Silence
The suffocating silence of Bonnie's empty house pressed down on her, a cruel echo of the prison world's isolation. Home, she thought bitterly, but it doesn't feel like it. The familiar walls seemed to close in, every creak and groan a reminder of the six months she'd spent trapped, alone, battling the insidious whispers of despair.
The cheerful voices of her friends, once a lifeline in her dreams, now felt like an assault. Their concern, their questions... they meant well, she knew. But each word chipped away at the fragile facade she'd built, threatening to expose the raw wounds beneath.
The irony
"They don't understand," she thought, curling tighter into herself on the bed. They can't understand. The memories flashed before her eyes: Kai's twisted grin, the agonizing pain of the spells, the endless days stretching out with no hope of rescue. They gave up on me. The thought stung, a betrayal cutting deeper than any physical wound. Even Damon, who had seen the darkness in her, who had shared her torment... he was silent now. The thought of going back to the way they used to be before they got trapped together didn't sit right with Bonnie. Spending time with Damon 24/7 had gotten her used to his presence and while he was annoying 95% of the time, the 5% when he wasn't brought to light a different version of Damon, the real Damon, not the bravado, the façade he wears like a second skin to protect his fragile undead heart. He was just playing a role, she thought, her heart twisting. Maybe he's relieved to be back to his old life, free of the burden of caring for me. The music throbbed in her ears, a mournful soundtrack to her despair. "Something in the way..." The lyrics echoed her own feelings, the sense of something broken, something irrevocably changed.
She pressed her face into the pillow, trying to muffle the sobs that wracked her body. I'm not okay, she admitted to herself, the words heavy with shame. I'm not the same Bonnie I was before. The silence stretched on, broken only by the ragged sound of her own breathing. The world outside seemed distant, unreal. All that mattered was the crushing weight in her chest, the fear that she would never escape the shadows of the prison world, that she would forever be trapped in the silence of her own pain.
Damon sat in his room, the silence a stark contrast to the panicked whispers filtering up from downstairs. Space giving, he thought with a sardonic twist of his lips. Brilliant idea, Damon. Since the sad excuse for a welcome back party, Bonnie went MIA. He wanted to text her but stopped himself remembering in the prison world Bonnie would always want space whenever they argued or more, so he put his foot in his mouth and said something hurtful without thinking. Damon knew she needed space from everyone he just didn't know if everyone included him.
It had seemed logical at the time. Bonnie, overwhelmed, retreating into her shell... he'd recognized the signs. He'd been there himself, countless times, the world a cacophony of noise and sensation he couldn't bear. Except he used alcohol to escape that darkness, binged until his vampiric abilities couldn't catch up with the amount of alcohol being consumed, But three days? Three days of silence of unanswered calls and unopened doors? Maybe 'space' wasn't the answer after all.
He could hear Elena and Caroline's voices, their worry escalating with each passing hour.
"She won't answer our calls or open the door." Elena's voice, laced with anxiety.
"We need to come up with a plan. Bonnie needs us." Caroline, ever the optimist, ever the one to believe in the power of friendship.
And then Stefan, with his infuriatingly calm demeanor. "We just need to give Bonnie space. When she's ready, she'll talk."
Damon scoffed inwardly. Easy for you to say, Saint Stefan. You didn't spend four months trapped in a hell dimension with her.
He pictured Bonnie's face, the way it had crumpled when Kai had cross bowed her, the haunted look in her eyes that hadn't quite faded even after she'd returned. She needs more than space. She needs someone who understands.
"But this isn't like Bonnie," Elena protested. "She'd talk to us."
"She was listening to depressing music. I could hear it." Caroline's voice was thick with concern. "Bonnie needs us."
Damon's blood boiled. That's a lie, he thought fiercely. She doesn't need you. She needs me.
He couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't sit here and listen to them fumble around, pretending to know what Bonnie needed when they clearly didn't have a clue.
With a surge of determination, Damon strode to the window, throwing it open. The cool night air hit his face, a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the house.
Never leave it to the amateurs, he thought, a grim smile playing on his lips. Time to show them how it's done.
He leapt from the window, landing lightly on the ground below. He knew exactly where he was going, exactly what he had to do.
Bonnie, he thought, his heart aching with a mix of worry and fierce protectiveness.
I'm coming.
Damon climbed through her bedroom window, his footsteps barely disturbing the dust that had settled on the floor. Bonnie lay on her bed, her body curled into a protective ball, the melancholic strains of Deftones filling the room. The air hung heavy with the scent of unwashed sheets and stale air, mirroring the stagnant energy that clung to Bonnie.
He hesitated, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. A pang of guilt stabbed at him. He'd convinced himself that leaving her alone was the right thing to do, but now, seeing her vulnerability, he realized how wrong he had been. He walked over to her bed, turning the music off.
Damon's sudden presence startled Bonnie, jolting her from the numb embrace of the music. She blinked, the shadows of her room clinging to her like the weight in her chest.
"You know, people usually do coke to that song," he drawled, his voice a low rumble in the quiet. "Should I be worried?"
Bonnie's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "What?" she snapped, the edge in her voice betraying the fragility beneath.
"I said—"
"I heard what you said, Damon."
The air crackled with tension. He took a step closer, his eyes searching hers.
"If you heard me, why'd you say 'what'?"
Bonnie's voice was barely a whisper. "Why are you here?"
Damon hesitated, the nonchalance he had tried to project crumbling. "You have everyone worried." He gestured vaguely. "Elena and Blondie are practically planning a military intervention."
"Oh, so you're here because of Elena?" It's always because of elena
"What?" Damons's brows furrowed in confusion. "I didn't come because of Elena."
"Okay," Bonnie said, her voice flat. "So why are you here?"
Damon's jaw clenched. Can't she see he's worried about her? Why is she being so difficult?
"Why are you here, Damon?" she repeated, her voice rising.
"Didn't you just hear me say everyone's worried?" he retorted, his frustration mounting.
"Yeah, I heard everyone's worried," Bonnie shot back, her eyes blazing. "But why are you here?"
Damon's patience finally broke. "BECAUSE I WAS WORRIED!" he roared, the force of his voice making Bonnie flinch.
She stood up, her small frame trembling with a mixture of anger and something else... hurt. "Are you?" she challenged, her voice barely above a whisper.
"YES!"
"You have a real funny way of showing it," she retorted, tears welling up in her eyes. "Why didn't you check up on me?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Damon's anger evaporated, replaced by a wave of guilt. He hadn't texted or showed up... He'd thought she needed space, that she wanted to be left alone. But now, seeing the raw pain in her eyes, he realized how badly he'd messed up.
"Even with everyone checking up on me… you were the only one I wanted to see… but you never came, never even sent a text. Bonnie whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. "I-I thought we were friends…"
"We are friends Bon, you're my best friend and I am so sorry," he said, his voice hoarse. "I should have texted you. I just... I didn't know what to say."
Bonnie's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She nodded slowly, tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks.
Damon moved closer, hesitantly reaching out to brush a tear away. "Bonnie..."
She leaned into his touch, her body shaking with silent sobs. He pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively.
"I'm here now," he murmured into her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
Bonnie clung to him, her tears soaking into his shirt. For the first time in days, she felt a flicker of warmth, a sense of safety amidst the storm raging inside her. Damon's presence was a lifeline, his solid strength a stark contrast to the fragility of her own spirit.
As they stood there, wrapped in the silent comfort of each other's arms, Bonnie knew one thing for certain: she wasn't alone. Not anymore.