My world is wrong. My world is a lie that's come true. And I fall in love with the ones that run me through, when all along all I've ever needed is you.
Sing it Out, Switchfoot.
Love, is a very strange concept. It is both a construction and a creation. Love is a mold that has been constructed for the common people, which the common people then morph to create their own version. Love, therefore, is not as general as we have made it to be. It is a very specific formula, love is. It varies from person to person. Even ask the same couple- their views on love would not be the same. Alas, the construction of love is the side every being sees and experiences. It is the creation of love, which one tends to pass by. The difference between these two species is simply this: the construction of love cannot be appreciated until it is fully built (or built for you). It is the love society has formulated; a general idea. The creation, though, is cherished throughout the whole process; even when it is in its most simplistic form. It is the most individualistic of all specifics.
In my 146 plus years, even I have not quite grasped the concept of love. My experiences have not been the- brightest, I suppose. Love, it seems, is a war between choices and chances. So far, I've failed at both. Love, makes one do stupid, stupid things. This is quite tragic, when the fate of love relies on smart decision making. Chance, therefore, also rests in the hands of one's logic. Love is basically screwed; rigged, so no one can achieve it without great sacrifice. I suppose it's meant to be that way, though. If love was easy, everyone would have it. I must say though, the sacrificing is a bitch; and in my case, has not done me much good. All I've gotten from it is eternal life, and a kickass body. Now, not that I'm not enjoying every minute of it, because seriously, I am. It's the dark memories of lost love that I can't take. It is because of this fear, I suppose, that I run away from love. It is a bitter thing, lost love. It really dampens your present. When one's mind is always haunted by the past, the present is hell, and the future is basically unknown territory, that one never wants to enter into. Life is basically many partings welded together to from the sadistic reality; part of that reality, being love.
Because of the dark memories, I've lost my chance with the one girl who has ever truly intoxicated me. I've lost Elena Gilbert. She seems to be a million miles away. The distance metaphorical distance between us is excruciating. I've always wondered, though: if you want to be with someone you love, aren't you already there? Do the miles, metaphorical or not, really make a difference? This is yet another unanswered question of love. I suppose I'm causing the distance between us, though. I've always ran from her; afraid of being torn apart. That fear of being rejected was a lie, that I then believed so often, that it became the unchangeable truth.
"Morning, Damon," Elena greeted groggily, as she came down the staircase. She had been staying at the Boarding House for two weeks now. Something about rekindling her relationship with Stefan; I don't really know. I kind of zoned out the second Stefan opened up his mouth to explain.
"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Someone finally decided to exit her tower," I said in return.
"Hey, it's not that late," she replied defensively, making her way to where I was sitting.
"Not that late?" I replied with a laugh. She sat down next to me, putting her legs over my lap. I lazily placed my arms over her shins and continued, "Elena, it's almost 2:30 in the afternoon." I supplied her with a smirk. A blend of shock and embarrassment came over her face.
"No, it isn't," she replied disbelievingly, shaking her head. "You're lying."
"Am I now," I countered, raising an eyebrow. "Check for yourself, Sherlock." I pointed to the clock on the wall. She looked, to see the time 1:57 displayed tauntingly on the clock. Her chest fell and she grumbled something to the extent of 'Damn you, Watson.' I chuckled in reply. This whole type of situation always bothered me. We fit perfectly together, yet Elena kept trying to fit into the puzzle with Stefan. She has locked herself up permanently to Stefan's side. Yet, we create the chains we wear in life, don't we. She's chained herself to Stefan, and I've chained myself to the forever pending reality of her loving me. It's quite tragic.
"Sherlock," I addressed jokingly, "why do you always insist on being disbelieving of me?" This question always has floated around in my head.
"You know my methods, Watson," she replied jokingly. I rolled my eyes at this.
"Well, your methods are certainly mad," I countered with a smirk.
"Unlikely," she replied with a smile.
"How many times have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," I replied.
"Oh, no, you did not just steal my line!" She crossed her arms.
"Well, they're not technically yours, are they? No Sherlock, those quotes belong to Conan Doyle. Sorry to disappoint," I smirked.
"Ugh, you're- you're-"she scrunched her brow together.
"Irresistible, godlike, completely amazing, the hottest vampire ever," I listed. She just stared at me flatly. There was no fake annoyance in her eyes. No, it was a different look. One I've never seen on her face before. She sighed lightly, giving two or three slow shakes of the head. No, this certainly wasn't good. That movement was notoriously known to mean one of two things: pity or rejection. A surge of pain rushed through me. Elena's movements were a mix of both. This was the worst kind of pain possible.
"Damon," she said lightly. "I love you; as a friend. That's all you can ever be," she sighed. "I'd like to believe your comments are just jokes, but I know they're not. Damon, we can never be together." She looked down. I could feel my already dead heart grow colder.
"Why," I replied blandly. "Why can't we ever be together?" My voice was raspy with pain.
"Because," she sighed. "I will love your brother till the day he dies." She raked a hand through her hair. Her comment hit me like a ton of bricks. 'Until your brother dies'. That basically translated into forever. Fuck.
"You're going to sit there and think that everything we've done; everything we've been through, means nothing?" I took my hands from her legs. She pulled them back and to her chest.
"Yes," she whispered. "I am." She looked down again. I stared at her in utter shock.
"Elena, you've wanted my attention from the second you met me. But now you're going to deny my affection?" I felt the anger rise inside me. It was almost as tangible as fire.
"Look, Damon, I want us to be friends. You're an amazing person. But I love Stefan; it's always going to be Stefan." A pained look formed on her face, as tears threatened to fall.
"And you'll love him until the day you die," I muttered bitterly, getting up from the sofa.
"Yes," she whispered. Never in my entire life, had I loathed the word 'yes', as much as I did in this moment. I shook my head at her, in utter shock. Elena was no better than Katherine. I let out a caustic sigh and glared at her with ice cold eyes. Slowly, I turned away from Elena. About a yard into walking, I turned slowly to face her once more.
"Stefan would make a lovely corpse," I said icily, then exited the room, leaving Elena to her devices; whatever those may be.
So, I return to my world that is a lie. A lie, that has now become my reality. Hello, wonderful heartache.
~So, again, I've written another one-shot. I couldn't help myself. Again, I know it was sad, but I was in a total tragic Delena mood, so my apologies. Again, I say, hopelessromantic549 and I have made a joint account called FairyRomanticTVD- check us out! Also, I really hope you enjoyed this one-shot! (:
Remember, reviews are love, people! ;)