Down a Crooked Path - Chapter Nineteen - Part Two
Twisting a tumbler of bourbon in a circle on the paper placemat, Elena swallowed before glancing around the Mystic Grille. It looked exactly the same as it had when she’d been growing up, which at the moment, she found extremely comforting. It was easier to pretend that everything was normal in a place where everything had been normal.
“How’s it going?” Damon asked, leaning closer and making her shiver as the whispered question set her nerve endings on fire. They’d been there for twenty minutes and thus far, Elena hadn’t needed them to prevent her from attacking any of the other patrons. Granted, in was noon on a Tuesday during the school year, the Grille wasn’t exactly the hot place to be.
“Okay,” she murmured, turning her head to meet his gaze, her eyes automatically drawn to his lips. A flare of desire kicked up inside of her, warming her blood. He was so close. She could still feel his fevered kiss on her lips from the night before and she wanted more. All she had to do was lean just a little bit closer and --
“Who got the strawberry pecan salad?” the waitress asked, looking pleasant, but bored as she surveyed their table of three. Elena gasped, her body tensing as the heady scent of human blood and the rapid beating of a human heart in close proximity took her by surprise. Her eyes burned and her gums throbbed as she flattened her palms on the table top and tried to reign in the urge to feed, to kill.
A firm hand on her thigh distracted her, jerking her back from the edge. Damon’s penetrating gaze, pulled her back, reminding her to breathe and focus on other things - the sweet scent of the strawberries mixed with the tang of the vinaigrette, the conversation between two bankers regarding dividends three tables away…
His hand on her thigh and the way each, individual finger was pressing into her flesh through the fabric of her jeans in a different way.
His ridiculously blue eyes.
“The salad?” the waitress prompted, holding the plate in one hand as she balanced the tray with the rest of the food in the other.
“It’s mine,” Elena said quickly, a different kind of heat rushing through her body as she wondered how long she’d sat there like an idiot, struggling to get control of herself. The waitress was kind enough not to roll her eyes right out of her head as she served them their food and hurried on to her next table. Closing her eyes, Elena sighed. “I’ve got to be the worst vampire ever.”
“I’m pretty sure Stefan already claimed that title,” Damon quipped flashing the signature smirk she’d barely seen the past few days. Squeezing her thigh, he added. “You’re doing fine.”
“Absolutely,” Caroline agreed, plucking a fry from Damon’s plate and popping it into her mouth. “You’re already doing better than any other vampire I know. I mean, it’s been a week and you haven’t killed a human yet.”
“Seriously, Caroline?” Damon demanded, glaring at her.
“God, fine,” she huffed. “You haven’t killed a human. Period. End of sentence.”
Biting her bottom lip to suppress a grin, Elena picked up her fork and took a small bite of her salad. She wasn’t hungry, at least not for human food. Eating was strange -- the flavors were all muted and the texture of the food seemed off somehow, duller around the edges. Her brain still told her to eat, but her body never craved it. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she watched Damon attack his burger and wondered if her disinterest in human food was a newbie thing.
Deciding to ask, she washed down the bite of salad with a swallow of bourbon. “I have a question.”
Suddenly, the front door of the Grille flew open, allowing a throng of at least a dozen humans to surge through the doorway. Immediately, Elena was assaulted by a colossal wave of sensation as the Mystic Falls High school football team claimed a handful of tables within fifteen feet of their booth. They were loud, boisterous and alive -- their blood pumping through their veins at an impressive rate as the mouthwatering, rich scent permeated the air.
Elena’s fork slipped from her fingers, clattering to the table as she let out a throaty moan of desire.
“Elena,” Damon cautioned, his hand once again on her thigh, but this time even the erotic sensation of his touch failed to penetrate the building haze of the bloodlust.
“Focus, Elena,” Caroline whispered urgently, kicking her in the shin from under the table as her wide blue eyes darted between the football players and Damon.
Aching with frustration and need, Elena nearly bit through her lip in the effort it took to tear her gaze away from the tables. Staring at her food, she tried the familiar trick, focusing on the scents and sounds immediately surrounding her -- strawberries and bourbon, Caroline’s shampoo and Damon’s cologne, the slow, steady beating of his heart, and the grip of his hand on her thigh.
“I’m okay,” she choked out, as her eyes began to burn and her gums throbbed.
Caroline’s lips pressed together in a thin, disapproving line. “Damon, we should get her out of here.”
“I’m fine,” Elena insisted, glaring at her friend for discussing her like she wasn’t even in the room.
Caroline rolled her eyes.
Damon leaned in close, his nose brushing her hair as he whispered for her ears alone. “You don’t have anything to prove.”
Turning her head slightly, Elena closed her eyes and raised a hand to gently caress his face. Pressing her fingertips lightly against his cheek, she focused every ounce of concentration she possessed on him. His heartbeat became her heartbeat, his steady breaths were her breaths as the bloodlust began to recede. She did have something to prove. She needed to prove that she was in control, that she could function in the human world without destroying it. Maybe that was the key. Maybe when she mastered the bloodlust Damon would come back to her and be her boyfriend again instead of some overly affectionate babysitter.
“I. Said. I’m. Fine,” Elena insisted through clenched teeth. Drawing a deep breath, she picked up her fork and deliberately took a huge bite of her salad, chewing furiously as Caroline and Damon watched. Swallowing, she immediately took another and then another until eventually, they both relaxed enough to return to their meals.
Damon kept his hand on her thigh, however, rubbing his thumb absently along the outer seam of her jeans.
Elena tried to relax as well, but the food tasted like ash in her mouth and it was all she could do to choke it down as she worked hard to find flavor or scent or anything that would keep her mind off of the heady smell of blood. Gulping bourbon and then water between bites, she waited for the ravenous hunger to fade as each bite and drink landed like a rock in her stomach.
Ten agonizing minutes passed as Elena listened to the football players argue over drinks and appetizers. And studiously ignored them. Just focus, she thought, feeling the metal fork give slightly as she clutched it between her fingers hard enough to bend it. The sooner she learned to control the hunger, the sooner she could live a normal life.
The sooner she could get her life back.
Finishing the last bite of her salad, Elena washed it down with a gulp of water before leaning back against the booth. This is what you wanted, she reminded herself as she covered Damon’s hand with her own and held her breath in an attempt to keep the scent of fresh blood at bay. She’d wanted to turn. This adjustment period had always been a part of the plan.
But I didn’t know it was going to be this hard.
Four of the football players pushed away from the food-laden tables, walking right by Elena on their way to the pool tables. Seizing Damon’s hand, she curled her fingers around his as each strong, healthy heartbeat rose up around her in surround sound. Sensation slammed into her like a physical blow, making her canines descend and her stomach heave in a mixture of stress and debilitating hunger.
Damon whispered at her urgently, but Elena couldn’t make out the words over the roar of the blood rushing through the football players’ veins. Between the group at the pool table and the ones still eating, she was surrounded.
She was drowning.
“I can’t do this,” she moaned, bringing a hand to her mouth as she lurched from the table. Utilizing her newfound speed, she blurred across the restaurant, pushing through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. Bumping into waiters and cooks, she kept her head down as she opened the back door and plunged into the mercifully empty alley.
Colliding with the wall of the neighboring building, Elena cried out in pain and frustration. Her stomach lurched as she bent over, bracing her hands on her knees and sucking in deep breaths of air scented with the putrid odor of rotting garbage. Gagging, she felt scalding tears run down her cheeks as her body trembled.
The kitchen door flew open, slamming against the outer brick wall of the grill and causing Elena to gasp in a fresh wave of panic. If one of the cooks or waiters had followed her outside, she’d rip them apart. Her fragile control - if it had ever existed - was completely gone.
“Elena!”
Relief coursed through her as Damon’s voice penetrated the blinding hunger. Forgetting the stupid pride that had brought her to this point, she turned to him, half-blinded by tears and bloodlust, and collapsed into his arms. He held her as she cried out her frustration and fear, murmuring the same comforting sentiments he’d offered her in the dead of night when he’d held her in their bed. He kissed the top of her head, smoothing her hair off of her face, as she clung desperately to the solid strength of him.
Eventually, her hysteria faded, along with the thirst, and Elena felt her fangs retract as the heat around her eyes receded. Pressing her cheek to his shoulder, she loosened her grip on his shirt and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Drawing a shuddery breath, she said. “I guess I failed that lesson.”
“I don’t know,” Damon replied. “You made it out of there without snacking on any quarterbacks, so I’d call it a win.”
Pulling away, Elena shook her head. “I completely lost it, Damon,” she insisted, wiping angrily at the tears staining her cheeks. “The football players were one thing, but even with the waitress, I-”
“Stop,” he ordered, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look at him. “You didn’t fail, Elena. You’ve only been at this for a week, give yourself a break.”
Nine days, she protested weakly. “But I-.”
“No buts,” he insisted, taking over and gently wiping away her tears with his thumb. “There’s no rule book. We’ve got forever to figure this out, okay?”
Closing her eyes, Elena nodded, leaning into his touch. “Okay.”
“Good,” Damon replied, dragging his thumb across her skin in a final caress before releasing her and stepping away.
The effect was jarring and immediate. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees the instant Elena lost his touch. Opening her eyes, she stared at the scant foot of space between her and Damon as it grew into an insurmountable chasm.
~*~
Elena paced nervously from one side of the landing to the other, the soft, silky folds of her long blue dress swirling around her ankles. The dress was the only thing about the entire Miss Mystic Falls farce that she actually liked. The royal blue color looked good on her.
Where are you, Stefan? she wondered, looking over the railing as she waited for her name to be called. She was worried - not about the inevitable public humiliation of having no one waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, but about what her boyfriend’s absence meant.
“Stefan’s still drinking human blood.”
Bracing her hand on the railing, Elena closed her eyes and pressed a hand against her queasy stomach. This was bad. This was so very, very bad. Stefan was out of control. How was she supposed to dance and go through all of the stupid pomp and circumstance of the pageant with a smile while her boyfriend was struggling with some kind of…of…
Blood addiction?
Is that what this is? Elena wondered, opening her eyes and leaning over the railing again to scan the crowd. Damon had certainly made it sound like an addiction - an uncontrollable compulsion that turned Stefan into a different person.
Into a monster.
“Miss Elena Gilbert, escorted by Mr. Stefan Salvatore.”
Oh, god. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Elena took a deep breath and forced a smile to her lips. During the past six months, she’d learned to pretend so well that it came to her easily now, like second nature. She’d get through this with dry eyes and her head held high, there would be no falling apart just because the only person who had made life worth living since her parents’ death was currently losing his mind to O positive.
Elena would not fall apart just because she was all alone.
Her brittle smile cracked the second she came around the curve of the staircase and saw the empty spot at the bottom, confirming her worst fears. Stefan wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there.
He’s not coming.
Shit, what am I going to do?
Looking out at the sea of expectant faces, Elena felt her lungs constrict with panic as her limbs went numb. She was going to fall flat on her face. She was going to be the girl everyone pitied again. The girl who’d lost her parents, the girl who’s brother couldn’t stay out of trouble, the girl who’s boyfriend abandoned her in front of -
Damon.
Elena’s eyes widened as she saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs, his mouth fixed into a determined line that made her limbs weak with relief.
She wasn’t alone. Damon was there.
Only for a moment, only a dance, but it was one less thing that she had to worry about.
One less thing that she had to face alone.
“Where’s Stefan?” she whispered as she reached the bottom and took his hand.
“I don’t know,” he replied, escorting her toward the dance floor as if he’d done it a million times. She fell into step next to him with ease, despite her racing heart. Focusing straight ahead, Elena ignored Jenna and Alaric Saltzman as she and Damon passed them, but her aunt’s incredulous gaze weighed heavily on her shoulders as she took her place in line.
Boy, am I going to hear about this, Elena thought, eyeing Damon as she imagined the interrogation that awaited her after this was all over.
“What are we going to do?” she hissed as the music swelled and she curtsied, her body automatically moving through the first dance steps even as her pulse began to race.
“Right now, we just have to get through this,” he replied, bowing towards her.
We. We have to get through this.
Damon was with her.
Right, Elena thought, taking a final bracing breath before lifting her chin and locking eyes with him. As she raised her right hand, she had a fleeting moment to wonder if he knew the steps before he proved that she had nothing to worry about.
Of course he knows this, she thought, her lips curving slightly as she mirrored him with both hands and they circled each other on the dance floor. She tried to picture him one hundred and fifty years ago at a party similar to this, dancing the same steps to similar music.
The picture was comforting.
Stepping into Damon’s arms, she suppressed a shiver as his hand touched her bare back and he began to lead her through the waltz. Taking control, he spun her in dizzying circles to the music. Her worries for Stefan slipped to the back of her mind as she got caught up in the dance, in his smooth fluidity, the confidence in the fingers lightly pressing her back, guiding her steps…
His incredibly blue eyes.
Damn, his eyes are really blue.
The realization came out of nowhere, pushing all other thought out of her mind. She’d noticed before, of course. It was impossible to look at him and not notice his eyes. They were so…intense, penetrating.
Elena knew it wasn’t entirely right for her to find herself captivated by her boyfriend’s brother’s gaze, but she couldn’t help it.
There was just something about Damon Salvatore.
Typically she found the way Damon seemed to look right through her nerve-wracking - like if she wasn’t careful, he’d see inside to the deepest part of her and consume her whole. At the moment, however, she was grateful for it - grateful for the way it grounded her, body and mind, to the present moment just as securely as the hand pressing into her shoulder blade.
We’re in this together, she thought, keeping her eyes locked with his as the rest of the world whirled by her in a blur of brightly colored dresses and black tuxes. Damon’s gaze was as confident and sure as his steps and Elena couldn’t help but be affected by it. Over the past few weeks they’d become a team, a good team - they’d joined forces to save Stefan once, they could do it again.
Everything’s going to be okay, Elena thought. She hadn’t the slightest idea how, but nevertheless, in that moment, Damon was there and she believed it.
Then…the music stopped and Damon stepped away.
Elena felt the loss acutely, like someone had come along and physically cut the tether of their connection. Fear and worry washed over her, making her pulse race for completely different reasons other than the dance.
He’s still here, Elena thought as Damon looked pointedly at her hand. Smiling awkwardly, she lifted her arm so that he could take hers and escort her off of the dance floor. His fingers closed around hers, sure and steady, but it wasn’t the same.
Whatever it was they’d shared on the dance floor was gone.
~*~
Fighting the panic that wanted to pull her back under, Elena ran a hand through her disheveled hair and tugged on the hem of her shirt. She hadn’t thought about the Miss Mystic Falls pageant in years, but now she couldn’t get the comparison out of her mind. The dance she and Damon had shared epitomized the way their relationship had begun - surprising moments of connection that came and went with growing frequency until that summer when they’d come together in their quest to save Stefan and never come apart.
For three years they’d faced everything together - the good, bad and in between - and now when they should have been more in sync than ever, when she needed him the most, he was…
Pulling away.
Elena wanted to call him on it, but every time the impulse struck her, a little voice inside of her head reminded her that Damon had gone through his own hell while Landis had held her captive. He’d been forced to watch her die, to believe her dead. Her heart twisted painfully as she tried to imagine how she would have felt in his place. The very idea of a world without Damon, of having to exist without him, was unthinkable.
It’s only been a week, she reminded herself, using the same logic Damon had used to soothe her impatience over her control of the bloodlust. Give him time.
Using the cuff of her long-sleeved shirt, Elena wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks and cleared her throat. “So, what next?” she asked, bracing her hands on her hips and lifting her chin with determination. The bloodlust had dissipated, settling into a dull burn at the back of her throat as she and Damon lingered in the alley behind the Grille.
“How do you feel about a trip to the grocery store?” Caroline asked, staring at her phone as she pushed through the kitchen door. Flashing the screen at them, she smiled brightly, masking any disappointment or discouragement she might have felt over what had just happened.
Over my failure. Pushing the disheartening thought from her mind, Elena asked. “Grocery store?”
“Yeah, Ric sent me a list of things to pick up for the party,” Caroline explained. Elena’s heart constricted again, but for completely different reasons. Jeremy was leaving in the morning, returning to his sophomore year of college in Colorado, and they were all getting together that night at the Gilbert house to see him off. Elena desperately wanted him to stay in town - knew he’d stay if she asked - but he needed to get back to school and his life just like Bonnie had.
Elena had no right to disrupt the life Jeremy had built for himself just because hers was falling apart.
“We don’t have to,” Caroline said quickly, her gaze darting between Damon and Elena. “I mean, you-you’re probably tired after -.”
“I can handle it,” Elena interrupted, looking to Damon automatically to see if he’d disagree. She needed to do this, to keep working on her control - not only would it keep her mind off of the distance between her and Damon, but, the sooner she got control, the sooner she could focus on making things right between the two of them.
Damon held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he seemed to assess her resolve. Elena waited, holding her breath until he nodded. “Let’s go.”
Grateful, she smiled at him, falling into step beside him as Caroline led the way out of the alley and around the building to the parking lot. He’s with me, she thought with determination, just like the day of the Miss Mystic Falls pageant. Broken connection or not, Damon hadn’t left her hanging four years ago and he wouldn’t do it now.
Stay with me, Damon, she thought, feeling his hand brush against her lower back for a brief moment as they approached the car. Please, stay with me.