Damon held her like she'd never been held before. He clutched her to his chest like his life depended on it like she was something vital and fragile. She kept her eyes open. Trees flew by in a blur. She could just barely hear the sound of Caroline and Stefan following close behind. After she'd said that one word, "Hungry," Damon had only nodded and whisked her away. If he'd said anything, she hadn't caught it.
It only took a few minutes for them to reach the country house. Elena's head swam, flooded with visions of the previous twenty-four hours. Holding the vial of Caroline's blood in a white-knuckled grip and debating with herself inside that small room at Klaus' safe house. Her blood dripping into the muddy mixture alongside Klaus', the shooting pain of his fangs piercing her skin, and the darkness that came after. Visions interspersed with flashes of her friends. Of Caroline with a hand on her neck watching from the sidelines and Damon with clenched fists, throwing himself against Klaus over and over, whispering not without a fight.
Once inside, Damon carried her up to a room she'd never seen before. The walls were painted a dark green and a detailed, metallic trim around the base. On the ceiling, a light sat cradled inside a delicate sculpture that couldn't quite be made out. It was unlike any of the guest rooms she'd occupied. It could only be his. If she hadn't just gone through a life-changing event, maybe she'd be freaking out about being in Damon Salvatore's bedroom.
He had a large four-poster bed with a luxurious green quilt that he set her down atop. He seemed uncomfortable, uncertain how to handle her, how to talk to her. She didn't say anything either, only looked at him, just barely missing his eyes. Instead, she looked at the bridge of his nose, the cut of his jaw, and tried to think about anything else except the hunger that stirred in her gut and crawled up her throat like acid. It made a home in her gums and it took everything not to press her fingers to her jaw to relieve some of the pain.
After a few moments, she had to look away from him. Her throat felt scraped raw, her gums like they might start bleeding any second. Her head throbbed worse than any headache she'd ever had. Had she made the wrong decision? Had this truly been what she wanted? Or had it been too difficult to look into her brother's compelled and confused eyes and know that she'd never see him again? Had she done this for herself, because she wanted to live, or because she didn't want to cause further pain to those that she loved? Her head hurt too much to even begin to answer those questions. Her eyes shifted to where Damon had been, but he was gone. She didn't think much of it, only rolled over onto her side and curled in on herself, wishing to cry but feeling utterly numb in the aftershock of what had been done to her and what she'd done to herself.
The door to the bedroom clicked closed, but she didn't stir. This wasn't her, this sluggish, uncaring, nearly lifeless form that occupied the side of Damon's bed. It felt as if everything had been drained from her. All the fight and the curiosity, everything that made her her.
Damon's hand caressed her arm, and she turned to look at him with a blank expression. The look on his face was soft and sad, almost like he was in mourning. His head tilted slightly to the side, he looked at her with such care—she knew she should have felt something in return. And she did. A deep aching that made her continue to doubt what she'd done.
"Elena," he said, searching her eyes. He'd pulled a chair up to the side of the bed at some point without her noticing. "There are steps you'll need to take," it looked like the words pained him to speak aloud, "to finish your transition."
"My transition," she said, and fundamentally she understood. But still, it felt impossible to get the thought of what she'd done into her brain. She couldn't even think the word, and what she'd have to do now that she was like them, none of that had crossed her mind.
Damon's eyes closed briefly, brow creasing in the center. When he opened them again he at least pretended that this conversation wasn't killing him inside. "You died with vampire blood in your system," he said, and she nearly flinched at the word. He must have seen the pain in her eyes, the fear. "That's only half of it. You have to feed to complete the transition."
"Or what?" she asked, shifting in bed so she could look at him better. Silence took over the conversation when their eyes locked, and everything seemed to melt away. If only for a second, everything felt better. The fear of becoming a monster didn't take over her subconscious, her inability to cry didn't make her fists clench. It was only the two of them looking at one another and the split second of comfort she found in his eyes.
He lowered his head and it all broke again. A hand came up to her throat, attempting to soothe the pain. It didn't help. He swallowed thickly then said, "You'll die."
"Okay," Elena said. She didn't think about anything else, only the pain and the stirring in her gut. She'd already made the bad decision, right? What use would it be to die now? Maybe as a vampire, she could put all of this Klaus stuff behind her and get back to what she really cared about. Her education. Clearly the secret society was a bust, but that didn't mean she couldn't get a degree, couldn't travel the world, find a job. Maybe she'd even live long enough to see women treated fairly. Maybe she could make people see her.
Damon produced a clear bag of deep red blood from next to him on the floor. He didn't speak, only tore the bag open with his teeth, then extended it to her.
The scent alone drove all of her senses wild. But bits of the human girl remained behind the vampiric mask. Beneath all of the parts of her that wanted to drain the bag until it was completely empty, there were parts of her that wanted to drop it to the floor in disgust. The blood was ice cold, and if she squeezed the pouch, it'd go everywhere. At least Damon had the decency not to stare at her as she held it and contemplated everything all at once. In the end, it barely felt like a decision. The blood drew her closer and closer until her mouth covered the hole Damon had made with his teeth and she was tipping it back and letting it flow into her mouth.
She gagged, and Damon's hands were there in an instant to take the bag as she retched, blood spilling down the front of her chin, down her neck, and onto her chest. But then something changed. The monster Caroline's blood had activated took over, grabbing at Damon's hands for the unfinished blood bag as an excruciating pain stabbed at her gums, a pain that only the blood could soothe. And soothe, it did, until the bag was empty and she was left gripping it so tight it nearly tore, sucking the remaining blood into her mouth like a monster desperate.
When she could get nothing else from the bag, she looked up—feral, fangs pointed and veins deep and red around her eyes. Her eyes shifted back and forth, looking for something else to drink, waiting for Damon to hand her more. All other conscious thoughts had emptied out of her head.
The bag fell from her hands in a moment of clarity. Remembering herself, where she was, and what she'd done. Fingers came up to touch the fangs as they retracted. A sob racked through her body without permission. God, she was just like one of them, now. Like Klaus, who'd killed her, who'd kidnapped her brother, who'd done even worse things. Like Damon, who'd killed Gregory Lithander, and like whoever had killed Detective Matthews. Who would she kill, and would she even regret it?
The blood disgusted her, but she couldn't help but lick the remnants from her lips as a few tears fell from her eyes. Damon sat in silence next to her, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him.
"I want to be alone," she said, tossing the bag to the ground without looking, determined not to meet his eyes.
"Elena," Damon said, in that way that meant so much more. It meant are you sure and I'm here for you and so many other things that she couldn't parse at the moment. He reached out a placed a hand atop hers. It should have felt good, his touch. It should have calmed her, pushed away the demons that nagged at her. But she jerked away like the touch burned. In a way, it did. She couldn't help but blame him. Deep down, she knew that it had nothing to do with him, that how she was now was only a result of her own decision-making. But another part of her was frustrated beyond comprehension, frustrated with everything that had happened since they'd met, frustrated with how different her life would have been if they'd never met at all.
He still looked at her, and she still avoided his gaze. "Look at me, please?" he said, an unfamiliar desperation in his voice.
She grit her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut. Finally, she let her head fall to the side, and she met his eyes. How does one explain their feelings post-death? After turning into the thing they'd spent the last few months of their life learning about? After turning into the thing that killed them? Let alone, someone they'd kissed in the relatively recent past? Someone they didn't understand their feelings for? It didn't occur to her then that he'd gone through the same process and probably could have provided some insight, that having him there would have made her feel better in the long run. But the way he looked at her, the softest he'd ever looked, the most kindness in his eyes she'd ever seen. It broke something in her. And despite his kindness, her fear overpowered—and knowing a breakdown was coming on, she wished more than anything to be alone, if only so he wouldn't see her weak.
"Please, Damon," she said, keeping her eyes locked on his, pleading with him to go, despite just how much she wanted him to stay, too. But if he left, maybe (after a short breakdown) she'd be able to think straight.
He chewed on his bottom lip, then sighed. "Okay, Gilbert." The use of her last name should have stung, but she barely even noticed he'd checked out, used her last name to push her away. Clearing his throat, he stood up. "You'll need to feed again soon, and there's some… stuff we should talk about. When you're feeling up to it. I'll be downstairs."
Once alone, Elena slid back under the covers, pulling one of the many extra pillows to her chest and burying her face in it.
Stefan's teeth broke into her neck and she let out a blood curdling scream. The carriage came to a screeching halt, but Stefan didn't relent. Pain overtook her, and spots clouded her vision. At any moment, she would pass out. The darkness crept and crept, but she wasn't certain which would pull her under first, the blood loss or the extreme pain.
She closed her eyes, voice sore from screaming. Her head swam, and she couldn't take it anymore. The pain, the situation, everything. This had to be some kind of crazy effect of the liquor. That was it. This was simply a liquor-induced nightmare, and she would wake up any moment. Her eyes opened, but not to the familiar sight of her dorm room or even the guest room at the country house. No. When she opened her eyes, it was to Stefan being wrenched away from her by none other than Damon Salvatore. Fading in and out of consciousness, it was hard to understand what was going on. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she could see the two men fighting on the ground. But again, nothing was certain in her drunk, lightheaded haze.
But then Damon was ducking his head into the carriage, biting his wrist and holding it against her lips. She looked at him, eyes half-lidded, not understanding what he wanted from her or why he was there in the first place. This had to be some kind of screwed up dream.
"Elena," he said, getting her attention. He shouldn't have known her name. She was supposed to be Jeremy to him, right? How did he know who she was? "Drink," he said, snapping her out of even more confused thoughts.
She obeyed, letting her lips close around his wrist as he moved it forward. Drinking his blood not only relieved the sharp soreness in her neck but the lightheadedness too. He pulled his wrist away, but she couldn't stop staring at him. Her eyes trying to find something in his face, trying to put together a puzzle with so many pieces missing.
"Damon?" she asked, paranoia setting in. She felt crazy. What had just happened? How had it just happened? "Damon, what's going on? Who are you? What are you?" the questions poured from her lips in a flurry.
Damon only shook his head, looking at her. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay," he said. She almost started berating him with questions again, but his eyes captured hers. "You passed out in the bathroom. You drank too much and never made it out to the carriage. I'm going to take you home, and you're not going to remember this in the morning."
Protest died on her lips and all she could do was nod as he scooped her up out of the carriage and brought her back to the country house. She could only stare at him while he took her into the bathroom attached to his room and cleaned the blood off her neck and chest.
"What's going on?" she asked, head still swirling. How had she gotten back to the house? What were they doing in this bathroom? Why was he being so careful with her?
"Shh," he whispered, continuing to dab at her skin with the wet towel. "Everything's okay," he said. She believed him.
After cleaning her up, he carried her back to the guest room. In the hall, Caroline nearly collided with them, eying Elena in his arms. "You found her," she said. "Is she okay?"
"I'm okay," she muttered. "Passed out in the bathroom."
Damon chuckled, looking down at her with a faint smile before meeting Caroline's eyes. "She's fine, see?" He slipped past Caroline and into the guest room Elena had been staying in. He set her down atop the covers and leaned over her, capturing her eyes. "You're not going to remember any of this in the morning." He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "You passed out in the bathroom and Caroline found you. She brought you home." Then, he was gone.
Caroline helped her change into night clothes, compelled her one more time, and left her to pass out in peace. The next morning, she woke up with no memory of all that had happened the previous night.
A/N: Nine more chapters! Thanks for reading as always 33. Almost finished with a hallmark style Christmas one-shot that I'm super excited about. Hope to have that up in the next week or so. Also, for longer one-shots (10k+), do you prefer one chapter so it's posted all at once, or multi-chapters for ease of reading, but spaced out? Let me know in the comments!