Before he leaves, he visits her.
And he's not a saint. He's cruel and tormented, but that's just fine with him - why shouldn't he be? He deserves the right, for, unlike Stefan, his love cannot be quenched as easily. He's not a saint.
She, however, is an angel who has been sent to punish him. She takes his heart in cold hands and squeezes it with her vice-like claws, stomps over it and buries it into the ground where Katherine lies. He's not a saint, but neither is she. Neither is anyone. Neither is Stefan.
(He's not so bad, is he? Is he? Is it so bad? He wonders if it would be different if he could get over her. If he could bite a little more, hate a little less, fuck just enough. Maybe it is so bad. But he's not a saint.)
She doesn't know he's there for a while. (She's not perceptive and he doesn't want to be found.) He wonders what would happen if he sank his teeth into her right then, taste the sweet tang of her bitter blood. (Because, she's bitter, and she hates him, and he wonders why he wants her.) He's hungry, oh, very hungry - a diet of rabbits and squirrels may work for his brother, but not him. So he's hungry and she's right there, and her neck is pale and inviting as she leans down to make sure Bonnie is asleep.
So of course, he doesn't bite her.
When she looks up, fearful and aware that something is amiss, he's simply there. He could have run if he wants to, but he's tired of running away and wants to be found. (If anywhere he doesn't doubt warmth, it is in her eyes. Her eyes are colder now than they were before.)
"Damon." She says his name like it's a demonic plague.
He only nods, and suddenly there's tears, which is funny, because he's sure he cried enough for the rest of his life tonight. Tonight of all nights. (It reminds him of that fateful night, when he cried her name into the sky, when the fire devoured her and he cried. He cried.)
"I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing, Damon, but if you touch Bonnie again, I'll -"
"I'm leaving." He knows that Stefan told her, but he might as well reassure her that he is leaving, too. She must be ecstatic. She should throw a party and invite Witchy-Witch and Barbie Doll.
He wants to say more but there's nothing to say. Of course there isn't. She stares at him as if he's just sprouted horns, and just to be sure he reaches up to pat his head. No, smooth and flat.
"Why?" She whispers this like a challenge.
He cocks his head to the side. He's not sure why it matters, but even so, he shrugs and turns his back to her. Just in case, he tells himself. Just in case she sees his tears. "I failed," he murmurs softly. "A promise was broken and I failed." Turning just slightly to the side, he glances at her, at her stark face, and sighs, "You won't have to worry anymore. I won't bother you."
She blinks at him and he's gone. He's gone and hasn't moved a muscle. He's broken and hasn't been touched.