Death opens || Vampire Diaries [S1]

Chapter 5: Conversation Among the Ruins

Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic:
With such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate,
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?

⁂

DAMON

Stefan's room is like a damn mausoleum. A dead and dying display of all his broody little mementos—their bones scattered across any surface gracious enough to lay horizontally and some that aren't. Every memory with even the shabbiest scrap of debris is devotedly elegized in word or tchotchke. Even the terrible ones. Hell, especially the terrible ones. I've skimmed through enough of his journals to know his self-loathing martyr complex demands he meticulously document every single one of his many and varied mistakes, and yet somehow that novelization of guilt only ever spurs him to greater heights of exhausting, self-righteous regret—the very thing that catapults him off the fucking wagon every. Single. Time.

I eye the coatrack branching up and out from the creaking floorboards to my right, dust so thick it's like a second coat of paint—a breeding ground for the dust bunnies burrowing between the cheap strands of his seemingly endless supply of hoodies—and my lips twist in distaste. It's grotesque, this habit of his. It's like he's a German monk in the dark ages, and these little knick-knacks are his hair shirt and flail. What the hell is the point of this self-torture? All it does is ensure he remains drowning at the bottom of his own misery—easy pickings when blood and unquenchable thirst offers him an escape.

But while he's still collecting sober chips like sand dollars from the ocean floor, there's always his Band-Aid of choice: blaming big bad brother Damon and his unencumbered stride. Because not wearing my guilt like concrete shoes dragging me under—because understanding the wisdom of keeping the past behind me—makes me the monster, right? No matter that Ripper Stefan's list of sins is about a thousand miles past mine. Still, we'll let him live that pipedream a little longer. Today, I actually do have something to apologize for. Maybe.

"Rise and shine, Stefan!" I call as I push further into his room, noting with zero surprise the chaotic state of his bed sheets, which explains why he's still 'asleep' at this time of morning. Probably spent the whole night tossing and turning in time with his mental guilt gymnastics. The contortions required to make my choices his fault must have been exhausting. Good thing I come bearing gifts, I think, as I extend a mug full of Bambi-juice to him in offering. "You'll be late for school."

He sits up so fast it's like Doc Frankenstein plugged him into the wall—eyes wild, clothes disheveled, and yet the hair helmet somehow still perfectly shaped. Does he ever wash that gel out? "What are—what are you doing?" he asks, staring warily at the mug in my hand like he's waiting for it to sprout teeth and pounce. Too late for that, Stef. I saved you the trouble.

I smirk, give him a little eyebrow action, and say, "Peace offering." Predictably, he gives me the brush off, but at least he gets out of bed to do it.

"Come on, you need it for blood circulation," I tease as he turns his back to me. "Does dead flesh good." I drop the smile when all I receive for my efforts is a blank stare. "Stefan, she's not even dead!" I reason, frankly more than a little annoyed at the thundercloud of heavy eyebrows being levelled at me.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," he retorts coldly, practically stomping toward the bathroom.

"What makes you say that?" I ask with a lightness I don't feel. There's entirely too much self-loathing in his black gaze for my comfort. "Z told you that was the plan, remember?"

"That's not the point," he says, frustrated.

"Then what is?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. As always, his moral indignation and righteous fury are only superficially aimed at big brother. The real monster, in his waterlogged chest at any rate, is himself. Everything that I do—every 'evil' deed, every violent act—he lays at his own feet. Because, after all, it was his choice that 'unleashed' me on this world, wasn't it?