Stone Cold ❖ Salvatore [1]

ONE

CHAPTER ONE
❝ROMAN HOLIDAY❞

Dear Diary,
    Here I am at 5:30 in the morning, awake and scared. I keep telling myself it's just that I'm all messed up from the time difference between Colorado and here. But that doesn't explain why I feel so scared. So lost.

    The day before yesterday, while Aunt Jenna, Jeremy, Elena and I were driving back from the airport, I had such a strange feeling. When we turned onto our street I suddenly thought, "Mom and Dad are waiting for us at home. I bet they'll be on the front porch or in the living room looking out the window. They must have missed me so much."

    I know. That sounds totally crazy. My parents have been dead since last spring.

    But even when I saw the house and the empty front porch I still felt that way. I ran up the steps and I tried the door and knocked with the knocker. And when Aunt Jenna unlocked the door, I burst inside and just stood in the foyer listening, expecting to hear Mom coming down the stairs or Dad calling from the den.

     Just then Aunt Jenna let a suitcase crash down on the floor behind me and sighed a huge sigh and said, "We're home." And Jeremy scoffed. And the most horrible feeling I've ever felt in my life came over me. I've never felt so utterly and completely lost.

    Home. I'm home. Why does that sound like a lie?

    I was born here in Mystic Falls. I've always lived in this house, always. This is my same old bedroom, with the scorch marks on the floorboards where Caroline, Elena, and I tried to sneak in cigarettes in 5th grade and nearly choked ourselves. I can look out the window and see the big quince tree Matt and the guys climbed up to crash mine and Elena's birthday slumber party two years ago. This is my bed, my chair, my dresser.

    But right now everything looks strange to me, as if I don't belong here. It's me that's out of place. And the worst thing is that I feel there's somewhere I do belong, but just can't find it.

    -Elektra Gilbert

    I stopped writing. I stared at the last line I had written and then shook my head, pen hovering over the small book with the green velvet cover. Then, with sudden gesture, I lifted my head and threw the pen and book at the big bay window, where they bounced off harmlessly and landed on the upholstered window seat.

    It was all so completely ridiculous.

    I stood up and angrily thrust my arms into a red silk kimono. I didn't even glance at the elaborate Victorian mirror above the cherry wood dresser; I knew what I'd see. Elektra Gilbert, cool and burnet and slender. Who just now had an unaccustomed scowl on her face and a pinch to her mouth.

    A hot bath and some coffee and I'll calm down, I thought. The morning ritual of washing and dressing was soothing, and I dawdled over it, sorting through my new outfits. I finally chose a pale rose top and white linen shorts combo that made me look like a raspberry sundae. Good enough to eat, I thought, and the mirror showed a girl with a secret smile. My earlier fears had melted away, forgotten.

    I ran the brush one more time through my silky hair and made sure there were no flyaway hairs sticking up. Then I grabbed my backpack and went down the stairs.

    In the kitchen, my twin sister, Elena, was setting her brown leather jacket onto the dark wooden kitchen table before she made her way over to the coffee pot, and Aunt Jenna was sifting through the food-stocked fridge. Aunt Jenna was the sort of woman who always looked vaguely flustered; she had a thin, mild face and light blond flyaway hair pushed back untidily. I landed a peck on her cheek.