Heartlines ▹ Elena Gilbert [1]

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRY-ONE
NORMAL PEOPLE DON'T KILL CHEERLEADERS

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Sudden brightness was what woke Rowan up that following Monday morning, the sound of curtains being pulled apart rattling in her ears. Rowan, who had spent the past three days running away from every beam of light she saw because her daylight necklace was now gone, flew out of her bed immediately. Even half asleep, she was fast when she threw back the covers and bolted for the little bit of shadow left in her bedroom. She was halfway there when she realized she wasn't in any pain, despite wearing only an oversized t-shirt and nothing else. There were no burns on her arms, no burns on her legs. Blinking in confusion, she glanced down, took in her unmarred skin, then reached up instinctually. Her fingers touched the pendant of her daylight necklace. Even more confused, she twisted on her heel and saw that it was Damon by her windows. He was fiddling with the curtains, not even looking at her.

"Where did..." she trailed off, clutching at her daylight necklace for dear life. She hadn't realized how attached she was to it until it was gone. She had taken the fact that she could walk in the sun for granted, and she didn't plan on doing it again, especially since she had her daylight necklace back. She looked at Damon curiously, waiting for answers, and was a little surprised to find that she wasn't annoyed when he disappeared into her walk-in closet. Her room had stayed the same while she was gone; the place had even been kept clean, and she had found all her clothes smelled like laundry detergent rather than dust. She'd been so touched that she hadn't snapped at Damon all weekend—not that she had any urge to. That urge had gone away a long time ago.

"It showed up in the mailbox late last night, with a note saying good luck. Do I want to know what that's about?" Damon's voice was muffled in the closet, the sound of hangers sliding against wood somehow soothing. Rowan murmured that he probably didn't, and Damon came back out with an outfit in hand. He threw it on the bed, then grinned brightly at her. Rowan raised her eyebrows. "C'mon, red riding hood, chop, chop. It's your first day of school!" Rowan's eyebrows climbed higher.

"What?" she asked, bewildered.

"Your senior year!" Damon took her by the shoulders and shook her gently, and Rowan was too bewildered to push his hands away. He wasn't acting like himself, far too bright and cheerful, and Rowan idly realized he was doing it for her benefit. She wondered why. "How exciting."

"You've got to be joking," she said flatly, though she went over the bed to look over the outfit he had picked out. It was simple, much to her relief. She wasn't really in the mood to do a cute hairstyle or elaborate makeup.

"Absolutely not," Damon denied, releasing her shoulders to go to her vanity. He picked up the hairbrush there, then came back and tried to brush through the bit of tangled hair thrown over her shoulder. She knocked his hand aside and took the brush from him with a scowl. He planted his hands on his hips. "I'm not about to deal with you crying in your room forever. Get dressed. And before you ask, yes, I took care of everything school related. You passed last year with straight A's and a perfect attendance record. You're welcome." Rowan opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head.