I decided to do something different and change my writing style up a bit. I've never written in first-person before, so we'll see how this pans out.

Sorry for the large break in drabble writing as well! I've been so busy and, I'll admit, a little uninspired but 6x02 brought out the Carenzo within and this gem popped into my head. That, and the lovely Lynyrd Lionheart put in a tentative prompt for Carenzo on tumblr; I can rarely say no to her when she fulfils my Carenzo cravings for me :)

Please let me know your thoughts on this one. I'm interested to see what you think about the writing style since it's the first I've ever attempted in this format.

Happy Reading!


Gone With the Wind

It was funny how someone I should hate, someone who had done naught but cause trouble and mayhem for my friends and I, could inspire such a warm feeling inside me. I wanted to hate him as I had. Although, I suppose to admit hate was too great a thing. How could someone hate a person they did not know? I certainly didn't know Enzo.

There were glimmers of this kind, thoughtful man; so sharply sarcastic and volatile he was in contrast to the sombre face he showed. I'd seen it with Maggie, when he spoke of her and the past. It was perhaps the first time I had seen beyond the smirk and self-assured wit. It was a cover and a bloody good one at that. Everyone saw what they were supposed to see and even I was not exempt from the show.

I saw danger. I saw wilful action. He was heedless to the consequences and reminded me too much of the past. There was Damon there, shadowed in his eyes; all danger and the bad boy that had waltzed into town and knocked me from my pedestal. And then there was Klaus, the charm beneath that British wit and impetuous nature. Enzo was too similar to my past. I could not have him and consciously be okay with falling back into bad habits. I was not that girl anymore; too needy, too insecure and willing to fall for the first guy to show even the slightest bit of interest in me. That was not who I was, not who I ever wanted to be.

Perhaps that was why Stefan, so sweet and unassuming, had unconsciously become my anchor. He had never chosen me, not beyond the bonds of friendship, and I was okay with that – I had been okay with that. It worked. We worked.

But now I couldn't help but wonder where it had all gone wrong. There was no clear memory, no distinct moment I could pinpoint as the beginning of our end. Not that we had ever really begun.

Damon and Bonnie's death had been his catalyst. Damon's death, in truth. I sometimes wondered if Stefan had forgotten the brown-eyed fire that had been my best friend. It was easy to forget the pain of others when all you could do was drown in your own loss. But Enzo was right; brothers didn't give up. How Stefan could – it was unimaginable to me. But then, everyone seemed to have given up.

Stefan. Elena. Matt. Even Jeremy. Here I was in my own bubble, struggling to breathe and fight for a town that had caused me nothing but misery. I'd let myself block out everything else, tried to ignore the burning pain in my gut. It was easy to ignore their deaths – almost too easy – when I had my own project to drown in.

And that's exactly what it was. Reclaiming Mystic Falls was a quest to bury the bad in books, to try to restore what good memories I had left of a town that had sheltered me for nineteen years. We'd grown up there, Bonnie, Elena and I. Maybe I was stupid for wanting to keep something of my past intact, but when everything was crumbling around me it was all that I could do. I needed home. I needed a home because I didn't feel comfortable in my own skin anymore. My feet shook as though the ground quivered beneath me. All I wanted was to feel happy again, to feel safe.

Mystic Falls was my Tara, as stupid as that sounded, and I wanted it back.

Here I was, a nineteen year-old vampire with eternity at her feet and all I wanted was to go back and go home. Margaret Mitchell had always been my poison when the world seemed to swallow me whole. I related a little too much to Scarlet O'Hara, so indomitable and yet so utterly afraid. She was reprehensible and so hard to like, but then there were these glimmers, these small sparks of humanity that filtered through her iron backbone.

She carried the world on her shoulders and somehow it seemed I had unwittingly become the fictional character I loved so dearly.

Today had been...it was almost too hard to think about how everything had simply crashed together. Elena with her lost memories; if Damon came back – and I hoped that he did – then he would be no more than stranger to her, a reprehensible memory and forgotten love. I had lied when I said to her that she needed to do what was best for her. It was because I knew that one way or another she would come to regret this. I somehow foolishly still had hope even when she and Stefan did not.

Stefan. Funny how a single name could inspire such pain. I'd thought that we were in it together, both searching for that hope. It was ironic really, how wrong I was. I still couldn't believe he'd given up but the truth was plain to hear and see. Knowing that he'd deleted all my messages... I'd poured everything of myself into them. He was my best friend, or at least he was supposed to be. It felt as if he'd given up on everything, even me.

I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all. I was huddled on the bed of some cheap two bit hotel watching Vivienne Lee turn her feline eyes on Leslie Howard. If I was Scarlet, then Stefan was undoubtedly my Ashley.

"They don't make 'em like that anymore," his soft sarcasm made me slide my eyes from the screen to watch his profile.

It was strange that he should be the one sitting here with me when so many others should have taken his place. I wanted to hate him as Jeremy did, dislike him so ardently as Elena seemed to, and yet I couldn't even bring myself to muster up a mild disapproval. He'd killed that girl, Stefan's Ivy or whatever her name was. I'd heard the whole thing in the car. I knew I should have been appalled but between the tears and the grief, the resounding slap of rejection, I couldn't bring myself to feel more than a little pity for the human that had found herself the wrong bed partner. It was cruel; I had been that girl and I was almost positive that if I were human I would still be that girl. But it was Enzo's words, his vow to Stefan that had somehow dried my tears and hardened the hurt inside.

Brothers did not give up.

Neither did sisters. Bonnie was worth fighting for, worth putting my want of home on the backburner.

"I always wanted to be like her, you know," I uttered softly, dipping my hand into the shared bag of popcorn we'd swiped from the convenience store down the street.

Enzo lifted his eyebrows and I pretended not to notice the way his knee brushed against mine on the bed. "A money grabbing viper?" he asked with a skewed smile.

"No," I rolled my eyes and pointedly looked at the television screen in thoughtful silence, watching the way Scarlett's dress flowed about her feet. "Strong. I always wanted to be strong."

I needed to be. If I couldn't withstand the pressure, the grief, then how could the others? When they'd all given up, when they'd all fallen, someone had to remain strong. Someone had to pick up the pieces.

"You're the strongest person I know, Gorgeous," the sincerity in his voice made me pause and my resolve quiver.

He'd killed for me under the nonsensical notion that I needed a protector, a champion. My tears were not a harbinger of death or blood; I didn't need anyone to fight for me, not when I was so used to fighting for myself. But it was nice, in some strangely twisted way, to know that he cared. I didn't want to be attracted to him. Stefan was the safer option, which was perhaps why I'd somehow fooled myself into thinking that there was something more than friendship between us. Enzo was a picture of my past and I didn't want to trek back and get hurt again. I needed to learn to fall for the nice guy for a change, even if the nice guy was currently being a dick.

You still think you're the cutest trick in shoe leather. The harsh snap of Rhett Butler echoed like home in my ears and I ignored Enzo's dark eyes to focus on the movie.

If Mystic Falls was my Tara and Stefan my Ashley, then to whom did the role of Rhett fall? Once upon a time I would have said Klaus, but I'd heard nothing from him in so long that our flirtation seemed like something from a dream. Enzo was real, he was here beside me, flesh and bone, all sinew muscle and tempered patience as he watched a film he obviously had no interest in.

It was too large a question, too deep a pitfall for me to think on tonight. I was tired and still sore from Stefan's surrender, sorer still from trying to rebel against the growing realisation that the man beside me was perhaps the nice guy in my tale.

A wry smile curled on my lips. I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow. My mind echoed the fictional character's musings with the ease of a well oiled piano and I surmised that tomorrow was indeed another day.