Forever Is Not Enough

Rose

Frederick County, Virginia

Damon Salvatore was acutely aware of the regret that he carried around for the majority of his life. A hundred times since he had arrived at camp, he had wished upon everything and anything that he could go back on his word to join the army. He had closed his eyes every night in his little tent as he tried to swaddle himself in his rough blankets and prayed that he would wake up in his own, warm bed, or at the very least, dry. He silently chided himself every time he had to force down the hard bread - Ric called it 'tack' - he was given for every meal. He yearned to retrace every one of his steps backward through time until he was facing Elena, and when she begged him to stay, he would.

There were things he regretted before the army that would still come back to overtake his thoughts, as well. He hated himself every day when he thought of his father. Although he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that Giuseppe Salvatore declared his very existence a nuisance, he still regretted it, whatever it was. In the same thought, he hated his own disdain for himself. He could never understand where this fear and loathing inside him came from.

Damon had lamented many of his decisions in his life, but he would never say he regretted Fell's Church. His time at camp was spent in a constant, surreal state where nothing ever changed, so when he was woken by the gruff voice of a man and strong hands trying to pull him out of his tent by the feet, he feared the worst. He was already praying that whoever it was would kill him quickly, when his face finally met Ric's as he wrestled him onto the dirt.

"Bastard!" Damon choked, falling backwards. He'd been so scared it didn't even occur to him that his father would have his mouth sewn shut if he heard him using that kind of language.

"Come on, kid," Ric said, ignoring the remark, "ain't got the time to throw fits, now." Damon rubbed the side of his arm, which was the only thing that seemed to be injured in the scuffle, but it only felt like a bruise. Ric rolled his eyes at the gesture and pulled him to his feet by the bruised spot. "I don't listen to anyone whine unless it's because someone's corset is too tight and they're just dying to get out of it. Now, grab that bottle of whiskey you're hiding and let's go."

"Where are we going?" Damon asked as Ric began to pull him in to the dark line of the trees that bordered the camp.

"Shh," Ric insisted.

Damon did as he was told and lowered his head to the ground to make sure he didn't fall. The liquor sloshed around inside its glass and he was sad to have to use it. He'd been drinking a little every night to help him fall asleep, but if he knew Ric, that wasn't going to be an option anymore. Once they were a safe distance from the camp, Ric slowed and Damon realized he heard voices. He grabbed for his pistol, but Ric only relaxed. "You ever been out this late?" he asked.

Damon shook his head no. "Where would I go? Nothing is open."

Ric laughed, a little too loud, and shook his head, but before Damon could repeat his question, they were approaching a group of men standing by a tree. It took a moment, but Damon realized that all of them were from camp too. "You get the horses?" Ric asked.

A short man who was eyeing the bottle in Damon's hand nodded. "Tied 'em up on the outskirts o' the woods."

Damon squared his shoulders as he prepared to ask one more time, agreeing with himself that if he didn't receive an answer, then he would stop asking. "Where are we going?"

"Fell's Church," Ric explained, "is a town just a few miles away from here. I try to go there at least once every time we stay in Frederick's."

"What do you go there for?"

Damon looked around gingerly as all of the men began to snicker. Have they brought me here as a trick? He thought. "I don't understand," he said out loud.