I could never make him feel like he was the most important person for me. I think that deep down, he was always sure I would have gone back to Stefan eventually."
Would you? Bonnie wants to ask, so badly that she has to bite the inside of her mouth not to, and yet, Elena can read the words on her face.
"I don't want to put him in that position again," she says, solemnly, "And you're his best friend. There's nothing he wouldn't share with you." At some point Damon has decided that he and Bonnie make one package, that she's part of the deal, and Elena needs to come to terms with it. It feels strange after years of being the sole reason for his life, the celestial body around which his satellite turned, but that love that made her high and breathless, tore her apart too, making her miserable most of the time. It felt both perfect and sick, romantic to a morbid degree, its kiss tasting like blood and ash. So maybe it's okay that that passion is gone. After all, passion is a phase, and feelings always change shape. They do say that the secret to a long marriage is to marry your best friend, she thinks, her heart trembling.
"That's because he's absolutely shameless and a pain in the ass," Bonnie jokes, to lighten up the moment, rolling her eyes at the thought of Damon's impossible behavior.
Elena smiles at that, as sadness threatens to envelop her. She's had enough sadness in her life to know how to ignore it.
"So, I have to ask for your help… one last time." She decides.
#
It's overwhelming, all of it. Being back, Elena's request, having Damon to care for, no one questioning that that is her place. Now, looking back at all they did, at distance she's put between herself and Mystic Falls, it seems all so pointless; because while she was wandering the world, desperately looking for a place for herself, she already had one. She had a place, and people waiting for her, and maybe that's the problem after all.
Maybe the place she owns is not the place she wants, and she's decided that it was Damon who was cutting her out of his life, not the other way around.
For the first time in years – she realizes with a pang – Elena spoke to her again; not about her tiresome romances, not about how to avoid the next catastrophe, but about what's really inside her heart, about her weakness and her selfishness and the ways she's working to fix what she broke to pieces time and time again.
For most of her life Bonnie had felt invisible into her own house. Whenever her father looked at her and her smile brought back his wife, Bonnie disappeared into the wallpaper behind her, and she was too chicken to step outside her comfort zone, comfortable under the shelter of Elena's shadow. Truth is, never being noticed, never being caught in the eye of a passion as strong as a hurricane it wasn't only bitter, it was reassuring. She was a creature of habit, and she liked control way too much. It hurt being taken for granted, but she liked not to leave the confines of her cage because outside of it there were too many variables, and every damn surprise in her life had left her broken and mute.
But tonight, Elena told her that she knew her pain, recognized her struggles, and if she took advantage of it was because of weakness, because Elena is weak too, Elena is imperfect too, and somehow she too felt that she didn't measure up. It makes her almost dizzy to think about it, to think that Elena had seen herself as weak and demanding and a burden, when all Bonnie could see was the adoration, and the love she was surrounded by.
Bonnie turns around in bed, her eyes going towards the mirror in the corner, reflecting her clothes abandoned on the chair. She wonders how her friends had perceived her when she felt humiliated by her loneliness, by the need that she had to prove her worth to those at her side. And then she thinks Damon would make a remark about her messiness, if he wasn't sleeping his horrible cold off. The idea of him, pale chapped lips and burning fever, stays in the back of her mind as she tries to find a comfortable position to rest.
Now if she thinks of him, if she worries over him, it's okay, because Elena knows that she is, Elena expects her to be, but it's been a long day and he's gonna be fine, so Bonnie just turns in bed again, tucking the pillow under her head and licks her lips. They are a bit dry but not uncomfortable to the point of not letting her sleep, but the idea of the little yellow tub of lip balm inside her shoulder bag is a drop falling on her brain cells making it impossible to fall asleep.
Okay, she decides, kicking the sheets to leave the bed with bare feet. She can put it on and go back to bed. Bonnie rummages through the bag, not finding it, and she becomes frustrated until she remembers putting it distractedly inside the pocket of her jeans. She pulls at the leg of her abandoned jeans and the tube falls from the pocket onto the floor. Damon would accuse her of being messy and she would hate to think he's right.
"Such a pain in the ass," she murmurs as she tightens her hold on the yellow tube. That really is the most effective way to describe him, she thinks as she opens his door. The sounds of the night are clear. There is a nightingale outside the window that is singing a lullaby. His face is turned to the side. She can see the corner of his jaw, the way his dark lashes tremble drawing a shadow over his marble-like skin when the light of the lamp hits them, how his solid chest rises and falls more rapidly. Bonnie stops in the doorway when her mind tells her that, even sick and bedridden and deprived of that smirk of his that makes her a bit crazy and a bit enamored, he is the most beautiful man she's ever laid eyes on. The surge of tenderness that tries to choke her is brutally painful. It swells her heart to the point that she feels like it's going to break. The realization slaps her in the face.
She should have looked the other way.
When he outlined happy faces in whipped cream for her, she should have looked the other way. When he threatened Kai's life to protect her, she should have looked the other way. When he sat beside her to watch The Bodyguard for the billionth time, she should have looked the other way. When he smiled at her, and when he looked at her like his life's worth depended on her consideration of him, all those times he chose to be vulnerable in front of her, she should have looked the other way.
Bonnie wants to turn and disappear inside the cold embrace only Enzo can offer her. She wants to see and let him talk to her of the time when they'll meet again and touch and love, but she can't give in to the temptation now. It would feel wrong and cheap, like kissing her boyfriend after she's kissed another. Maybe tomorrow, when this feeling has disappeared, when it will feel like a bad dream and Damon has gone back to being awake and insufferable.
Bonnie swallows the knot in her throat, walks to the bed and takes the cap off the yellow tube of chap stick, bending over him to let the balm moisten his dehydrated lips. His breath is hot and she fills a glass of water, letting her hand slip under his head to help him wet his burning mouth. He's really close, unmindful of his own vulnerability. She has the keys to his house, the cure to his health and the secrets he entrusted her, and for a moment there is no one else in the world, like it's 1994 again and the eclipse can hide them forever.
She lowers him down on the pillow again. He opens his eyes for a moment, seem to focus them on hers before closing them again. Bonnie sits next to him and starts carefully applying the balm over his lips while her eyes wander, tracing the curve of his high cheekbone, the slight dip of his chin, the arch of his nose. She brushes one hand over his forehead to take away the sheen of perspiration and the tip of her index finger traces the contour of his lips to take off the excess of lip balm (she tells herself). And she feels overwhelmed and tired, so it's only because of that that she lowers her head until her cheek is resting on top of Damon's chest. His human heart, so human and so real, beats fast. She doesn't listen to the voice inside her head trying to tell her how happy she could be if only she could spend the rest of her life curled up over his chest, cuddled up inside his arms.
She doesn't listen to that voice, which she has silenced so many times before, but it's hard not to listen to Damon's when he whispers, "... love you." The yellow tube of lip balm slips from her fingers, rolling off the bed, but she never hears the sound of it hitting the ground. His voice is raspy and low, and the words seem to arrive from a forgotten dream. They resound inside his ribcage, enter her brain and her soul like an enemy sneaking up on her, and they paralyze her.
From her place over Damon's heart she can see the reflection of the yellow chap stick in the mirror, still mid-air. The clock on the nightstand has stopped clicking and something has abruptly stopped the nightingale song. His words are not for her, she thinks. He's probably dreaming of Elena, she thinks. It really doesn't hurt at all, she lies. And if she can't help the sob that makes her break down and cry, it's not because she wants his love for herself. And if her fingers tighten stubbornly around the fabric of his shirt, it's not because she can't ever let him go, because she will.
She will, soon, once her eyes are dry and time begins to pass again.
It will pass. Everything will pass, she needs to believe it.