My first attempt at a piece in second person so I'm really nervous about this. I want to thank LaylaReyne for her beta work, inspiration and support while writing this. Enjoy!

One day

You have two faces now. One hard, ice-cold, almost made of stone façade that you carry on the outside. Sometimes you smirk, sometimes you laugh, but most of the time you just stare. Your head is clear, empty; it's a black space that doesn't consist of any thoughts other than basic wants. 'Light's out, no one's home.' That's how he once put it. Your face doesn't know joy unless you bring someone else pain, it doesn't know empathy unless it's fake. It doesn't feel, it knows no emotion. It's a mask that you carry.

Then there's your other face. You don't see it, don't see her constant solemn glare, but you know she's lurking inside of you. She's crying, her hands covered in blood. She's the uneasy feeling in your belly, but you've learned how to ignore her. Because she's the old you. She cares, and she yearns. She loves, and she mourns. She hates you, because you hurt him. With every spiteful word you say to him she digs her claws deeper into your chest. Because she loves him, and you can't. It's why you're still here, still beside him, because it's where she wants to be. She's not strong enough to fight you, but she's strong enough to keep you with him.

And that's the problem. She's like a writhing fish on the sand, desperately trying to find her way back to the ocean. You feel it when you look into his blue eyes, it's like she hears the sound of his waves and grows more determined to reach him every time they crash against the shore. She digs her nails into your chest, climbing back up in her eternal struggle to take him in her arms again. You feel your hands itching. She's making them burn with a need that can only be extinguished by his skin. Some days you want to give in, because maybe then she'll shut up, but you know she won't. He's making it more difficult for you; he smirks, but he does it to cover up the pain, he smiles, but it's to wash away the bitterness. You try to tell her that he's fine, that she should let go, but she doesn't listen, because she knows him too well. She makes you remember how his eyes used to gleam when he laughed, because you too have those memories. She's ready to go home, but you're not ready to go back to that dark place inside of her. You know that once you do, she'll let in the pain, she'll have to face it, and you'll have to endure it too. Because no matter how hard you try to deny it, you're the same person. And like her, you too are a writhing fish on the sand, trying to get back to the water so that you'll be able to breathe again.

"Try to catch some sleep." You catch the pj's he throws into your lap. They're not yours, they're hers, but in some way they are yours. You wonder if he gave you this particular set on purpose, trying to make you remember what she felt that night – what it meant to her once she remembered his confession. But you don't need to be reminded. You share the same memories as her, you were there that night, and yet you weren't. It was her moment when he declared his love.

You strip down to your underwear and glance in his direction. You're not surprised that he's not looking, because he doesn't have any interest in you. He doesn't love you, he loves her. You're just the shell that's protecting the pearl inside. He's taking care of you because he desperately longs for what's hidden deep inside you. For about forty-eight hours, you had him convinced that he wanted you this way, and maybe you even believed it yourself. But he doesn't want you, he wants her; he wouldn't be chasing after the cure to bring her back otherwise.

"You know, the Damon I knew would be trying to get into my pants by now, seeing as we're alone in a hotel room together." You dare him. You always do. But he acts as if you're not there, as if he's given up on you. He tried to understand you, he did his best to accept the new you, but you've betrayed him too many times and now all he wants is to get the old you, her, back. "Luckily I don't feel anything or your rejection would hurt me. I thought you liked showing me a good time?"

You flinch at the sharp pain in your belly. He's hurt, so she's hurting you, squeezing your stomach in her hand. She does it every time, punishing you harder with every blow he has to take. You wonder how she even knows; his expression doesn't change, his body doesn't move, he doesn't even blink and yet she knows you're hurting him – but then again, she's always known him better than anyone else. You tell her what she wants to hear so that she'll release you from her torture. You share a bed with him, not because you want to, but because it gives you what you need to keep her at bay, to keep her from ripping you apart every second of the next day. At night, you give her what she wants, watching him as he sleeps, using the eyes that used to be hers.

You stare; your eyes taking in every inch of his face every night, over and over again, yet it never seems to be enough for her. She wants you to see more than the handsome face, she wants you to see into his soul. She's a wreck of emotions, trying to make you see why you shouldn't hurt him, to make you feel guilty for scarring him. Memories are forcing themselves into the black space in your head. You tell her you'll close your eyes if she doesn't stop it right away, that you'll bury her in the dark again.

There's nothing she hates more than the dark.

Usually that's enough to make her back off, but not tonight. She's not giving you the easy way out this time. She's forcing you to see yourself as her, to feel what she felt, in your shared memories of them together. You see yourself standing on a vacant road. He's there, just like he's there in almost all of your memories from the past year. You're talking to the handsome stranger because, for the first time in many years, you're curious about a guy. He thrills you and he dares you in the short span of five minutes, and for some reason he seems to understand you better than anyone else ever has. You're about to text your parents to tell them they don't have to pick you up just yet, because spending the night on this deserted road with a complete, albeit gorgeous, stranger sounds more exciting than anything else you've ever done. Your impromptu plan is shot to hell when you hear a honk and turn around to see your parents arrive. You try to think quickly, to come up with some way to see the stranger again. Then, without remembering how or why, you're sitting in the backseat of the car.

It's not enough to make you sway, but she's trying, pushing images to your head that you desperately try to suppress.

You're in a bar, and your head's throbbing from the accident, but he's sitting beside you and you're having fun. It's been a really long time since you haven't felt as if the world is resting on your shoulders.

Then you're dancing, gazing into his eyes, as he effortlessly leads you in a routine that's even older than him, and it feels like the very first time, yet you think you've seen deep into those crystal blue eyes of his somewhere before because they feel so familiar.

His lips press forcibly against yours, bourbon and his unexpected presence clouding your senses, your heart squeezing together as you speak, feeling as if you're saying the wrong thing. But you don't have time to think about it, because the next thing you know, your brother's lifeless body is in your arms and you swear that you hate him. Your heart squeezes again.

You try to ignore him after that, you dedicate yourself to hating him, but he's always there watching over you. He doesn't beg for forgiveness, not anymore. He's just there in the shadows, and you can't deny that his presence brings some kind of comfort. It's the reason for your survival.

Then suddenly he's the one dying. You feel him slipping away and what had once been your wish now turns into your worst nightmare. Because you hate the thought of having to say goodbye to someone else, but more than that, you hate the thought of walking into the boarding house and not being greeted with one of his snarky remarks. You press your lips against his, you taste the sweat of his dying body on your tongue. Your five-year-old self would have described it as icky, but it's the only thing you can come up with to lessen your and his pain. He makes it, and for once you don't completely despise your doppelganger ancestor. She tells you about your boyfriend, but you're too relieved to still have his brother here that you fail to realize Stefan has left you.

That's as far as you're prepared to go down memory lane. You know what comes after that. She's repeated it so many times that it's actually starting to get to you. He becomes her – your – world after that. He's her rock, he drags her out of the bed in the morning and gets her through the day. She's mad at him more than once for not letting her mope in her miserable existence, but he's always there again the next morning. Then one morning she's up before he arrives and he looks impressed. She makes up some pathetic excuse about him using the situation to see her in her PJ's every day, but deep down she knows he'd drag her out of bed for the next decade if he had to, because he'd never give up on her. And that's where she gets her strength from, it's why she's still fighting deep inside of you. He'll never give up on her, and she'll fight as long as he does. You're standing between them and your presence is not wanted, but he was the one that called for you in the first place, because he knew she couldn't handle it anymore. He made her into you, and now he's the one desperately trying to get her back; it's irony at its tragic best.

But she needs you now, more than ever before. You're the one that's shielding her from the pain and suffering, but it's as if she's forgotten that in her never-ending attempt to battle you. She falters for a second as you reminder her, because she's as scared of those betraying emotions as you are. But then she picks up her sword again and runs back into the war zone, his warrior princess pushing memories into your mind that you try to block out with all your strength. It's admirable that after all this time she still hasn't given up, but neither have you. It's surprising how you couldn't be more different yet you share so many of the same characteristics – it makes her a worthy opponent.

And she seems to be the stronger one now, because she too has come to know you and your weakness. It's the one thing you fear, the one memory you really don't want to be reminded of, don't want to relive. But somehow, no matter how hard you struggle against it, suddenly you're standing in your school's gym with your worst enemy holding you captive. Your boyfriend is there, and you thought his essence would make it all alright. Because you loved him. But in the end, it turned out that even your love couldn't save him. You're running through empty corridors that are normally buzzing during the day, the monster you once called your epic love trying to keep himself from chasing after you. You run through hallways you know off the top of your head, yet you feel lost in them, completely alone; you're being chased, but there's no one there to catch you in his arms at the end of the road. And even though you know he can't hear because he's miles away, it makes you want to scream one single name.


She's here, and he knows. It's a mystery how she speaks with the same voice as you but manages to use it completely differently. It has been months since you've spoken his name with such tenderness and warmth, it's been months since he turned around to give you his full attention, because it's been months since he's had her with him. You watch his eyes starting to gleam again as they did in her memories. You've never seen them anything but dull, and it makes you feel uncomfortable because it warms your insides. It's her doing, she's taken over, yet you're still sharing the same space. You're not buried deep inside of her like you once were; you're on equal ground. But she's in control, and you can't keep your hand from reaching out to touch his face, you can't hold back the tears that roll over your cheeks, and you can't help it when she launches herself at him. She's weeping as she clings to his body, her nails digging into his back as he wraps his arms around you and holds on for dear life. Because she's finally here, and he's missed her so.

"I'm so sorry for everything I did. I'm so sorry, Damon." You're pressing your lips against his skin, and it feels foreign to you, because you're always so in control but now there's something else driving you. And it's not even her. It's a longing inside of you that can't handle the distance any longer. There's something been eating away at you the whole time, and it's risen up again with her, it's the undeniable need to comfort him like she always did. "I'm so sorry for saying all the things I did. I wasn't myself."

"I know, I know. It's okay." He's hugging you so tightly that it would have crushed human you. And out of all the hugs you've ever shared, this one seems to be the one he needs the most. Because he's found something again that he thought he'd lost – his hope wasn't pointless. She's here – you're here – and he's been waiting for so long. But you're not planning on letting her stay, and she knows that. She'll only hold up for so long before you're able to shield her behind your mask again. Because no matter how much she pleads, you both know that she's not ready yet to face this world without you.

"I love you, Damon. Everything I feel for you is real. And I know you don't trust me anymore. But I need you to know, I love you." She speaks those words as a bandage for the wounds you've caused. She has to mend him quickly in the limited time she has. And if he's taught her one thing, it's that words don't mean anything if they're not supported by actions. It's why it took you so long to figure out his true feelings in the first place. Stefan preached and declared his love for you so many times that it was impossible to ignore. But Damon was different. Everyone said you were blind for not seeing it, but his actions always countered their words, and you couldn't accept his undying devotion to you – because if you accepted it, you'd have to acknowledge it. But when he was dying, he spoke the words, and you realized that no one ever said anything more truthfully, and every single one of his actions suddenly had a purpose. And every single one of his actions after that night shared that same purpose – keeping you alive, keeping you with him so he could love you from a safe distance.

And she's gazing into his eyes now. Or maybe you are. You can't tell the difference between her and you anymore because you're looking through the same eyes, feeling the same things. This is not you. You're feeling things and feelings are to be avoided at all cost. But you're her at the same time, and she'll never stop fighting to feel things. It's what makes her the person she is. So you're doomed to endure this as one person.

You don't know which one of you lifts your head up to kiss him, but the thing is that your lips are pressing against his, and you tangle your fingers in his dark hair because you've never wanted to do it more than you do right now. And he's answering you, more fiercely and with more passion than you've ever encountered. But it's her he's responding to – not you. He's had you for months now and not one day did he roam your body as he's doing now, hungrily, desperately, seeking that one night he had with her. You don't know what's come over you, but it feels as if you can't let him go – that the world might end if you stop pouring your love into him.

And he's here in your arms now, and it's what she's wanted for months. You know that she's reveling in it, like you revel in the pain you cause him.

He's stripped you of your clothes and your hands are wandering down his abs, accepting the sensation it brings you even if it's more than just physical. You let her have it because you can't remember a time Stefan or anyone made you feel this good. He's hovering above you, searching your eyes, and he looks pleased, because it's still her in control and not you. He leaves a hot trail of kisses on your cold skin, lapping his tongue around your nipple, squeezing your neglected breast in his other hand, cupping it and rubbing a circle around your pebbled tip. You arch your back into him, your nipple burying itself deeper into the warmth of his mouth, that ocean of blue gazing up at you as he sucks it deeply behind his lips and lets it pop out again. Something starts throbbing between your thighs and you want to press them together to satisfy it, but he's quicker than you. His hand holds your legs apart, his palm pressing against your clit, a finger dipping between your wet flesh. He curls his finger into your entrance, causing your eyes to roll back in your head, but he doesn't bring it deep enough to satisfy anything; on the contrary, it leaves you wanting more.

He's teasing you, and he knows how to do it best. It's been too long since he had you, and the only thing that has kept him going for all these months was that one night you shared. But his determination is wavering and his fingers are getting all the more persistent as they brush your juices from your entrance to your clit. He's panting and the lust in your eyes makes him falter in his consistent strokes between your nether lips, so he pulls his gaze away from yours and attacks your neck, effectively draping his body over you. His chest caresses your nipples and together with his fondling between your legs, it brings you to a climax that has you shivering beneath him. You hold onto his shoulders as he watches you shudder, your eyes struggling against the sudden idleness that washes over you. You want to cry, and you want to laugh, but instead of doing either, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him to you, because he's the most important thing you have in your reality.

Everybody else has given up on you. They've all said goodbye to the old Elena, even Stefan. They didn't stick around to watch you destroy yourself. Damon was the only one that stood by your side through it all – like he always does. Maybe it's because he's as terrified of losing you, as you were that night in the gym without him. Maybe he just feels as incomplete without your love as you feel without his.

But you don't have to be incomplete much longer. His length is moving against your folds, up and down, brushing your clit with every upward movement, and you press your lips against his as if you're kissing him for the first and the last time. Then he lifts his hips and you feel the tip of him press into you, your walls opening bit by bit as he slides further inside you. It burns as you stretch to accommodate him, but the sensation of having him buried within you quickly makes you forget about the ache. The world stops when he hits the hilt and so does he, the both of you lying completely motionless, panting at the same pace, and you realize one thing…

He's not having meaningless sex with you; he's making love to her.

"I love you."

He speaks the words she needs to hear to fight you longer, because her resistance is waning and you're getting stronger again. But his words give her the upper-hand, and she makes you move again, cupping his face in your hands and plastering your mouth against his. Being desperate had never felt so real to her. You both gasp with the first thrust, and while that one night seems like ages ago, the memory feels fresh in your mind. And his body still feels the same, hard in front, soft on the back, and warm wherever you touch. Your hands wander up and down his arms, traversing the muscles there, amazed by their contour. He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes burning with a fire that will never be put out, but you're the one that can make it light up or let it burn out. It's the power you have over him; you're what feeds him. He doesn't need air, or food, or water, maybe a small amount of blood, but it's everything that you give him that he truly feeds on. And right now, you're giving him all of yourself –your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him into you, deeper than anyone has ever been, your hands resting on his back as you guide him with his every trust, your eyes locked onto his, holding onto him and all that he is to you. It's everything she's been begging you for during the past few months and so much more. There's so much love radiating from his eyes that it tips you over the edge again, and you smile, because you can't imagine a greater pleasure than sharing each other in this way. He's a sweating, heaving, hot mess but it's the happiest you've felt in a long time. The expression on his face changes too, going from excitement, happiness, love and devotion to ecstasy, bliss, and satisfaction. You milk him dry with your walls, watching his lips part and his eyes close as the strength leaves his arms and he collapses onto you. You wrap him up in your arms, pulling his head into the crook of your neck, his breathing warming your skin, and you rock him as the last spasm leaves his body completely drained.


"Shh." Your heart squeezes together at the uncertainty in his voice. Because, just like you, he doesn't know who's there, you or her, but in this moment, you're both you, and you're both here with him. "I'm here, I'm right here."

He takes comfort in those words and lies back down on your chest. Your hands trace a path on his back, from his shoulders to his spine, soothing him into sleep. But she can't let him sleep, because she's going away anytime now, and all she wants is to spend every remaining second with him. So she peppers kisses on his forehead, making him smile like a content little boy. It works, because suddenly his lips are pressing against yours again before he props himself up on his elbow to look at your face.

"I like you better when you're not being a bitch to me." He pouts his lips together playfully, making you smile at the sight of it. "It feels like I've been hanging out with Katherine for too long."

"I'm nothing like Katherine." You clench your teeth together, because both of you hate to be compared to her. You're not supposed to care, but you do, especially in light of one critical difference. "Katherine didn't love you, I do."

He smiles shyly, like a five-year-old boy, and you suspect that he'll probably never get used to hearing those words come out of your mouth. Maybe he'll doubt their honesty forever, convinced of the fact that he's not worthy of love. You wish you could express how much he means to you, how much he always has, how much you regret not realizing sooner that he's it for you. Even switched-off-you can see it, and you can't grasp why she's been fighting him for so long. She should have known he was meant for her the second he placed that kiss on the back of her hand in the boarding house. But that Elena wanted to date prince charming, too scared to consider that she'd been born for the big bad wolf.

You're reciting fairy tales now, which is a sure sign that this reprieve from emptiness has gone on too long for you to handle. So you start fighting her again. You've given her what she wanted; now she needs to go. But she doesn't want to, even though she knew she'd have to before she surfaced. It's amazing how love can change one's mind about certain things.

But you have your weapon in place. It's what you need to remind her of so she'll go back to hiding where she needs to stay for now; it's the thing that put her there in the first place. So now it's your turn to force memories into her love-addled brain. You remind her of the flames that engulfed the wood of your old family home. You remind her of the pictures that she burned and other items that she lost. And then you remind her of the face she'll never see again. It makes her scream on the inside, it makes her tear up on the outside, and it's too much for her to take because those are the memories that cripple her. She'll go again to that dark place so that you can come back, because she can't handle it without you – it's what you've been telling her from the start.

"When she comes back, don't forget that on the inside she loves you too."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't give up on us."

She's gone. And he can feel her slip from his grasp. His eyes are staring into yours as the warm brown cools and becomes dull. You blink blankly as he shakes you, yelling the name you share with the face inside of you, but the woman behind that face has crawled into a corner again, too fragile to handle her tragic reality just yet. And here you are again, but curiously, you don't feel the need to hurt him in this moment like you've been doing for the past few months, so you let him mourn his loss in silence. He turns away, disgusted by the sight of you, because what he loves is gone again and he's left behind on his own. You bow your head, wiping away the tear she shed from your cheek, the last proof of her presence. When you look back up, the broken man you expected is nowhere to be found. He's put his game face back on and is smiling at you. Sometimes you wonder if he was the one that taught you how to act like two different people, because he is a master at it. Initially, you'd been terrified of him, only to realize later that he was one of the few people in your life you had nothing to fear from. Once he pulled off his mask for you, and you alone, you got to know the man behind it - a beautiful caring soul that loved you with everything in him.

"I have no idea what's so funny, except for those cheesy moments you just had."

His smile gets broader and you're thrown off course, because you don't know the rules of the game that he's playing, but, like always, it's bound to be a dangerous one. He props himself up on his elbow again and watches you, his other hand reaching for the strands of hair on your forehead, pushing them back, and then stroking your cheek. It quiets her bawling on the inside, but it makes you uncomfortable as hell. You don't know what he's doing, you don't know him as well as she does, but you do know that hurting him is the only way to make him back off.

"If you insist on having your hands on me, then at least use them in the right places."

"You're most beautiful when you smile, do you know that?"

"And you're more tolerable when you're naked." You slap his hand away and sit up. "Did you know that?"

"I feel bad for you, that you won't get to see much of it in the future."

"It's inevitable." You shrug and act as if you don't care. Deep down you know he's right, that you won't get to see it much longer because you're you, not her. "You force me to share a room with you in every crappy motel we spend the night."

"Because otherwise you run and I have to chase you again."

"Hasn't it come to your attention that I always let you catch up?"

He huffs because he doesn't believe a single word you're saying, but he couldn't be more wrong. She makes you let him catch up, because being apart from him causes her go on a rampage with your insides. It puts her at ease knowing he's on his way, and you like being chased. It's the thought that after all this time there's still someone looking for you and chasing after you. You wonder – secretly fear - if he'll ever stop hunting you. One time you even ran on foot, leaving the Camaro behind, just to know if he was coming after you or the car, but he did come and dragged you back, kicking and screaming, to the car. But she was glad to see him again and she retracted her claws, letting you live in peace for a moment so you didn't have to feel that burning ache that came with his absence.

"Why do you always come after me?"

"Because everyone else has given up on you."

"Why haven't you?"

"Trust me, I ask myself that everyday."

"Yet you're still here, every time again."

"I want her back."

"So you've finally realized there are two of us."

"How could I not?"

It's a rhetorical question that you nevertheless feel the need to answer. But you don't; you swallow it and refrain from telling him that the girl he loves is inside you, fighting to be with him. Then again, as you've just established, he realizes this, and you've never seen that kind of determination in his eyes. He knows now that she's in there, and as with every other fight for her life, he'll go to the extremes to save her.

"I'm scared that if I let you run free, one day I won't find you anymore."

"What kind of owner would I be if I didn't come looking for my puppy?"

He shakes his head at your rhetorical question. Normally he'd have rolled his eyes, but for some reason, he seems at peace now. You get up from the bed, wandering over to the window and staring out at the parking lot. Usually, by this time of night, you'd have tried to sneak out to steal the Camaro and drive off into the sunset with it. But this night, you don't feel like planning, you don't even feel like running. It's her doing, you're certain of it. A piece of her must still be lingering near the surface because you realize that these days you don't run to look for the cure; you run to be chased by him. It's the only thing, besides hurting him, that still brings you some kind of pleasure.

"What if I stop running?" You stare out the window, your back to him, hearing him roll over to face you. "What do I get in return?"

"As if that would ever happen."

"Just imagine this is one of your wildest dreams." You turn around with a snarl and find him staring at you. "What would you give me in return?"

"Probably anything." He shrugs as if he doesn't care, but you can see a hint of interest in his eyes. "Do you have any idea what gas costs these days?"

"Will you give me you?"

"I'm not that desperate."

"Doesn't seem like you're really all that bent on getting her back then." The pain flashes through his eyes as you speak. There's no one on this earth that wants her back more than he does, and both of you know it. "You can have moments with her or forever with me, your choice."

There's a struggle in his eyes, his own principles warring with the ones he wants to have. But he doesn't want those principles as much as he wants her, so you know he'll give himself to you. It will keep you entertained, and it will keep her happy on the inside; it's a win-win situation for all three of you.

"One condition." He lifts his finger up with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You have to be nice to me."

"I'm already doing you a favor, buddy. There's no room in my diabolical plan for a second one."

"No deal then."

"Maybe you're not too keen on getting her back after all then."

"No, I just have this rule that I have to like the person I'm sleeping with."

"You didn't seem to have that rule in the past."

"Maybe I've changed."

"I doubt it."

He chuckles lowly, and you watch him throw himself back against the pillows. Something warm and fuzzy is swimming around in your stomach, and you curse yourself for letting her out because she's left too many traces behind. The swimming thing forms into a knot that makes you shift uncomfortably in the pj's you're wearing. You move to the bed and slip under the covers, knowing all too well that he won't let himself sleep tonight because he wants to catch you running. You won't try to tell him that he won't have to; you'll show him by being next to him in this same bed in the morning.

You feel something, and you hate it. It's her and she's still there, bawling, but strong enough to force you to care. She makes you wrap your arm around his torso and place your head against his shoulder, it's your worst nightmare.

"What are you doing?"

"You told me to be nice to you."

"I said nice, not creepy."

You turn over onto your other side with a sigh, feeling her mocking you. She's proud of him for standing up to you, she always is. For some reason she likes it when you're not able to control a situation, especially when it's a situation concerning him. He's smarter than you, and she tells you that every time you try to prove otherwise. You always fall flat on your face and she revels in the mental bruises it brings you. But maybe you didn't this time, because once you settle your head against the pillow again, you feel him drape his arm around you, his warm breath at your neck and his chest pressing against your back. You won't ever admit it out loud and you'll blame her for making you feel like this, but being held in his strong arms feels nice.

"You really are a big softy on the inside, aren't you?"

"So are you, remember?"

He places a kiss behind your ear and puts his cheek next to yours, settling for sleep. His words linger in your mind, you're hard as stone on the outside, but soft on the inside; because the old you is buried there. She's soft, warm, caring, and he loves her so.

You smile softly as you close your eyes. Before long, you find yourself running through those empty hallways with your boyfriend chasing you. But this time you don't feel alone, because you're safely wrapped up in strong arms at the end of that hallway. It fights the one fear you have and the one weakness the other face will always be able to use against you. You don't want to be alone, you never want to feel alone again like you did when you were running down those empty hallways. He's here, and he's going to be the only one that sticks by you, no matter the costs. He's the one with the power to save her from herself and you're here because she needs to be protected from him. He needs to hurt because she's not ready to come out yet. But one day she will be, and he'll still be fighting for her as he always has. That day, he'll save her from your darkness.

One day.

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