And I'd Give All the World Tonight to be With you (for nota_rolemodel)
The moment she'd left, Damon wanted to call her back. He wasn't the good brother, after all. Everyone knew that. He was selfish, untrustworthy, prone to violence when not given what he wanted. How many times had Stefan, had she, told him that? He should have known it was too good to be true, when she told him she wanted him. She'd said, just weeks ago, that it was Stefan, like it was always Stefan.
But when she'd told him...for just a moment, that hole in his life, in his heart, had felt bearable. For that moment, for that night, that morning, he could breathe again. More than that, he could believe again--that maybe he was...
His thoughts veered away from finishing that particular sentence, and he stared into the fire without seeing it. A mostly empty bottle of bourbon sat on the end table next to him. The professor had exhibited enough decency not to think about touching it, sticking to wine as he'd sat in blessed silence across the room, gaze flicking between the vampire, the fire and his own ghosts for a time before he'd exhibited even more decency and followed Jeremy's lead and gone to bed.
Damon figured he'd exhibited enough decency of his own in refraining from threatening to kill him one more time before he went, just for good measure.
Too many echoes, already.
Damon had thought he'd heard Jeremy talking to someone, earlier, had felt a skip in his heart, a catch in his breath. Part of him wanted to race upstairs, to see if anyone was there, but...no one was. And, surely, if Jer was seeing ghosts still (was seeing a particular ghost), surely he would have told someone, wouldn't he? If ghosts (especially that particular one) were running around Mystic Falls with messages from the beyond, Jeremy wouldn't keep that from the rest of them, would he?
Admittedly, Jeremy had been pretty distracted with his own psychotic break lately, but still.
Damon reached for the bottle, finished it, cursed softly and went to get a fresh one from the kitchen. There, he paused, then grabbed two glasses, bringing them back out and filling both. One he held; the other he set on the coffee table in a nightly ritual he couldn't let go of just because he was in someone else's home. He'd only missed it one night since...one night in weeks, and that was just another painful hole he didn't need to be poking at tonight.
Couldn't help it, now that the patch was ripped away. All that was left was the hole again.
Damon clinked his glass against the other, then lifted it to examine the bourbon in the fire before taking a long drink. The world was going fuzzy around the edges, and he thought if he kept drinking, maybe it would stay that way.
"I hope you're happy with what you've turned me into, buddy," he muttered. "Because no one else is." Stupid, that ritual, too--talking to a ghost in his memory, as if he expected an answer. Maybe one day he'd get over it.
Today wasn't that day.
But when she'd told him...for just a moment, that hole in his life, in his heart, had felt bearable. For that moment, for that night, that morning, he could breathe again. More than that, he could believe again--that maybe he was...
His thoughts veered away from finishing that particular sentence, and he stared into the fire without seeing it. A mostly empty bottle of bourbon sat on the end table next to him. The professor had exhibited enough decency not to think about touching it, sticking to wine as he'd sat in blessed silence across the room, gaze flicking between the vampire, the fire and his own ghosts for a time before he'd exhibited even more decency and followed Jeremy's lead and gone to bed.
Damon figured he'd exhibited enough decency of his own in refraining from threatening to kill him one more time before he went, just for good measure.
Too many echoes, already.
Damon had thought he'd heard Jeremy talking to someone, earlier, had felt a skip in his heart, a catch in his breath. Part of him wanted to race upstairs, to see if anyone was there, but...no one was. And, surely, if Jer was seeing ghosts still (was seeing a particular ghost), surely he would have told someone, wouldn't he? If ghosts (especially that particular one) were running around Mystic Falls with messages from the beyond, Jeremy wouldn't keep that from the rest of them, would he?
Admittedly, Jeremy had been pretty distracted with his own psychotic break lately, but still.
Damon reached for the bottle, finished it, cursed softly and went to get a fresh one from the kitchen. There, he paused, then grabbed two glasses, bringing them back out and filling both. One he held; the other he set on the coffee table in a nightly ritual he couldn't let go of just because he was in someone else's home. He'd only missed it one night since...one night in weeks, and that was just another painful hole he didn't need to be poking at tonight.
Couldn't help it, now that the patch was ripped away. All that was left was the hole again.
Damon clinked his glass against the other, then lifted it to examine the bourbon in the fire before taking a long drink. The world was going fuzzy around the edges, and he thought if he kept drinking, maybe it would stay that way.
"I hope you're happy with what you've turned me into, buddy," he muttered. "Because no one else is." Stupid, that ritual, too--talking to a ghost in his memory, as if he expected an answer. Maybe one day he'd get over it.
Today wasn't that day.