Who: Damon Salvatore (and houseguest? Anyone?) What: Damon is a sad panda. Where: Chez Salvatore When: Present day, nighttime.
How long had it been since Damon had stepped outside? He truly was not sure. He’d been like a statue, slumped in a seated position, leaning against his headboard and brooding. Time was different for a vampire than it was for mortal beings. He had seen decades come and go in what seemed like the blink of an eye, but now everything seemed longer, more drawn out. The days passed in a way that was almost painful. He had been so absolutely depressed over the thought that, on a wild, famine-induced whim, he had destroyed whatever it was that he and Elena shared. Life seemed unbearable without her.
For such a long time he’d felt nothing but melancholy, but he could feel the hunger creeping up like it always did when he had neglected to drink. Finally he moved from his spot on his bed to the fridge where he stored the packets of blood that sustained him. He didn’t want to drink. There was no pleasure in the taste of blood in this state of mind. Still, he knew that he had to. How would he defend himself or the people who mattered to him if he was starving and emaciated? He poked a hole and sucked at the packet, the coppery taste of blood barely registering on his tastebuds.
Slightly more rejuvenated than he had been, Damon took slow steps toward the bedroom door. There was an aching in his joints with every move he made. It happened to him when he went a while without blood, but this time it was more pronounced. It reminded him of an ad for anti-depressants. If only there was some pill to take him back in time to fix things, but there wasn’t.
The penthouse was empty. Though he had been in a world of his own, Damon was aware that Elena wasn’t around. He couldn’t blame her. With a low sigh he nudged his door open and stepped out into the main area. It was so bare and lifeless without Elena around.