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Grief takes many forms
Jan. 20th, 2014 07:14 pmElena was gone. Damon had gone to talk to her, to tell her that his witch had disappeared, but not to worry. He would find a way to break her compulsion, preferably without having her go off the rails as Ric said she'd done at home when she shut off her humanity.
But she hadn't been there. She very much hadn't been there. The smell of her was fading, her belongings were gone, there wasn't the slightest sign of her. The apartment felt empty, abandoned.
He knew this happened, knew that people disappeared as suddenly as they'd appeared--it had happened to the only witch he knew here, after all--but this he refused to believe. Elena wasn't gone, couldn't be gone. Maybe Katherine had done something, or one of the Originals. Maybe...maybe she'd moved and just hadn't told him. He just had to find her.
He had called her number, and been told it was disconnected, and it had gotten harder and harder to deny the truth. He'd gone to a bar, had a few drinks, then a few more, and then had gone looking for her, trying her phone again and again, sending emails that bounced back. As the alcohol's effect faded (all too quickly), the truth had started sinking in despite his best efforts to stay in denial.
Elena was gone. She was gone, and he didn't know when or if he would see her again. The woman he loved was gone and he hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. Fury rose in him, a welcome mask for the ball of grief that was growing in his stomach, in his heart. Anger he could do. He was good at anger.
Now he just had to find someone to be angry at. If he gave a shit about anyone but a select few, he would actually feel a little bad for the next person he ran into. They were going to die, die horribly and painfully. And he was going to enjoy it. Who did he have to be good for, anymore? Elena made him a better person, and now there was no Elena. So he could be bad, bad as he wanted to be. He'd worry about the consequences later.
But she hadn't been there. She very much hadn't been there. The smell of her was fading, her belongings were gone, there wasn't the slightest sign of her. The apartment felt empty, abandoned.
He knew this happened, knew that people disappeared as suddenly as they'd appeared--it had happened to the only witch he knew here, after all--but this he refused to believe. Elena wasn't gone, couldn't be gone. Maybe Katherine had done something, or one of the Originals. Maybe...maybe she'd moved and just hadn't told him. He just had to find her.
He had called her number, and been told it was disconnected, and it had gotten harder and harder to deny the truth. He'd gone to a bar, had a few drinks, then a few more, and then had gone looking for her, trying her phone again and again, sending emails that bounced back. As the alcohol's effect faded (all too quickly), the truth had started sinking in despite his best efforts to stay in denial.
Elena was gone. She was gone, and he didn't know when or if he would see her again. The woman he loved was gone and he hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. Fury rose in him, a welcome mask for the ball of grief that was growing in his stomach, in his heart. Anger he could do. He was good at anger.
Now he just had to find someone to be angry at. If he gave a shit about anyone but a select few, he would actually feel a little bad for the next person he ran into. They were going to die, die horribly and painfully. And he was going to enjoy it. Who did he have to be good for, anymore? Elena made him a better person, and now there was no Elena. So he could be bad, bad as he wanted to be. He'd worry about the consequences later.
