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❝ you don't really get over your past. you just learn how to bury it. how to silence it. how to walk away from it. move on from it. ❞
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HAVE YOU EVER LOVED SOMEONE TO THE POINT OF SELF DESTRUCTION? It is a horrible fate. It is an unpleasant fate. It is a repugnant fate. It makes you so vulnerable. It opens up your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can tear you apart from the inside out. You build up all of these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor so that nothing can hurt you. But in the end, you only hurt yourself.
Because one stupid person—no different from any other stupid person—wanders into your even more stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. But you did anyway because love takes hostages. It gets inside of you. It guts you and leaves you crying in the darkness. So a simple phrase like maybe we should just be friends turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. But deep into your very soul, deep enough to tear you apart. Enola despised love.
"So Klaus is back?" Damon scowled.
"Technically Klaus never left," Enola said.
Enola sat in the Mystic Grill alongside Damon. She had intended to enjoy a peanut butter blast—with whipped cream on the bottom—all by herself when he arrived. He was already half drunk from his stash at home. He was probably only here because he had run out of booze and Alaric was no longer there to supply it.
"You have got to be kidding me," Damon snarled. "We just got rid of him."
"You should be thankful," Enola said. "If he died, you would too."
"Are you actually concerned about me?" Damon pushed. "Or is it Klaus?"
"Doesn't matter," Enola huffed. "I heard that Klaus left town."
"Sucks for you," Damon chuckled. "Considering you're in love with the douche."
"I'm not in love with Klaus," Enola was definitely in love with Klaus. She was no idiot. She knew this feeling all too well. She just refused to admit it because admitting it would make it real and she didn't want it to be real.
"Seats taken," Damon spoke suddenly. Sheriff Forbes stood behind the barstool Alaric once occupied. She slid a newspaper article over to him with a flat look on her face. He lifted the article in his hands and read the headline. "Faulty gas line leads to tragic explosion at Young farm. Really?"
