“You let me do it to you,” she says, and I am definitely not thinking of all the sexual layers of meaning I could give those words.
“I knew what I was getting into,” I say.
My shoulders hit the wall behind me before I realize I’m backing up. When did I get to be such a pussy? Am I actually running from Elena? If I wanted to make running useful, I would do it straight out the bathroom door and not stop until I hit the coast. But I can’t look away.
Her wrist is a lure dangling in front of my hungry mouth. To see if there is any part of her I’ve missed, a corner I could see that I haven’t known before, that she hasn’t shared with me. The atavistic, masculine thrill of taking her, part of her becoming part of me. Having her in my veins.
It feels like she’s there already.
“I want to know what it felt like to you,” she says, her eyes too innocent to be fastened on my mouth the way they are.
I’m a fucking goner.
And as usual, if I’m going to go, I’m going to go big.
She’s so close already that she’s practically inside my shirt. It is so effortless to sweep her glossy hair back from the curve of her neck, to feel my fangs lengthen, eager to sink deep into her.
The devil keeps the hinges on the door to hell well oiled.
It is the most natural thing in the world to trace her jugular with my tongue, letting her heartbeat give me a drumroll before I pierce her skin, biting as ferociously as I always wanted to because I can’t hurt her now.
I take one mouthful of her blood and it goes straight to my head, the strongest drink I’ve ever had in my long life. It’s like tasting God.
If someone were to ask me what was at the core of Elena, what her one keystone attribute was, I would have answered that it was her ability to love. Well, actually, I’d have told them to fuck off with their psychobabble bullshit, but I would have known the answer just the same. I guess I’d just never thought about the implications of that until I tasted it in her.
All the love in my life is focused on one point: Elena. It is strong, too strong for comfort, for objectivity, for happiness.
Now, I realize she loves just as strongly, but in every direction. For me, for Stefan, for Jeremy and Bonnie and Matt and Caroline and people she barely knows and people she’s never met and people who are dead and gone. She feels all their pain, and she’s paralyzed by it.
Not by confusion. Not by indecision. By the fact that she can’t hurt anyone, and it’s impossible not to. If you make one person happy, it usually hurts another. In her life, this happens every day, all day long, and it’s bleeding her dry.
Her taste is gilding my tongue but all that love, all that guilt and pain scares the shit out of me.
I push her away. “How do you live like that?” I ask her, horrified.
Hurt registers in her face.
“What?” she whispers. She’s not used to rejection, not from me. Not from anyone, probably.
“Nothing. That’s enough. We’re even. Now run along back to your little boyfriend.” I shoo her with one hand.
I don’t want to understand. I never really wanted to understand why she stayed with Stefan, but now I see. She wouldn’t be able to live with his pain.
She tilts her head, trying to figure me out. Finally she says, “I know you’re upset about me becoming a vampire, and because Ric is gone.”
She apparently has decided it was her comment about Ric that set me off. The girl is perpetually clueless.
“You don’t know shit,” I snap. I’m raw from what I saw in her, and because giving her my blood is like showing up naked in somebody’s room and getting thrown the fuck out. Only it isn’t your body that is naked. It’s your soul.
I can’t even blame her. If the reactions of everyone in my life are any indication, my body’s a lot prettier than my soul.
“I’m so sorry, Damon,” she says with misguided gentleness. “You are going to have to move on, open up to let other people fill his chair eventually.”
Fortunately, that makes me mad for a whole new reason.
“You don’t get it, Elena. When somebody dies, their chair is always empty. Forever. That’s what it means.” I shove the words at her brutally. “And putting flowers on it doesn’t fill it, and neither does getting a bigger fucking table so that you can end up with more empty fucking chairs. Don’t lecture me about death. I’ve known more of it than you ever will.”
As soon as the last sentence leaves my mouth, I realize she’s a vampire now, and she is going to know every nasty truth about death that I know. She doesn’t even have the grace to only care about a select few, like I do. She cares about everyone. The six deaths of people close to her in the last year are only the appetizer in an infinite and disgusting buffet.
I won’t apologize. She’s going to have to get stronger if she’s going to make it. That means Stefan and I need to man up and stop shielding her from everything. But, God, the things she’s going to have to see now. The things she’s going to have to do.
“Elena…” I didn’t mean to say that, didn’t mean to say anything.
Her eyes soften at my tone and she reaches for me. I don’t know what she intends to do and I am not going to find out. My exit from this sideshow is far, far overdue. I turn so her hand misses me, as if her every cell is full of toxic vervain.
I’m going to have to wash the taste of her tragic blood out of my mouth with a truckload of whiskey.
“I hope that blood settles your poor widdle tummy,” I mock, every part of my body feeling poisoned by the last hour of my shitty life. “Oh wait, you’ve never been able to stomach anything about me.”
Including the fact that I’m a vampire, and it is so much harder for her to hide her opinion now that she hates herself for being one too. I slam the door behind me too hard and the doorframe cracks into pieces. I leave it behind, just so much more collateral damage.
My self-destructive streak used to be a lot more fun.
Chapter 2: Confession
ELENA
When Damon leaves, I know I should go after him but I can’t think of how to even start to fix everything between us. Instead I leave the Grill at vampire speed so I don’t have to face anyone or explain the broken door. If anybody saw us go in together, it will fuel gossip for about the next thirty years.
When I’m in my car, I slump against the steering wheel. Wow. What the hell was that?
That’s not how you should feel about your boyfriend’s brother. What do I feel for Stefan that can even start to compete?
I should have an answer to that question. I made my choice. It’s unfortunate that it was rushed by thinking they were both about to die, but it was still a choice. Now that I’m a vampire, I have to live with it forever.
The thought makes my hands shake so hard that I don’t start the car yet, because I can’t trust myself to drive safely.
I absorbed so many things along with Damon’s blood that my head is whirling like a snow globe after a good shake, everything settling back down but in all different places than before.
The punishing clarity of it cuts through all my defenses and my stomach twists at the worst of my realizations.
I love them both.
I am Katherine.
Worse, so much worse, I want them both to love me. I know that makes me a terrible person, and that’s why I have never thought about it like this before.
I care about them in totally different ways, which I’ve always taken to mean that one is real love and the other isn’t and I just need to figure out which is which. It probably isn’t that simple, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Because today, for the first time, there’s something I can do about it.
I text Stefan to meet me at my house, because I don’t want Damon to have to face either of us right now.
Stefan’s cheerful when he shows up. He’s been more lightheartedly lately, and it only occasionally seems forced.
“Hey,” he greets, his smile gentle as always.
>
“I need to tell you something, Stefan.” I don’t even wait for his reaction before I plunge in. I have sort of a habit of avoiding confrontation and it would be better to not give myself an out. “Damon shared his blood with me.”
“He what?” Stefan’s casual air vanishes in a second, his shoulders stiffening.
“I can’t keep animal blood down,” I say quickly, not wanting him to blame Damon. “I’m afraid to feed from people, you know that. Vampire blood is the only other option. He was trying to help.”
“No, Elena,” Stefan says darkly. “He wasn’t. Vampire blood is even less nutritious than animal blood. I’ve never heard of anyone except Mikael living on it, and it might have only worked because he’s an Original.”
My forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“Damon must have done it just to get closer to you,” Stefan says on a sigh. “Or to piss me off. Probably both, knowing him.” He turns away, pacing across the living room.
“Stefan, why haven’t we ever done that?” I say timidly. “Shared blood, I mean?”
I can’t pretend I don’t know how intimate an act it is, now that I’ve tried it. We’re the ones who are dating. If there are special, private vampire acts, it is Stefan who should be introducing them to me, not Damon.
“I don’t think you understand what it actually is, Elena,” Stefan says tightly, eyeing the kitchen. “I need a drink. You don’t have anything here, do you?”
“Damon keeps a couple bottles of scotch in the cupboard over the refrigerator,” I offer, and then wince. That was probably not the right thing to say just now.
Stefan’s lips press tightly together at the implications of that, but he gets a glass anyway and reaches for the cupboard door. I refuse to apologize.
Stefan downs an inch of scotch as a warm-up and asks neutrally, “What did his blood taste like to you?”
“That’s um, personal,” I say inadequately.
I owed it to Stefan to tell him I did it, but what happened between Damon and me is maybe the most private moment of my life.
Stefan laughs humorlessly. “I bet it is.”
“If you’re so jealous, why have you never offered?” I ask, impatient with his response.
“Because you were human, Elena,” he says acidly. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you the problem I would have had with that.”
Stefan finishes the drink and pours another.
“I’m a vampire now,” I point out. “We’ve been alone in the woods for days.”
“Look, Elena, blood sharing is the most intimate act vampires can engage in. More than sex, more than…anything. It’s similar when we take blood from a human, but to take it from another vampire magnifies the effects.”
“What exactly are the effects?” I ask him guardedly. I think I have it pretty much figured out, but I want to hear his interpretation.
He closes his eyes. “It’s your heart. Your blood is the essence of who you are, what makes you unique. What you think, feel, believe. What you love and hate about yourself. What you don’t know or ignore about yourself. It’s all in there and nothing is hidden.”
I remember Damon’s eyes as he offered his cupped hand to me, desire and fear and worry and ferocious energy. What an incredible risk that was for someone who rarely says what he truly feels, who disguises everything in layers of sarcasm and deflection. What a terrifying act of deliberate vulnerability.
“So which is it?” I ask Stefan, crossing my arms. “Are you afraid of what I’ll see in you, or afraid of what you’ll see in me?”
Stefan is very still, in the manner of a cornered animal. I know he’s not going to answer me.
I pull out a stool and sit at the kitchen island, softening when I see his reaction.
“It’s not something vampires just do, is it?” I ask. “It’s not like making out, or sex. It’s not a step in a relationship.”
Stefan shakes his head.
“So why would he do that?” I say, half to myself.
“Because he’s finally hurt enough to play dirty,” Stefan bursts out, his face twisting. “He’s known me longer than you have, Elena. He has allowed me to pretend I was the good brother this entire time and now he’s calling my bluff!” The repulsion in his voice when he says the word “good” stings my ears.
The glass shatters in his hand and he doesn’t even seem to notice, shards scattering across the floor beneath us. His handsome face is ruined by fear and anguish.
I reach for him, but he backs away from me.
“Stefan, we’ve all done things we regret,” I say urgently. I think if he hit me it would hurt less than seeing him like this, to know that he really believes these things.
His laugh is an ugly, hopeless thing. “When we transition, everything is so amplified that the truth comes out very quickly. After you transitioned, as soon as you knew what had happened, your first thought was for Matt. When Damon first woke up from his, he wasn’t going to complete the transition. He was ready to die rather than live without the woman he loved. Rather than kill to survive.”
He stalks closer now, as if he’s pushing his version of the truth on me, forcing me to accept his evil.
“When I transitioned, I killed my father, and then a barmaid. After that, I didn’t waste an instant in disregarding Damon’s decision, his morality and his ultimate right to choose his own destiny. I forced blood down his throat, forced this life upon him.”
His eyes glitter with agonized tears. “You and Damon are more alike than we ever were. Your transition proved that once and for all, and I was so selfish that I didn’t say anything when it seemed like you still wanted to be with me. Instead, I pretended to be something I’m not because I knew if I kept my mouth shut, I could have you for just a little longer.”
I can’t handle his pain. I put my arms around him, and he tries to push me away but I’m stronger now and I won’t let him. I hold him as tightly as my new muscles allow, forcing him to accept the comfort.
I don’t even know where to start to relieve his terrible burden. When I asked him to come over, I knew he’d be upset about the blood sharing but I had no idea it would uncover feelings in him like this.
"Stefan, I don’t love you because I’m stupid,” I tell him. “I love you because you are an amazing person and yes, I am well aware of what you’ve done. I never stopped caring about you, even when I wasn’t sure I should still believe in you.”
He ducks his head roughly against his shirtsleeve to get rid of the tears and breaks my hold on him.
“Really, Elena? Because that’s not what it feels like to me right now. Something has changed with you, hasn’t it?”
I don’t know what to tell him. “It has nothing to do with my opinion of you, Stefan. You hate yourself for what you’ve done so much that you can’t imagine anyone seeing past that, but they do. I do, and Damon does, and so do all of our friends. They still trust you, Stefan, still care about you and we all know exactly what happened to you when you were gone.”
“Not what happened to me, Elena,” he corrects stubbornly. “I did it. I did those things.”
“I know you did. And I hate that those people are all gone forever,” I say, tears jumping to my eyes. “I won’t lie to you about that. I’m young, I know, but I’ve seen a lot of death and I know too much about what it really means to take it lightly.”
I grab the scotch bottle and take an impulsive drink. It doesn’t burn as much as it used to when I was human. And there must be a little of Damon’s influence in the liquor, because I have a sudden flash of Machiavellian brilliance.
“Stefan, how did you kill your father?”
“With a stake! God, why would you even ask about that?”
“Why did you have a stake, Stefan? Your father was human.”
“I didn’t. He had it,” Stefan mutters, taking the bottle back from me.
“He was trying to kill you,” I point out gently.
“Again.”
I wince at that. That�
��s right. Katherine’s blood had brought them back, but it was their father who’d killed them. Shot them both. I can’t even imagine the horror of knowing that the person who should love you most in the world hated what you were. Hated it enough to murder you. No wonder Damon and Stefan were both so haunted.
“What did you do when you realized he was dying?” I asked him.
I already knew his father had fallen on the stake by accident. Damon told me months ago. It wasn’t a murder, not really. But the next part was just a guess.
“I tried to heal him with my blood, but he hated vampires enough that he wouldn’t even take that. Just like Caroline’s dad.”
“So he died by accident, and you tried to heal him.” I raise my eyebrows. “That’s hardly evil, Stefan.”
“The barmaid wasn’t an accident,” he points out.
“You were alone and scared and you had no one to help you. Anybody would have succumbed to the bloodlust in that situation. Anybody. Remember, I know what it feels like now.”
“Damon held out until I shoved the blood right next to his nose,” Stefan said, his eyes vague, broken.
“But he didn’t hold out forever,” I say softly. “Stefan, when Damon offered me his blood today, I thought he was doing it to save me from feeding on a human.”
“Don’t bother defending him, Elena. I know exactly what he did and why.”
“I’m not talking about Damon. I’m talking about me. Tell me the truth. Would you have been angry with me if I knew all about blood sharing and what it meant and I chose to do that with Damon instead of you?”
His eyes flare with shock as if I slapped him. “Of course I would have been angry. I told you, it’s worse than if you would have slept with him.”
“But it’s not quite as bad as if I did it on purpose, is it? Since I didn’t know what it meant?” I’m hoping he agrees with this part.
He takes another drink, but he doesn’t argue with me.
“You didn’t kill those people because you liked it, Stefan,” I argue. “You got caught up in the cycle of bloodlust, and you’d promised Klaus that you would do whatever he wanted if he would save Damon. I bet you didn’t even choose who you killed. I bet Klaus did that.”
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