Who: Damon and Elena What: The Talk When: Monday Night Where: Damon's Apartment Rating: High (language probably, let's just start there) Status: In Progress
Whatever makes you happy Whatever you want You're so fucking special I wish I was special
But I'm a creep I'm a weirdo What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here
Guilt. It was something Damon never handled very well. No matter how he tried turning it off was way too hard. He was hurting Elena, and he had promised not to, and he had meant it. Of course, he had only counted the two of them in that little picture, and had given no attention to the outside world. He should have known. It was eating him up, tearing his insides out, and not even the third glass of bourbon seemed to make it go away. Nothing made it go away.
It was his fault really. New Years Eve had been the first night, and then the night she went home to see Jeremy after everyone had turned back into themselves. Samandriel. How was he supposed to explain that, or even begin to explain in a way that made sense. He refused to throw him under the bus. No, this was Damon's fault alone. He had crossed the line, fell into the rabbit hole, and he would take all the blame for the pain he would cause her, and he would ask her to forgive him. He would beg perhaps. He would also allow her to cry and let those tears open the wounds that he kept from everyone else, save for those two.
Two. Fuck.
He was going to lose, crash and burn, and try to survive himself. He was doing such a great job already. He gave himself another shot, what was one more anyway. His eyes lifted to the door, and he waited for his execution.