The curse of the Salvatores

A Wednesday morning

Elena refused to open her eyes. She felt the warmth on her face from the sun sneaking through the blinds. Slowly, careful not to stir herself up from this half-asleep state, she turned towards it. It felt so right bathing herself in the sun, so alive and natural. She couldn't imagine now that there was a time when a mere glimpse of the same nurturing sunlight would have instantly turned her into a pile of ashes. But many years passed since. Looking back, it felt like a bad fever dream that she got stuck in for some reason, consuming every moment of her life. 

Back then she never would have dared to dream about a safe and happy life. It was something that stayed with her way passed those troubled years. It was like an itch that she carried around everywhere. A pit in her stomach, waiting for something bad to happen.

With her eyes still closed, she took a deep breath. The comforting scent of her home embraced her like a soft blanket. Elena could not have pinpointed the time when the fears and worries disappeared from her life. They must have just faded away over the years, time replacing them with wisdom and a sense of security that her experiences left behind.

She smiled and inhaled deeply again, still forcing her eyes shut despite the sun tickling her face.

A sleepy groan could be heard from the other side of the bed, and Elena felt the blankets shifting. Another body gently pressed against hers, as her husband's arm slid over her waist cuddling her in his sleep. Elena turned to face Damon's direction, scooping closer to him until she felt the warm breath on her neck and his rough curls tickled her cheek. It felt so calm like this, Elena wouldn't have minded if they never woke up again.

Damon kissed her softly. The sunspot on his face woke him too.

"Good morning sunshine..." He muttered, and Elena did not have to open her eyes to know he was smiling. From the voice, she could picture his face as clear as day. The lines that appeared in the corner of his mouth and around his eyes over the years. The mop of dark curls, with some white hinted in them here and there already. And his eyes. Where the coldness got replaced by warmth with time, but still she would sometimes catch them glowing the same way they did back when they were young, restless, and against the world.

Elena loved the wrinkles. She loved them on herself as well as on her husband. Every time she looked in the mirror they reminded her of her greatest achievement: She was alive. 

Gently she ran her fingers down Damon's cheek, peaking through her eyelashes.

"Good morning to you too..." She whispered curling up against him, hoping this way she could fight the ludicrous idea of getting out of bed a little longer. They laid there in perfect silence holding each other for what they both wished to be just five more minutes than it was.

"MOOOMM!" A scream from downstairs stirred them up. Damon groaned again, a bit whinier this time, knowing perfectly well what usually follows the screaming.

Sure enough, a second later a seven-year-old boy, seemingly on the verge of tears busted into the bedroom, waving his arm in the air.

"Lucas scratched me!" He announced, pointing to a thin scar on his wrist. An older boy, about twelve came running right behind him. He was clutching the TV remote and glared at his brother angrily. 

"Did not!" He snapped, determined to argue his chase.

To that the younger boy's face turned red, and he finally managed to start a loud and dramatic cry, but without any tears. Sobbing, he climbed into the bed and squeezed himself in between his parents, burying his face in Elena's nightgown.

"Come on, Ricky, you're fine! Stop crying!" Demanded Lucas, trying to avoid his mother's disappointed look.

"What can you possibly fight over this early in the morning?!" Asked Damon with a painful expression, partially out of annoyance, and partially because Ricky pushed his knee into his side when he was climbing over him.