'love?' when you live as long I have, 'love' is a surprisingly rare occurrence, something that many would have given up on. Yet, as I look into the eyes of the man in front of me - his innocent blue eyes filled with hope of what life holds and fear...
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Oh, darling, You will never be unloved by me. You are too well tangled in my soul.
Locker Rooms
Isabella stood at the end of the dimly lit corridor, the faint glow of the overhead lights casting long shadows around her. The air was heavy with anticipation, each moment weighed down by the burden of impending doom. She watched as Damon finished his call with Elena, his back turned toward her, his figure silhouetted against the dimness of the hallway. His shoulders were tense, his posture rigid, as if he bore the weight of the world upon them.
Suddenly, he seemed to freeze, his expression one of shock as he murmured "real soon" into the phone before abruptly ending the call. The tension in the air was palpable, the silence deafening as Isabella's heart pounded in her chest.
In her hand, Isabella clutched a bottle of bourbon, the glass cool against her trembling fingers. Each step she took felt like an eternity, the echoes of her footfalls reverberating in the empty corridor. Her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of the losses she had endured.
She had just witnessed the death of her brother, Klaus, right in front of her eyes, and the helplessness of that moment still haunted her. Now, the impending doom that loomed over Damon added another layer of grief she could barely stand.
Drawing a deep breath, Isabella began to walk toward Damon. Her steps were slow, deliberate, each one echoing in the silence of the corridor. She stopped a fair distance from him, lifting the bottle slightly as if toasting to the sorrow they shared.
"I'm here," she whispered, her voice barely audible but carrying the weight of her emotions. Damon's eyes met hers with a mixture of surprise and confusion. He didn't remember them, of course—she had compelled him to forget her existence, to protect him from the pain of their shared past. But she remembered him. She remembered everything. And she couldn't bear the thought of him facing his final moments alone.
She took a step closer, her gaze never leaving his. "You can talk to me, or not, but I am here." Damon's eyes softened, a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps, or just an understanding—passing over his features. He took a hesitant step toward her, then another, until they were standing just a breath apart.
He reached out, his hand brushing against hers, a silent acknowledgment of her presence. In that moment, the corridor seemed to shrink around them, the weight of the world lifting just slightly as they shared the burden of their grief. Isabella's heart ached with the knowledge that she might not be able to save him, but she was determined to stay by his side, to be his anchor in the storm.
As they stood there, bathed in the dim light, the bottle of bourbon between them a symbol of their shared sorrow, Isabella knew that whatever happened next, she would face it. She had lost too much already. But she refused to lose him.
