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❝ i have seen over ten cockroaches since we got here. ❞
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ENOLA HAD SURVIVED THE WORST. She had climbed mountains too high, been thrown into rivers too deep, fallen upon rocks too sharp, and traversed across hills too steep. She had entered battlefields inside, fought wars in her mind, and defeated thoughts armed with swords that aim to dismantle each brave try. She had trudged through quicksand, all on her own, with legs of lead, an empty cup, and only a tiny thread of hope. She had her soul torn, her heart worn, and her spirit drawn. Yet despite every fall, every tear stain, and every night of seemingly endless disdain—she rose up and reignited her flame. Despite how weak her bones are, she continued to fight again and again.
Enola had survived the worst through and through. But she didn't know if she had it in her to survive this road trip to Chicago with Damon and Elena. Especially when she was so worried for Caroline who she hadn't been able to get in contact with for over a week. She was wondering why she was the only one who seemed to be worried about it. With the world they lived in, she figured that everyone would automatically be on their guard. Their friend was missing. And instead of actually looking for said friend, she was on a trip to Chicago with two of the biggest pains in her ass.
"It's me again. I have called, texted, and gone to your house. I am officially worried." Enola spoke into the phone. "Call me when you get this."
"Voicemail again?" Damon hummed, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Maybe she is getting sick of you. You have been spending too much time together."
"Maybe we should go back. Something could seriously be wrong." Enola suggested, ignoring the bitterness that was being sent her way.
"Caroline is probably fine. The same cannot be said for Stefan." Damon reminded, glancing at Elena in the passenger seat. "Speaking of . . . I sure hope we find him. It would suck if the last memento of Stefan was that crappy old necklace."
"It's an antique, Damon." Elena scowled at the insult. "Just like you."
"Read this," Damon spoke, reaching into the glovebox to pull out a journal of sorts. "It paints a pretty little picture of Stefan's first experience in Chicago."
"It's his diary," Elena realized, handing it back immediately. "I'm not gonna invade his private thoughts."
"Don't mind if I do," Enola smirked, reaching forward to snatch the diary out of her sister's hands.
"Enola!" Elena scolded as her sister began to flip through the journal as if it was a storybook written for very dumb children.
"You need to be prepared for what you're about to see," Damon continued.
