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CHAPTER FOUR / ACT ONE
The Price of Freedom
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Gwen had slept on the couch that night as she failed to find the strength to move from her couch to the guest bedroom. The paralyzing weight of guilt had prevented her from moving a muscle since then and she had no intention of moving any time soon. Only very few times had she spoken, as she gave one worded responses to the youngest Salvatore whenever he checked up on her, but nothing more than that.
The dark curtains draped over the windows, preventing the light from entering the living room where she rested peacefully. The house was deafeningly quiet, but she could still hear the faint sounds of birds chirping in the distance. Her eyes wandered around the room, examining each and every last object over and over again until her eyes tired out.
Hesitantly, she rose from the satin pillow underneath her head and took a look around the empty room. She'd been awake for half an hour now, silent and still. The brunette tucked her long loose strands of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat.
She couldn't help but remember the conversation with Damon the night before. The way she openly admitted to her enjoyment of draining the life out of that man. When they returned home from the Mystic Grill, she couldn't bring herself to cry. After all, she wasn't the victim. She wasn't the one who deserved to mourn, it was the family of the man who's life she selfishly took.
After hours of suppressing her emotions, she began to feel numb, weak, and lonely though none of that seemed to matter at this point.
Snapping out of her trance, the sound of footsteps against the hollow wooden floors echoed through the room. Shooting her head in the direction of the commotion, her eyes met Stefan's.
"Morning." He continued further into the living room and dropped down on the couch beside her. "Did you sleep well?"
Gwen's mouth opened slightly, trying to form words that just didn't happen to come to mind. "I-I barely slept at all."
