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❝ hate me. hurt me. then forgive me. ❞
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ENOLA CANNOT REMEMBER EVER FEELING THIS TIRED. Not that satisfying kind from hard work or good exercise, but the type that cements you to the bed while your mind is racing and everything feels like too much. The train that is on her healing journey keeps stopping to attach new cars—new things to grieve, new things to process and fight through—when she hasn't even finished dealing with things from just days prior. She is exhausted. And this isn't depression. She was actually starting to catch her breath a bit. The sunny days down here grew longer, temperature rising, a certain lightness barely beginning to creep into her bones after a seemingly long winter.
Enola had thought about death frequently. Like all sane human beings she struggled to deal with sudden loss and now is different only in that it is worse than anything she has felt before. Couple that with being forced to not exert because physical activity could potentially kill her at any given moment and her poor brain can't handle that.
Enola alternated between being numb and feeling it all so acutely that it causes a loop of grief then a shutdown with a dash of anxiety thrown in for spice. Her back refuses to break no matter how many straws life places on it, so she is forced to live with more weight that she hasn't learned to carry yet. It is suffocating, but she somehow keeps breathing. She is not programmed to give up. It is not in her dna. She would say it is too much, but she wakes up each day and goes through the motions of living, which is certainly something. Maybe the motions will start to mean more with each passing day and will become more than a reflex. She is not a quitter, she just wants to rest no matter how brief it is. But while living under the same roof as Elena Gilbert, that is proven to be nearly impossible.
Enola had been shot thanks to Elena. And while there was nothing Jeremy could do to ease her pain besides holding her hand, Stefan had to dig out the bullet fragments before finally healing her. She had locked herself in her room ever since, not wanting to talk to anyone. It wasn't until one in the morning, when she was sure everyone was asleep, that she headed downstairs for something to eat. However, her plans were foiled when she entered the kitchen to find her sister.
"Oh," Enola glared.
Elena gasped before whipping around to face Enola. She wore a horrified look on her face as she backed into the counter. Her chest rose and fell in a panic as her eyes widened the size of saucers. It was almost as if she had seen a ghost.
"You're not here," Elena breathed. "I am dreaming. I have to be."
"What the hell is your problem?" Enola frowned in confusion.
