Barely A Memory

Chapter 14

XXXX

Stefan's eyes popped open, and he gasped out loudly. Why was he standing up? Baffled, he looked around, quickly identifying the location as his room. When had he gotten here? Who brought him here? Had he walked here himself?

Quickly, he reached for the back of his head, feeling a gentle throb. When had that happened? Nothing was making sense. Every thought seemed so heavy, so separated, so—

"Hello, Stefan." He jumped, and quickly turned around, searching for the source of the voice. When he did, his eyes came in swift contact with Elena's, and he sighed in relief, instinctually stepping a little closer.

"Elena," he sighed out, swallowing thickly. Now, his heart felt heavy. Wasn't he supposed to be mad at her? He couldn't remember. "What happened to me?"

She smiled brightly at him, and his eyebrows knitted together. "You're dead, Stefan," she said simply, matter-of-factly. "You're dead. Just like you wanted." Gently, with a look that almost resembled pride, she placed a soft hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations," she smiled.

He froze. "Dead? What do you mean?" He didn't understand. He felt alive enough. "What are you talking—"

"It's okay, Stefan," she said. "You just have to drink human blood, and you'll live forever. You can turn it off. That's what you wanted, right? You don't have to care about me." Once again, she grinned.

Nothing was making sense, and he could hardly think, but what she was saying felt kind of right, because it was Elena and he loved her and she was always kind of right... and she was human, so he slowly reached for her wrist. "How do I... get to it? The blood?" he asked nervously, hesitantly staring into her shimmering brown eyes.

"Oh!" She started laughing then, as if she had just remembered a joke that he was not in on. "It's not my blood you're supposed to drink." Then where was he going to get human blood from? Eyes full of puzzlement, he shrugged at her, and Elena, still laughing, pulled him closer and kissed his lips. Hers were cold and sort of sweet, and when he pulled away and opened his eyes, they were in an office, lit by candles and gasoline lamps. "It's his." Face blank, he looked to the ground, his gaze immediately falling on the man who was struggling on the ground. There was a piece of wood coming out of his stomach. Instantly, Stefan's entire body filled with remorse, regret, guilt.

So much guilt.

But then, he was too distracted by the scent that seemed to emanate from this man's wound, and his eyes were unable to leave the red, potent liquid that was beginning to pool on the floor. He needed it; this incredible potion was oxygen, and he'd been holding his breath his entire life. It held a power over him, a deep, dark lure that he did not want to fight. He should have wanted to fight this desire; he knew that... but he didn't. He didn't want to fight it at all. He just wanted it.

So, entranced, Stefan grabbed the piece of wood, running his fingers along it, admiring the way the blood seemed to stain his fingers and shine just like that when the light hit it a certain way. It was art. Morbid art. Not morbid to him. Maybe it should have been. It wasn't at all.

So, he closed his eyes and brought it to his lips, immediately feeling his senses explode. It was... ambrosia.

And so, he went back for more, despite the man's disgusted groans. Stefan cried out when he felt a sharp pain at his gums, but it did not stop him for more than a moment, and before he could even comprehend what was going on, he dug his fangs into the man's neck. Soon, he was dead, and with a content sigh, Stefan looked down and analyzed his victim.

He knew that man. That man, the man he'd brutally killed... was his father.

And just like that, the dried blood on the floor and the walls was no longer so beautiful. Stefan's stomach twisted as he released an agonized cry, pushing himself away. He hit the door, pulling his knees to his chest.