It could've gone on: Caroline already saw them at thirty, Elena demure and suburban, practically perfect in every way, still. Maybe a boyfriend would have dragged her out of Mystic Falls, but Caroline doesn't doubt even the big bad world would have found her to its taste; and she saw herself in a car, with her heeled feet on the dashboard, sticky, incandescent, incapable to keep it all in. Ruined.
Caroline knows she wouldn't have taken the necessary precautions (condoms; failsafes; cutting contact with Elena) and tumbled happily on every obstacle. But that doesn't happen.
That doesn't happen, because the Salvatores come back to town.
vii.
Caroline hears about Stefan for a month, before - sometimes she listens and sometimes she doesn't, painting her nails boredly while Elena moons over her dashing mysterious gentleman.
After, she doesn't hear about him - not the same way, at least. He creeps in Elena's shadows, vanishes from her bedroom window, and when she talks about him it's urgent, almost panicky, like she's afraid she won't get to the end of her sentence before something happens.
Something; that usually means Damon.
viii.
Caroline wakes up in Damon Salvatore's bed and the first thing she thinks about is Elena. Elena would never do something like that.
The second thing she thinks is I was a child, before.
And then she sees Damon cross the darkened room, barefoot and bare-chested, grinning a fanged grin, and she thinks, no more, no more with more sadness than she thought she would.
ix.
We don't call it innocence. It wasn't that. Peace, maybe, but not innocence. Innocence makes you feel like you've lost so much.
x.
The first time Elena comes to her door, exhausted, her fingers covered in blood, Caroline lets her in without a word. She sits her down on the couch, cleans her hands and her cheeks, her neck; gives her alcohol and tea, a mug of each, so she can choose. She crouches at her feet, and she doesn't look away when Elena looks down at her, wide-eyed and paralyzed, mute with horror.
"I used to want so hard to be you," she whispers when Elena's head drops in the crook of her shoulder and she starts sobbing, frame-wracking sobs that reach deep into her chest.
Thank you so much for answering this prompt, your take on it is lovely and so much of what I wanted--especially the pre-series and then the general Damon stuff and, well, all of it. Wonderful <333
It could've gone on: Caroline already saw them at thirty, Elena demure and suburban, practically perfect in every way, still. Maybe a boyfriend would have dragged her out of Mystic Falls, but Caroline doesn't doubt even the big bad world would have found her to its taste; and she saw herself in a car, with her heeled feet on the dashboard, sticky, incandescent, incapable to keep it all in. Ruined.
Caroline knows she wouldn't have taken the necessary precautions (condoms; failsafes; cutting contact with Elena) and tumbled happily on every obstacle. But that doesn't happen.
That doesn't happen, because the Salvatores come back to town.
vii.
Caroline hears about Stefan for a month, before - sometimes she listens and sometimes she doesn't, painting her nails boredly while Elena moons over her dashing mysterious gentleman.
After, she doesn't hear about him - not the same way, at least. He creeps in Elena's shadows, vanishes from her bedroom window, and when she talks about him it's urgent, almost panicky, like she's afraid she won't get to the end of her sentence before something happens.
Something; that usually means Damon.
viii.
Caroline wakes up in Damon Salvatore's bed and the first thing she thinks about is Elena. Elena would never do something like that.
The second thing she thinks is I was a child, before.
And then she sees Damon cross the darkened room, barefoot and bare-chested, grinning a fanged grin, and she thinks, no more, no more with more sadness than she thought she would.
ix.
We don't call it innocence. It wasn't that. Peace, maybe, but not innocence. Innocence makes you feel like you've lost so much.
x.
The first time Elena comes to her door, exhausted, her fingers covered in blood, Caroline lets her in without a word. She sits her down on the couch, cleans her hands and her cheeks, her neck; gives her alcohol and tea, a mug of each, so she can choose. She crouches at her feet, and she doesn't look away when Elena looks down at her, wide-eyed and paralyzed, mute with horror.
"I used to want so hard to be you," she whispers when Elena's head drops in the crook of her shoulder and she starts sobbing, frame-wracking sobs that reach deep into her chest.
No more, no more, no more.
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