☆═━ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ━═☆
Most people think that love doesn't stand the test of time – that it is eternal only as long as it lasts – but love is an unquenchable flame. It is only the fires of momentary desire that burn too fast and go out far too quickly without leaving behind a single trace.
That's what most love books said, didn't they?
Teenage girls would usually be amazed by such wordings, Charlotte never was though. She was living them and to her; the epic romances only mirrored her life and Stefan's, just much more real.
Listening to Stefan's advice, Charlotte decided to keep a diary years ago after her father's death, to pour out her feelings there for he understood that she couldn't tell him everything she had felt after losing her father.
She might not have kept it updated daily but she tried, memories weren't so important for her, in fact, feelings topped that.
The Bernards were known for their compassion, wealth and insanely beautiful looks but never underestimate their intelligence. Once it had been known through Mystic Falls' founding families that Vampires exist and are striking; Emmett Bernard, Charlotte's uncle, called in a family meeting.
"The town knows that it can confide in Howard and Jason, as for you my dearest daughters, I would be relieved if you limit your leaves and stay inside where those demons can not come in without an invitation," Emmett told his sons, daughters, and nieces as they all nodded respectfully.
"Do we know how bad things could get?" Charlotte asked nervously.
Her uncle sighed, nodding his head, "Vampires would be in control of our town and it would rain blood...quite literally."
Charlotte frowned, worry covering her features. She was beyond worried for all of her friends, Stefan, Paulina, Angelina, Damon, and maybe even Katherine, for, after all, she was a poor orphan.
The Bernard family meeting was interrupted by a door knock and Charlotte visibly gasped, surprised before she and her cousin, Jason, went to open the door.
They found Jonathan and Paulina Gilbert at the door, both visibly shook and worried, "There's been another death," Jonathan informed them, walking in as Paulina, Charlotte, and Jason followed him.
Charlotte looked to Paulina, noticing her unaffected state, while Jonathan was a ranting mess but Paulina always knew how to keep her emotions in check which was one of the reasons why Angelina and Charlotte always relied on her.
"What happened?" Charlotte asked in a whisper as she went to stand beside her best friend.
Paulina patted Charlotte's back, "Don't worry, it's okay. They will figure it out."
"Lina."
Paulina sighed sadly before she fessed up, "Henry was found dead."
Charlotte's eyes widened as her hands reached up to her mouth, tears already falling down her cheeks, "No...where's Angelina...Does she know..?"
Paulina shook her head, hugging Charlotte, "We will get to her in the morning, don't worry but we can't go now. It's a great risk."
Charlotte pulled away, "But I need to go out tonight."
"What? No, the Vampires are in their best at night, I am not allowing you to put yourself in such danger, Charlotte," Paulina frowned, shaking her head vigorously.
"Stefan is waiting for me, Lina..."
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Highly sensitive people were too often perceived as weaklings or damaged goods. To feel intensely was not a symptom of weakness, it was the trademark of the truly alive and compassionate. It was not the empath who was broken, it was the society that had become dysfunctional and emotionally disabled.
Charlotte was quite the sensitive one, from her first days in life and probably to her last ones. Everyone close to her knew that. They usually chose their wordings around the cute brunette, carefully.
Stefan, though, he knew that the most. He had been with her through thick and thin, when her father passed away, he was there to help her move on and past the pain. When her older sister, Emmeline, got married; he was there to comfort her as she felt empty with one of her favorite sibling's disappearance.
She had always trusted him more than anything, even more than herself sometimes. He knew her like the back of his hand and she never questioned that.
Which was why the heartbreak stroke her like lighting.
Charlotte had hardly convinced Paulina to help her sneak out, but she just had to see Stefan. They never bailed on a meet up with one another, and then wouldn't be any different.
"Charlotte," She turned around, hearing Stefan's smooth voice, consequently a beaming smile reappeared on her face.
"Stefan," She ran up to him with open arms, and as she wrapped her arms around him in a sweet embrace, he stiffened. Charlotte frowned in confusion as she pulled back, to make sure her lover was fine.
"What's wrong?"
"Charlotte, I am sorry but...we shouldn't be seeing each other," Stefan said and Charlotte raised her eyebrows.
"What?" She muttered, her voice barely audible, "Stefan, this isn't a matter to joke about."
Stefan shook his head, taking her hands off of his, "I am not joking, Charlotte. I don't feel the same way that I used to do about you."
Charlotte blinked, stepping back, she couldn't believe her ears. It seemed like a nightmare, this couldn't have been her Stefan, it couldn't have been the nice boy who brought her flowers whenever she would be sick, it couldn't have been the boy who got her chocolates when she was moody or unbearable, it couldn't have been the boy that she was proud to call the love of her life.
"I am sorry, but I have found that we are better off as friends. My feelings for you were just those of a friend. I feel like I am truly loved when I am with Katherine...," Stefan continued and by the time he was done, Charlotte was in tears.
Stefan gently tapped her shoulder as she looked at him neutrally, before he walked away.
Charlotte Bernard never knew what was it like to be truly broken, shattered, she thought that when those novel girls who fell on the ground, crying hysterically were probably overreacting.
Like her father always said, one must try all.
Heartbreak wasn't on the list and if it had been, Stefan shouldn't have been the reason why she was sat on the grass, silently crying her heart out to no one.
The one who had been always there to heal her was the one who took the best shot at shattering her forever, thousands of poems and novels could never explain Charlotte's heartache. She felt lost, foreign, stranded, vulnerable; everything she had felt the night her father died, just twice the pain with much more intended force.
"Why am I bound to feel people's heartaches but nobody ever cares for my own...," She cried out, in hoarse mutters, holding her face in her hands.
Perhaps that was what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching.
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