New fic (Vampire Diaries-D/E): Silent Dance
fanfic: Silent Dance, K+ (1/1)
Title: Silent Dance (1/1)
Author:[info]bleu_marine_2
Rating: K+
Category: angst/romance
Summary: The Miss Mystic Falls (1x19) dance viewed from Damon's POV and an entry in Elena's diary. Unresolved tension, some angst and budding romance.
Show/Bookverse: Show D/E
Big Thank you to Fantasiz_ing for the beautiful wallpaper!
========
This fic has two parts: the Miss Mystic Falls dance viewed blow by blow from Damon's POV and an entry in Elena's diary that night.
This story was long in coming. I hadn't written in a long while and I probably tackled one of the toughest characters to write, i.e. the gorgeous, infuriating, yet impossible not to love Damon. He just wouldn't let me put down the metaphorical pen until I “got” him just so... Don't know if I did him justice, but I certainly tried my best.
Many thanks to Fantasiz_ing, panna_niesmiala and Nikki Exley for their betaing and moral support while I was suffering Damon's sweet torment. Particular thanks to Fantasiz_ing for the beautiful wallpaper she produced for the occasion. I'm very honored that my story inspired her to create one of her fabulous pieces of artwork.
I hope you enjoy this. It is made of all the love I have for these characters, with a very special mention for Damon (and Ian, who breathes life into Damon and accentuates the multiple dimensions that make him one of the most fascinating TV characters ever.)
Obviously, I own nothing. I just hope the characters won't be too traumatized by their spin in my little story.
================
The Mayor's Southern style mansion is a familiar setting. So is the Miss Mystic Falls contest. I'm no stranger to pageantry. Back in the 1860s, women of good standing were constantly parading about hoping to catch themselves a husband. Their stage was a salon or a reception. It was the same sappy display of perfect hair and catty remarks. The only difference is that now, the debutantes look out of place without their usual jeans-T-shirt-sneakers uniform...
While I wait among the crowd in the entrance hall as the contestants make their way down the grand staircase, I scan around once more.
Stefan has been MIA since the little episode in Elena's dressing room. Could I be any less surprised? Nope.
Normally, I would savor being able to predict when St Stefan's shortcomings will make an appearance. But Elena is about to be publicly embarrassed because Stefan on human blood has the social skills of an oaf. So, no. Can't say I'm glad to watch my low expectations of him unfold live for all of Mystic Falls to see.
I check the upper part of the grand foyer. Shortly after Elena's name is announced, her familiar silhouette wrapped in deep blue satin makes its way down the large spiral staircase. Again, the setting and long gown almost pull me back to another era and another ball. But I ignore the lure. The regrets. The longing. The still-smoldering anger...
I cling to the present, my eyes resolutely trained on Elena's careful progression. I don't know where she found the will to proceed with this overblown display of satin and high school make-up. I mean I just shattered her fantasy of Stefan's perfect vampire act, didn't I... Still, in typical Elena fashion, she's going through with it. I've learned first hand there's no deterring that stubborn pretty head of hers when she's set her mind to accomplishing something.
I'd bet a 40-year-old bottle that Elena will give the other contestants a run for their money...
Her silhouette is in full view now.
I study her gait; the light catching in her silky hair. Her face.
I can't get around how eerie it is to see her in a long gown, her curls and features so reminiscent of K...
Before the dark name forms fully, I stop and frown.
A shadow just fell like a veil over Elena's soft smile.
I feel my jaw clench.
I shift, uneasy that a simple drop of the corners of her mouth can resonate so deeply within me. But it does. Nothing to be surprised about. I know I can't help but react to this body's signals the way I did when I was human. Katherine's seductive figure is forever burned into my mind, no matter how hollow her feelings turned out to be. Only here, there's a major difference: beyond the resemblance, Elena is not Katherine. Her sweetness, her caring, her courage... They're genuine. The honesty in her makes everything she does stronger, truer. And I get that. I get that this person is no illusion. Elena is the real deal.
I wonder how it is possible that two women who could pass for twins turned out to be so radically different.
Cutting ice to flowing water.
Even now, it makes me sick that I never realized back then how Katherine was just an effigy; one of those puffed-up hot air balloons cloaked in garish colors. Anything to distract people from the emotional vacuum inside... Always holding something back. Or maybe she never had it in the first place. Never felt empathy or concern, never cared beyond what accommodated her self-serving plans.
Elena... Elena is warmth and selflessness, a soul fiercely loyal to the ones she loves. Hell, she's even extended her friendship to me. I still don't get how that happened. I sure didn't help at first. But it did happen, and neither one of us can deny it at this point.
Reality grips me once more when I see Elena's step slow down. She's discovered that Stefan is not at his designated spot to collect her. I could just run a stake through him right now. If our father could see how his oh-so-perfect son crassly abandoned his lady to the wolves...
I scan around once more. Already, I'm moving. I know he's not nearby. I can't sense him.
I find myself at the bottom of the staircase. The spiral perspective directs Elena toward me. I see surprise, relief, worry, doubt, more worry flicker through her dark eyes.
As I wait for her to walk down the last steps, a long-forgotten voice worms its way to my conscious mind:
“A lady should always feel as though she may trust in her suitor. A lady cannot worry about details such a missing escort. Any gentleman worth his salt will step in to save her from this sort of embarrassment. A lady should always be treated as such: like a lady.”
I let my eyes settle on Elena's face. I school my features, trying to convey calm; control; even reassurance. She seems to get the message and closes the distance between us with more determination.
“Where's Stefan?” She whispers. Her eyes are black pools undulating under a stormy sky, searching for an answer I can't give her.
I have this irrepressible urge to make Stefan suffer for putting concern and hurt in her soul.
“I don't know.” I murmur back.
I want to elaborate. Make a few remarks on Stefan's callousness and my knight-worthy endeavor to get her out of a jam... But the crowd is too close to us.
Oh, and there's also the small matter of our hands touching at last.
I look down to where her slender fingers meet mine, wrapped around tightly as if my hand was her only support and comfort.
Inside me, something old and tangled slips.
It's as if the poles had just traded places. This... pulse runs through me. The jolt it gives me is so electric that I wonder if maybe, just maybe, for a second, my heart did beat the way it used to when I was still young Master Salvatore.
My hand presses back calmly on her tense fingers.
I lead Elena to the garden area reserved for the dance. The rigidity of my upbringing comes back in a pinch. I don't have to think. Decorum is second-nature to me. Back then, all manner of social interaction was always handled this way. Straight spine, powerful chest, steely gaze, polite smile. After all, I'm a well-brought-up boy. A product of the good ole South. Gone with the Wind and all that... Some things you can never grow out of, no matter how hard you try. And I've done quite a bit of trying in 145 years...
We take our positions, last in the row of dancers.
“What should we do?” Elena asks under her breath as we bow to one another.
I think I'm channeling my father when I hear myself say, “Right now, we just have to get through this.”
Duty...
My sudden compliance with social expectations has me mildly shocked. Maybe it's because the sun; or maybe it's the long gowns so reminiscent of my years on our plantation... Maybe even the tingling familiarity of the dance we are about to perform. Do I want to examine why I'm suddenly acting like this? Definitely... no.
I take in our surroundings, right and left. Dancing has changed dramatically in a century and a half. Not that I'm complaining. I had my share of good times fox-trotting, rock-n-rolling, and yes, even disco-dancing. But nothing compares with the deep feelings a few rounds of English country dancing could stir up in the heart of a dancer in 1864. Dancing was the only time when touching in public was allowed. The senses were overwhelmed by each hand hold, by the intimacy of being one step closer. The years have not lessened the anticipation that used to seize me.
I feel it course through me as I watch Elena ready herself.
How ironic, I ponder, that the last time I remember hearing this tune, I was on the sideline watching in the flickering of candlelight while Stefan held the hand of the woman I loved. I was miserable that evening, fascinated by the darkness, danger and rebellion Katherine had brought to my quiet country existence. Unable to turn away. I craved her presence so damn much... I clung on to the memory of her the way you keep a worn-out garment around because it reminds you of a certain time in your life. All for nothing. Nothing. That bitch's betrayal opened up a chasm that swallowed the century and a half I wasted trying to save her. If Elena hadn't been around to hold me up after opening the tomb, chances are I'd have met the sun without my fav bling on.
I study the slip of a girl opposite me...
And in a moment of clarity under the bright afternoon sun that lights the garden, I understand that Katherine has lost her hold on me.
Out of nowhere, the memory of bowing to kiss Elena's hand on the day we met comes back to me. I recall how the human warmth flowing through her deceivingly familiar fingers had caused in me a pang of surprise...
The shift happened a while ago, I realize. Nothing matters now other than this pure, unaltered version of the same lovely face looking back at me.
A strange sensation of peacefulness I can't ever remember experiencing fills me.
I don't know how, but I know this dance is about to change the course of my unlife forever.
I sense Elena is nervous. I'm overwhelmed by the need to have her understand she can trust me. Gone are the trademark sarcasm, the mocking smirks. I straighten up. I attempt to convey an air of calm confidence. The long-unused sentiment feels foreign to me. But I can't let her down, not like my idiot of a brother just did. I need to remember what is expected of a partner. I need to remember how to display appropriate feelings. I need to do what I was born for: lead the dance and show the way.
The determination in my demeanor must come through. Elena relaxes ever so slightly. She has this resolute little frown she gets when her mind is made up. Now she's ready for the task at hand.
Good girl.
The music starts.
This dance was always a favorite of mine. I had been mildly annoyed to hear that Stefan was rehearsing it with Elena. Once again, he was going to reap the rewards of being the preferred choice. Never seems to matter that he can't follow a tune. Stefan is always everyone's favorite.
And yet, as it turns out, fate had other plans... This time, I am the one stepping closer to Elena as we start moving to the music. Never mind that I wasn't her first choice. That I wasn't her choice at all. Just this once, karma is on my side...
In one movement, Elena and I are circling one another, our right hands up, barely an inch apart. If my vampiric senses weren't telling me otherwise, I would swear there's magnetic energy there, filling the void, impalpable yet more solid than a physical touch. It's such a vital connection that I instantly can't bear the idea that it could break. I resolve not to let my eyes waver from Elena's gaze.
We turn the other way, this time with our left hands almost touching. I'm sure Elena has been taught to hold her partner's gaze. She's doing it carefully. But pretty soon, I can see duty is replaced by curiosity and her own brand of defiance. Even in dancing, her indomitable side rears its head. The corners of my lips curve up. Two can play this game...
In our last turn, our hands are so close the heat emanating from hers almost burns. The cadence of the music is hypnotic. I can spot the instant when Elena suddenly understands what the steady point of the dance is. It's simple, self-evident; the essence of this moment.
Everything revolves around the axis of our locked gazes.
She no longer has to think about the learned steps. Her world, the music, our dance, they all make sense now. I take in a deep, silent breath when our hands meet at last. We start dancing as a couple and I can feel her relaxing into my embrace. Our rhythms sync. The expression in her eyes becomes trustful. There are no thoughts anymore. Only the sensation of how weightless we have become. We glide effortlessly as one. The only reality is the glint of happiness in Elena's eyes.
Her upper lip, which had been studious and tentative, morphs into a subtle smile. I smile back. We are dancing round and round. Her skin is silk under my touch. I surprise myself by not allowing my resolve to waver. Stroking her hair or her face would dilute the moment. I do none of that. I just offer a constant. A shoulder to anchor her. A hand to hold. Right now, nothing is more important than to earn her trust completely. This, our connection, can never be allowed to sever.
Later that night, when I thought back to what happened, I figured that, in that instant, I must have mirrored her enjoyment at dancing with the right partner. Both of us were caught up in the hypnotic rhythm of our synchronized steps, the sweet perfection of our bodies squarely holding one another, neither too strongly nor too loosely. To the casual observer, we probably looked like a beautiful couple who knew how to dance. But there was so much more to it from within.
I haven't felt like this in a very long time.
I'm not sure I have ever felt this before.
Too soon, the music stops. Unaware, Elena and I continue to gaze into each other's eyes. I recover first, mindful of how it will look if we are caught staring at each other with this kind of intensity.
As naturally as I can manage, I prompt us to let go of the other's arms.
Elena blinks as the magnetic flow between us severs. The mesmerizing light that held me entranced for the last few minutes fades away in her eyes.
She takes a step back, a little baffled; maybe wondering what just happened.
I can see her stare at me as if she sees me for the first time.
I keep my gaze steady, just as it was throughout our dance. Let it not be said that Damon Salvatore is not loyal to his principles, however twisted those principles may seem to the non-initiated.
The voice from long ago surfaces again:
“A lady must have confidence in her partner. After all, she's about to relinquish all power to him. It follows that the partner must be worthy of such a leap of faith.”
As I read the wonderment in Elena's stare, for the first time, I feel worthy of anything. Maybe even of her.
Elena's eyes light up.
A ghost of smile glides over my lips.
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Boarding house - 4 AM
Dear diary,
I had been dreading this day since Caroline mentioned the Miss Mystic Fall contest. I wasn't in the mood for dressing up in an evening gown, the make-up and curling iron session, the forced smiles. I knew it would be a complete bust, but I had to do it. Mom wanted it and I wanted this last connection to her, even if it was going to be awful. Even if I'm not that person anymore.
So I went through with it. Only, as it turns out, going through with it was the least difficult thing I had to live through during the day.
Case in point, Stefan is still drinking human blood.
Damon dropped this bombshell as I was finishing getting ready before the pageant dance. It was as if the breath had been sucked out of me. Stefan lied to me and when he came in just moments after Damon explained what was going on, he lied again, pretending that everything was fine... The worst thing is: I think he believed it. While he was trying to convince me, I felt as if a cold lump was pulling my stomach down. I became vaguely nauseous when I realized that Damon was right: Stefan would do anything to get his fix. Even lie to my face without giving it a second thought.
God, how did it come to this?
But that was only the beginning, Later, when I got downstairs to the dance and then the party, Stefan was nowhere to be found. When we finally caught up with him later in the evening, he had almost drained Amber dry. There was blood dripping from his lips... The image of the wild look in his eyes is seared into my mind. This was not Stefan. Not MY Stefan. I have no idea who this was. But what really got me is that I was scared to death. Scared of him. And I felt horrible. Because this was all my fault. I fed him the blood. I made him turn into this other person, this… stranger I know nothing about.
We found Stefan some time after that at the boarding house. Mr. Saltzman had given me one of the vervain darts. I waited until Stefan was close enough and... I can't talk about it. Let's just say that I didn't stab him in the back just figuratively. Damon helped lock him up in the cellar. The plan is to wean Stefan off the human blood. There's no guarantee it'll work. But we have to try.
My eyes hurt from lack of sleep and the crying I've been doing since I woke up. The guilt, the pain of seeing this “other” Stefan I helped create. It's too much. I'm going crazy replaying in mind the moment when I could have NOT made Stefan drink my blood. If-only’s are useless now, but I can't help myself.
After Stefan was locked up, I stayed in front of the cellar door for hours. I must have fallen asleep at some point. I don't remember going up to a guest room. But that's where I woke up...
Damon must have brought me. He stayed down there too. Maybe he thought it might be dangerous if I remained alone. Or maybe he felt responsible for me in some twisted way. I don't know. I don't always understand why Damon does the things he does. He takes great care to show that he doesn't give a damn about anyone or anything. But he cares. I know he does.
He cared enough to help when Stefan didn't show up to be my escort for the dance. I thought I was going to die of embarrassment when I got downstairs and no one was there to collect me. I was readying myself to abandon the competition, but then, Damon came out of nowhere and took position where Stefan should have been. I wasn't sure what to make of his move at first. I mean, this is Damon. He's not exactly known for his grand gestures of generosity and altruism. I couldn't understand why he was there, helping me out of a bind.
To be honest, I was a little worried too. I hadn't rehearsed the dance with him, obviously. I didn't know if he could perform it, if we would be able to dance it together. And this business with Stefan was messing with my head and my concentration.
I was a nervous wreck. Then Damon told me that right now, all we needed to do was to get through the dance. I don't know why, but his words settled me. I was able to focus on what I needed to do after that.
The dance was not what I expected. I was wary at first, scrutinizing Damon as we circled each other one way, then the other. I couldn't help but think he had an ulterior motive, an angle he was working. That's how he operates and if I looked hard enough, I might be able to prevent it.
But the more I watched him, the more Damon stayed the same: serious like I've rarely seen him. Steady and calm. Very un-Damon like. Still, somehow, I knew he wasn't putting on an act. This was the real him, just not a “him” I had ever seen. It was odd, intriguing. Almost mesmerizing when we started dancing together and his eyes held mine without letting go. I know he wasn't compelling me, but he might as well have been, because I could not tear my eyes away from his. I only looked away when I felt as if he was about to reach into my soul. It never lasted long. As if my gaze was magnetized, I kept looking back up to the North that was his eyes.
Any moment, I was expecting some inappropriate remark from him. Some lewd behavior or innuendo. But it never happened. His left hand held my right one just so. His right hand was cool against my shoulder, yet each digit left a searing sensation where they touched my skin. I still don't know what to make of this Damon on good behavior.
Honestly though, what really unsettled me was his silence. Through every turn, every unwavering look, every light touch, Damon never uttered a word. He just looked at me. All the way through at ME.
I can't believe how well we flowed together. It was dreamy, surreal, and so natural. How could this feel so right? A couple of times, Damon smiled. Not a big great smile. Just as small teasing at the corner of his lips. But it was a genuine smile. From Damon Salvatore. I don't think I had ever seen one before. I can't get it out of my mind. It's like I got to see a rare solar event. Like he was letting me in. I know it's hard for him to do that. And to witness it... It was really special.
The whole moment was beautiful, unique. It spooked me a little that I didn't want it to end.
When the music stopped and it was time to separate, I knew something had changed between us. I'm not exactly sure what. But whatever it is, it's there now. It's real, unnerving, impossible to ignore.
If only you could explain to me what is happening, dear diary...
What does all this make me? Where does that leave us?... All of us?
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Please review! :-D
Title: Silent Dance (1/1)
Author:[info]bleu_marine_2
Rating: K+
Category: angst/romance
Summary: The Miss Mystic Falls (1x19) dance viewed from Damon's POV and an entry in Elena's diary. Unresolved tension, some angst and budding romance.
Show/Bookverse: Show D/E
Big Thank you to Fantasiz_ing for the beautiful wallpaper!
========
This fic has two parts: the Miss Mystic Falls dance viewed blow by blow from Damon's POV and an entry in Elena's diary that night.
This story was long in coming. I hadn't written in a long while and I probably tackled one of the toughest characters to write, i.e. the gorgeous, infuriating, yet impossible not to love Damon. He just wouldn't let me put down the metaphorical pen until I “got” him just so... Don't know if I did him justice, but I certainly tried my best.
Many thanks to Fantasiz_ing, panna_niesmiala and Nikki Exley for their betaing and moral support while I was suffering Damon's sweet torment. Particular thanks to Fantasiz_ing for the beautiful wallpaper she produced for the occasion. I'm very honored that my story inspired her to create one of her fabulous pieces of artwork.
I hope you enjoy this. It is made of all the love I have for these characters, with a very special mention for Damon (and Ian, who breathes life into Damon and accentuates the multiple dimensions that make him one of the most fascinating TV characters ever.)
Obviously, I own nothing. I just hope the characters won't be too traumatized by their spin in my little story.
================
The Mayor's Southern style mansion is a familiar setting. So is the Miss Mystic Falls contest. I'm no stranger to pageantry. Back in the 1860s, women of good standing were constantly parading about hoping to catch themselves a husband. Their stage was a salon or a reception. It was the same sappy display of perfect hair and catty remarks. The only difference is that now, the debutantes look out of place without their usual jeans-T-shirt-sneakers uniform...
While I wait among the crowd in the entrance hall as the contestants make their way down the grand staircase, I scan around once more.
Stefan has been MIA since the little episode in Elena's dressing room. Could I be any less surprised? Nope.
Normally, I would savor being able to predict when St Stefan's shortcomings will make an appearance. But Elena is about to be publicly embarrassed because Stefan on human blood has the social skills of an oaf. So, no. Can't say I'm glad to watch my low expectations of him unfold live for all of Mystic Falls to see.
I check the upper part of the grand foyer. Shortly after Elena's name is announced, her familiar silhouette wrapped in deep blue satin makes its way down the large spiral staircase. Again, the setting and long gown almost pull me back to another era and another ball. But I ignore the lure. The regrets. The longing. The still-smoldering anger...
I cling to the present, my eyes resolutely trained on Elena's careful progression. I don't know where she found the will to proceed with this overblown display of satin and high school make-up. I mean I just shattered her fantasy of Stefan's perfect vampire act, didn't I... Still, in typical Elena fashion, she's going through with it. I've learned first hand there's no deterring that stubborn pretty head of hers when she's set her mind to accomplishing something.
I'd bet a 40-year-old bottle that Elena will give the other contestants a run for their money...
Her silhouette is in full view now.
I study her gait; the light catching in her silky hair. Her face.
I can't get around how eerie it is to see her in a long gown, her curls and features so reminiscent of K...
Before the dark name forms fully, I stop and frown.
A shadow just fell like a veil over Elena's soft smile.
I feel my jaw clench.
I shift, uneasy that a simple drop of the corners of her mouth can resonate so deeply within me. But it does. Nothing to be surprised about. I know I can't help but react to this body's signals the way I did when I was human. Katherine's seductive figure is forever burned into my mind, no matter how hollow her feelings turned out to be. Only here, there's a major difference: beyond the resemblance, Elena is not Katherine. Her sweetness, her caring, her courage... They're genuine. The honesty in her makes everything she does stronger, truer. And I get that. I get that this person is no illusion. Elena is the real deal.
I wonder how it is possible that two women who could pass for twins turned out to be so radically different.
Cutting ice to flowing water.
Even now, it makes me sick that I never realized back then how Katherine was just an effigy; one of those puffed-up hot air balloons cloaked in garish colors. Anything to distract people from the emotional vacuum inside... Always holding something back. Or maybe she never had it in the first place. Never felt empathy or concern, never cared beyond what accommodated her self-serving plans.
Elena... Elena is warmth and selflessness, a soul fiercely loyal to the ones she loves. Hell, she's even extended her friendship to me. I still don't get how that happened. I sure didn't help at first. But it did happen, and neither one of us can deny it at this point.
Reality grips me once more when I see Elena's step slow down. She's discovered that Stefan is not at his designated spot to collect her. I could just run a stake through him right now. If our father could see how his oh-so-perfect son crassly abandoned his lady to the wolves...
I scan around once more. Already, I'm moving. I know he's not nearby. I can't sense him.
I find myself at the bottom of the staircase. The spiral perspective directs Elena toward me. I see surprise, relief, worry, doubt, more worry flicker through her dark eyes.
As I wait for her to walk down the last steps, a long-forgotten voice worms its way to my conscious mind:
“A lady should always feel as though she may trust in her suitor. A lady cannot worry about details such a missing escort. Any gentleman worth his salt will step in to save her from this sort of embarrassment. A lady should always be treated as such: like a lady.”
I let my eyes settle on Elena's face. I school my features, trying to convey calm; control; even reassurance. She seems to get the message and closes the distance between us with more determination.
“Where's Stefan?” She whispers. Her eyes are black pools undulating under a stormy sky, searching for an answer I can't give her.
I have this irrepressible urge to make Stefan suffer for putting concern and hurt in her soul.
“I don't know.” I murmur back.
I want to elaborate. Make a few remarks on Stefan's callousness and my knight-worthy endeavor to get her out of a jam... But the crowd is too close to us.
Oh, and there's also the small matter of our hands touching at last.
I look down to where her slender fingers meet mine, wrapped around tightly as if my hand was her only support and comfort.
Inside me, something old and tangled slips.
It's as if the poles had just traded places. This... pulse runs through me. The jolt it gives me is so electric that I wonder if maybe, just maybe, for a second, my heart did beat the way it used to when I was still young Master Salvatore.
My hand presses back calmly on her tense fingers.
I lead Elena to the garden area reserved for the dance. The rigidity of my upbringing comes back in a pinch. I don't have to think. Decorum is second-nature to me. Back then, all manner of social interaction was always handled this way. Straight spine, powerful chest, steely gaze, polite smile. After all, I'm a well-brought-up boy. A product of the good ole South. Gone with the Wind and all that... Some things you can never grow out of, no matter how hard you try. And I've done quite a bit of trying in 145 years...
We take our positions, last in the row of dancers.
“What should we do?” Elena asks under her breath as we bow to one another.
I think I'm channeling my father when I hear myself say, “Right now, we just have to get through this.”
Duty...
My sudden compliance with social expectations has me mildly shocked. Maybe it's because the sun; or maybe it's the long gowns so reminiscent of my years on our plantation... Maybe even the tingling familiarity of the dance we are about to perform. Do I want to examine why I'm suddenly acting like this? Definitely... no.
I take in our surroundings, right and left. Dancing has changed dramatically in a century and a half. Not that I'm complaining. I had my share of good times fox-trotting, rock-n-rolling, and yes, even disco-dancing. But nothing compares with the deep feelings a few rounds of English country dancing could stir up in the heart of a dancer in 1864. Dancing was the only time when touching in public was allowed. The senses were overwhelmed by each hand hold, by the intimacy of being one step closer. The years have not lessened the anticipation that used to seize me.
I feel it course through me as I watch Elena ready herself.
How ironic, I ponder, that the last time I remember hearing this tune, I was on the sideline watching in the flickering of candlelight while Stefan held the hand of the woman I loved. I was miserable that evening, fascinated by the darkness, danger and rebellion Katherine had brought to my quiet country existence. Unable to turn away. I craved her presence so damn much... I clung on to the memory of her the way you keep a worn-out garment around because it reminds you of a certain time in your life. All for nothing. Nothing. That bitch's betrayal opened up a chasm that swallowed the century and a half I wasted trying to save her. If Elena hadn't been around to hold me up after opening the tomb, chances are I'd have met the sun without my fav bling on.
I study the slip of a girl opposite me...
And in a moment of clarity under the bright afternoon sun that lights the garden, I understand that Katherine has lost her hold on me.
Out of nowhere, the memory of bowing to kiss Elena's hand on the day we met comes back to me. I recall how the human warmth flowing through her deceivingly familiar fingers had caused in me a pang of surprise...
The shift happened a while ago, I realize. Nothing matters now other than this pure, unaltered version of the same lovely face looking back at me.
A strange sensation of peacefulness I can't ever remember experiencing fills me.
I don't know how, but I know this dance is about to change the course of my unlife forever.
I sense Elena is nervous. I'm overwhelmed by the need to have her understand she can trust me. Gone are the trademark sarcasm, the mocking smirks. I straighten up. I attempt to convey an air of calm confidence. The long-unused sentiment feels foreign to me. But I can't let her down, not like my idiot of a brother just did. I need to remember what is expected of a partner. I need to remember how to display appropriate feelings. I need to do what I was born for: lead the dance and show the way.
The determination in my demeanor must come through. Elena relaxes ever so slightly. She has this resolute little frown she gets when her mind is made up. Now she's ready for the task at hand.
Good girl.
The music starts.
This dance was always a favorite of mine. I had been mildly annoyed to hear that Stefan was rehearsing it with Elena. Once again, he was going to reap the rewards of being the preferred choice. Never seems to matter that he can't follow a tune. Stefan is always everyone's favorite.
And yet, as it turns out, fate had other plans... This time, I am the one stepping closer to Elena as we start moving to the music. Never mind that I wasn't her first choice. That I wasn't her choice at all. Just this once, karma is on my side...
In one movement, Elena and I are circling one another, our right hands up, barely an inch apart. If my vampiric senses weren't telling me otherwise, I would swear there's magnetic energy there, filling the void, impalpable yet more solid than a physical touch. It's such a vital connection that I instantly can't bear the idea that it could break. I resolve not to let my eyes waver from Elena's gaze.
We turn the other way, this time with our left hands almost touching. I'm sure Elena has been taught to hold her partner's gaze. She's doing it carefully. But pretty soon, I can see duty is replaced by curiosity and her own brand of defiance. Even in dancing, her indomitable side rears its head. The corners of my lips curve up. Two can play this game...
In our last turn, our hands are so close the heat emanating from hers almost burns. The cadence of the music is hypnotic. I can spot the instant when Elena suddenly understands what the steady point of the dance is. It's simple, self-evident; the essence of this moment.
Everything revolves around the axis of our locked gazes.
She no longer has to think about the learned steps. Her world, the music, our dance, they all make sense now. I take in a deep, silent breath when our hands meet at last. We start dancing as a couple and I can feel her relaxing into my embrace. Our rhythms sync. The expression in her eyes becomes trustful. There are no thoughts anymore. Only the sensation of how weightless we have become. We glide effortlessly as one. The only reality is the glint of happiness in Elena's eyes.
Her upper lip, which had been studious and tentative, morphs into a subtle smile. I smile back. We are dancing round and round. Her skin is silk under my touch. I surprise myself by not allowing my resolve to waver. Stroking her hair or her face would dilute the moment. I do none of that. I just offer a constant. A shoulder to anchor her. A hand to hold. Right now, nothing is more important than to earn her trust completely. This, our connection, can never be allowed to sever.
Later that night, when I thought back to what happened, I figured that, in that instant, I must have mirrored her enjoyment at dancing with the right partner. Both of us were caught up in the hypnotic rhythm of our synchronized steps, the sweet perfection of our bodies squarely holding one another, neither too strongly nor too loosely. To the casual observer, we probably looked like a beautiful couple who knew how to dance. But there was so much more to it from within.
I haven't felt like this in a very long time.
I'm not sure I have ever felt this before.
Too soon, the music stops. Unaware, Elena and I continue to gaze into each other's eyes. I recover first, mindful of how it will look if we are caught staring at each other with this kind of intensity.
As naturally as I can manage, I prompt us to let go of the other's arms.
Elena blinks as the magnetic flow between us severs. The mesmerizing light that held me entranced for the last few minutes fades away in her eyes.
She takes a step back, a little baffled; maybe wondering what just happened.
I can see her stare at me as if she sees me for the first time.
I keep my gaze steady, just as it was throughout our dance. Let it not be said that Damon Salvatore is not loyal to his principles, however twisted those principles may seem to the non-initiated.
The voice from long ago surfaces again:
“A lady must have confidence in her partner. After all, she's about to relinquish all power to him. It follows that the partner must be worthy of such a leap of faith.”
As I read the wonderment in Elena's stare, for the first time, I feel worthy of anything. Maybe even of her.
Elena's eyes light up.
A ghost of smile glides over my lips.
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Boarding house - 4 AM
Dear diary,
I had been dreading this day since Caroline mentioned the Miss Mystic Fall contest. I wasn't in the mood for dressing up in an evening gown, the make-up and curling iron session, the forced smiles. I knew it would be a complete bust, but I had to do it. Mom wanted it and I wanted this last connection to her, even if it was going to be awful. Even if I'm not that person anymore.
So I went through with it. Only, as it turns out, going through with it was the least difficult thing I had to live through during the day.
Case in point, Stefan is still drinking human blood.
Damon dropped this bombshell as I was finishing getting ready before the pageant dance. It was as if the breath had been sucked out of me. Stefan lied to me and when he came in just moments after Damon explained what was going on, he lied again, pretending that everything was fine... The worst thing is: I think he believed it. While he was trying to convince me, I felt as if a cold lump was pulling my stomach down. I became vaguely nauseous when I realized that Damon was right: Stefan would do anything to get his fix. Even lie to my face without giving it a second thought.
God, how did it come to this?
But that was only the beginning, Later, when I got downstairs to the dance and then the party, Stefan was nowhere to be found. When we finally caught up with him later in the evening, he had almost drained Amber dry. There was blood dripping from his lips... The image of the wild look in his eyes is seared into my mind. This was not Stefan. Not MY Stefan. I have no idea who this was. But what really got me is that I was scared to death. Scared of him. And I felt horrible. Because this was all my fault. I fed him the blood. I made him turn into this other person, this… stranger I know nothing about.
We found Stefan some time after that at the boarding house. Mr. Saltzman had given me one of the vervain darts. I waited until Stefan was close enough and... I can't talk about it. Let's just say that I didn't stab him in the back just figuratively. Damon helped lock him up in the cellar. The plan is to wean Stefan off the human blood. There's no guarantee it'll work. But we have to try.
My eyes hurt from lack of sleep and the crying I've been doing since I woke up. The guilt, the pain of seeing this “other” Stefan I helped create. It's too much. I'm going crazy replaying in mind the moment when I could have NOT made Stefan drink my blood. If-only’s are useless now, but I can't help myself.
After Stefan was locked up, I stayed in front of the cellar door for hours. I must have fallen asleep at some point. I don't remember going up to a guest room. But that's where I woke up...
Damon must have brought me. He stayed down there too. Maybe he thought it might be dangerous if I remained alone. Or maybe he felt responsible for me in some twisted way. I don't know. I don't always understand why Damon does the things he does. He takes great care to show that he doesn't give a damn about anyone or anything. But he cares. I know he does.
He cared enough to help when Stefan didn't show up to be my escort for the dance. I thought I was going to die of embarrassment when I got downstairs and no one was there to collect me. I was readying myself to abandon the competition, but then, Damon came out of nowhere and took position where Stefan should have been. I wasn't sure what to make of his move at first. I mean, this is Damon. He's not exactly known for his grand gestures of generosity and altruism. I couldn't understand why he was there, helping me out of a bind.
To be honest, I was a little worried too. I hadn't rehearsed the dance with him, obviously. I didn't know if he could perform it, if we would be able to dance it together. And this business with Stefan was messing with my head and my concentration.
I was a nervous wreck. Then Damon told me that right now, all we needed to do was to get through the dance. I don't know why, but his words settled me. I was able to focus on what I needed to do after that.
The dance was not what I expected. I was wary at first, scrutinizing Damon as we circled each other one way, then the other. I couldn't help but think he had an ulterior motive, an angle he was working. That's how he operates and if I looked hard enough, I might be able to prevent it.
But the more I watched him, the more Damon stayed the same: serious like I've rarely seen him. Steady and calm. Very un-Damon like. Still, somehow, I knew he wasn't putting on an act. This was the real him, just not a “him” I had ever seen. It was odd, intriguing. Almost mesmerizing when we started dancing together and his eyes held mine without letting go. I know he wasn't compelling me, but he might as well have been, because I could not tear my eyes away from his. I only looked away when I felt as if he was about to reach into my soul. It never lasted long. As if my gaze was magnetized, I kept looking back up to the North that was his eyes.
Any moment, I was expecting some inappropriate remark from him. Some lewd behavior or innuendo. But it never happened. His left hand held my right one just so. His right hand was cool against my shoulder, yet each digit left a searing sensation where they touched my skin. I still don't know what to make of this Damon on good behavior.
Honestly though, what really unsettled me was his silence. Through every turn, every unwavering look, every light touch, Damon never uttered a word. He just looked at me. All the way through at ME.
I can't believe how well we flowed together. It was dreamy, surreal, and so natural. How could this feel so right? A couple of times, Damon smiled. Not a big great smile. Just as small teasing at the corner of his lips. But it was a genuine smile. From Damon Salvatore. I don't think I had ever seen one before. I can't get it out of my mind. It's like I got to see a rare solar event. Like he was letting me in. I know it's hard for him to do that. And to witness it... It was really special.
The whole moment was beautiful, unique. It spooked me a little that I didn't want it to end.
When the music stopped and it was time to separate, I knew something had changed between us. I'm not exactly sure what. But whatever it is, it's there now. It's real, unnerving, impossible to ignore.
If only you could explain to me what is happening, dear diary...
What does all this make me? Where does that leave us?... All of us?
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