yesterday morning, but I wasn't sure. Who can tell crows apart?
And, of course, both the crows reminded me of Damon, who watched me as a crow before we
even met.
What's strange - ridiculous, really - is this
dawning feeling of hope I have deep inside me. What if, I keep thinking, what if somehow Damon's not dead after all?
And then the hope collapses, because he is
dead, and I need to face that. If I want to stay strong I can't lie to myself. I can't make up pretty fairy tales where the noble vampire doesn't die, where the rules get changed because it's
someone I care about.
But that hope comes sneaking up on me again: What if?
It would be too cruel to say anything about the crow to Stefan. His grief has changed him.
Sometimes, when he's quiet, I catch a strange look in his leaf green eyes, like there's someone I don't know in there. And I know he's thinking of Damon, thoughts that take him somewhere I can't follow anymore.
I thought I could tell Bonnie about the crow. She cared about Damon, and she wouldn't laugh at me for wondering whether there were some way he might still, in some form, be alive. Not after she suggested the very same thing earlier today. At the last minute, though, I couldn't talk to her about it.
I know why, and it's a lousy, selfish, stupid reason: I'm jealous of Bonnie. Because Damon saved her life.
Awful, right?
Here's the thing: For a long time, out of millions, there was one human Damon cared about. Only
one. And that one person was me. Everyone else could go to hell as far as he was concerned. He could barely remember my friends' names.
But something changed between Damon and
Bonnie, maybe when they were alone in the Dark Dimension together, maybe earlier. She's always had a little crush on him, when he wasn't being cruel, but then he started to take notice of his little redbird. He watched her. He was tender with her. And when she was in danger, he moved to save her without a second thought as to what it might cost him.
So I'm jealous. Because Damon saved
Bonnie's life.
I'm a terrible person. But, because I am so
terrible, I don't want to share any more of Damon with Bonnie, not even my thoughts about the crow. I want to keep part of him just for me.
Elena reread what she had written, her lips pressed tightly together. She wasn't proud of her feelings, but she couldn't deny they existed.
She leaned back on her pil ow. It had been a long, exhausting day, and now it was one o'clock in the morning. She'd said good night to Aunt Judith and Robert a couple of hours ago, but she didn't seem to be able to make it into bed. She'd just puttered around after changing into her nightdress: brushing her hair, rearranging some of her possessions, flipping through a magazine, looking with satisfaction at the fashionable wardrobe she hadn't had access to in months. Cal ing Bonnie.
Bonnie had sounded odd. Distracted, maybe. Or perhaps just tired. It was late, after al .
Elena was tired, too, but she didn't want to go to sleep. She final y admitted it to herself: She was a little afraid to go to sleep. Damon had been so real in her dream the other night. His body had felt firm and solid as she held him; his silky black hair had been soft against her cheek. His smooth voice had sounded sarcastic, seductive, and commanding by turns, just like the living Damon's. When she had remembered, with a sickening horror, that he was gone, it had been as if he had died al over again. But she couldn't stay awake forever. She was so tired. Elena switched off the light and closed her eyes. She was sitting on the creaky old bleachers in the school gym. The air smel ed of sweaty athletic shoes and the polish they used on the wooden floor.
"This is where we met," said Damon, who she now realized was sitting beside her, so close the sleeve of his leather jacket brushed her arm.
"Romantic," Elena replied, raising one eyebrow and looking around the big empty room, the basketbal hoops hanging at each end.
"I try," Damon said, a tinge of a laugh coloring his dry voice. "But you chose where we are. It's your dream."
"Is it a dream?" Elena asked suddenly, turning to study his face. "It doesn't feel like one."
"Wel ," he said, "let me put it this way. We're not actual y here." His face was serious and intent as he gazed back at her, but then he flashed one of his sudden, bril iant smiles and his eyes slid away. "I'm glad we didn't have gymnasiums like this when I did my studies," he said casual y, stretching out his legs in front of him. "It seems so undignified, with the shorts and the rubber bal s."
"Stefan said that you played sports then, though," Elena said, distracted despite herself. Damon frowned at Stefan's name.
"Never mind," she said hastily. "We might not have much time. Please, Damon, please, you said you're not here, but are you anywhere? Are you al right? Even if you're dead... I mean real y dead, dead for good, are you somewhere?"
He looked at her sharply. His mouth twisted a little as he said, "Does it matter that much to you, princess?"
"Of course it does," Elena said, shocked. Her eyes were fil ing with tears.
His tone was light, but his eyes, so black she couldn't tel where the iris ended and the pupil began, were watchful.
"Everyone else - al your friends - this town - they're al okay, though, aren't they? You have your world back. There are such things as col ateral damages you have to expect if you're going to get what you want."
Elena could tel from Damon's expression that what she said next would matter dreadful y. And, in her heart of hearts, hadn't she admitted to herself the other day that, as much as she loved Damon, things were better now, that everything could be good again with the town saved and her returned to her old life? And that she wanted it that way, even if it meant Damon was dead? That Damon was what he said: collateral damage?
"Oh, Damon," she said at last, helplessly. "I just miss you so much."
Damon's face softened and he reached for her. "Elena
- "
"Yes?" Elena murmured.
"Elena?" A hand was gently shaking her. "Elena?"
Someone stroked her hair, and Elena nuzzled sleepily into the touch.
"Damon?" she said, stil half dreaming.
The hand paused in its stroking and then withdrew. She opened her eyes.