Elena Gilbert's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Elena found Damon at the far end of the pub, alone in the wood-paneled corner where the regulars never sat. A bottle of amber bourbon stood beside his glass. He was the one who had burned her family journal and then told her the truth to her face. The one who looked at her when Stefan wouldn't. She sat down across from him. Outside the windows, low fog pressed against the glass. "You left my brother," Damon said. He didn't look surprised. He filled the glass and slid it toward her. "Word travels." "I need to ask you something." Elena wrapped her hand around the glass but didn't drink. "You've watched me since the graveyard. You said you waited a hundred and forty-five years. But you didn't wait for me." Damon's jaw tightened. He didn't answer. "You wait for someone who looks like me," Elena said. "Same brown hair. Same eyes. When you look at me, tell me. Am I here, or is she?" The pub noise carried on around them. A kid ran past the bar. A waitress called an order. Damon turned the bottle slowly on the table. "Her name was Catherine," he said. Short. Blunt. "I loved her before your grandmother was born. When I first saw you, yes. I saw her face." Elena's chest went cold. She started to stand. "Sit down." His voice cracked open. "I'm not finished." She waited. "Catherine lied every day I knew her," Damon said. "She played me against Stefan and laughed about it. You told my brother the truth and walked out. Catherine never once did that." He met her eyes. "You stirred your soda and asked yourself hard questions. She never asked herself anything." "That's not proof," Elena said. "No." He pushed the bottle aside so nothing sat between them. "Here's proof. I burned that journal to keep you out of the ritual. To keep you alive. I didn't do that for a memory. A memory can't get hurt." Elena's breath caught. She studied his face and saw no game there. Just a man who had said something he'd held for over a century. "Ask me her eye color," Damon said. "What?" "Catherine's. Right now I can't picture it." He almost smiled. "I can only see yours." Elena believed him. The knot in her chest loosened. For the first time she felt seen, not measured against a dead woman. She drank from the glass and set it down. "Okay," she said. "Then it's you." But as she said it, the fog outside shifted at the window. A blond shape stood in it, still, watching them through the glass. Stefan. He had followed her. And now he knew exactly who she had chosen.