Unconditional is a thing of the past
I shifted in bed, my hand hovering over to the other side to find it empty as the reality settled in. The reality that now threatened to barge in through our world of recently fabricated lies. I had hoped for too long, prayed for longer for us to never end. But we just drifted apart, ever since that night that now haunted my dreams.
They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. But it put ours in misery. The stifling tension, the awkward smiles, the forced small talks followed by inevitable pauses of silences. I suffocated him by holding onto him; I could see it through the color of his eyes void of happiness, and could feel it in his precarious grip on my waist. I could hear it by the stagnant beating of his heart each time I put my ear to his chest, the usual fluttering long gone.
I understood it from the words of confession he uttered last night.
My heart always tried to coerce, stating all these thoughts as nothing but the ridiculous result of my imagination. But my mind was brave enough to face the reality. His happiness wasn’t with me anymore. No matter how much my heart crushed at the revelation, I decided to hold myself strong.
I could do this. I had to. For him.
So I sat upright, pulling the thin navy blue camisole in its place while a wave of shivers rolled down my spine. My fingers glided over the soft white sheets, reminding me of every moment I spent with him between them. Every moan of pleasure, every tickle of joy, every tear of sadness, every squeal in excitement.
Every moment that was slowly slipping away.
I heard the sharp sound of water from the bathroom to my left. Our bathroom. Where we spent countless minutes pleasuring and consoling, laughing and teasing. Every minute that now seemed unattainable. I could relive it but could no longer recreate it.
I cleared my throat, refocusing my insolent heart to the task in hand. I only had fifteen minutes before he’d step out, clad in nothing but a towel wrapped around low on his waist, the pale skin glimmering under the growing sunlight, his hair in wet clumps yet gorgeous, the mischief in his blue eyes making me shiver.
I shook my head feverishly, reprimanding myself for straying my thoughts. Oh, but how could I not, when every inch of this place reminded me of him. Of us.
I pushed away the comfy duvet, tiptoeing my way to the sleek wooden wardrobe on my right. He had insisted on black wood while I had persuaded him for sliding doors with metallic handles. I smiled faintly at the memory of when we went furniture shopping for our home, a warm feeling of belongingness I’ll never experience again.
I silently retrieved a maroon colored suitcase from the back of the cupboard, and hastily filled it with all my belongings. Every dress he had complimented me in, every top he passionately pulled me out of. My hands came to a halt when they held onto a black button down.
His shirt.
A shirt that smelt of mint and spice and musk and something uniquely him. A shirt his eyes darkened at whenever he found it donned by me. A shirt I was incapable of letting go.
And so I gently folded it, caressing every bit of it, watching a damp blot as a tear rolled down my cheek. I wiped the stream of tears off my face, well knowing they’d be my best friend for the next few months or years. Lifetimes? Maybe. However long it would take to get over him.
I tucked the shirt underneath all my other clothes, before dumping all my accessories from the bedroom dresser. I pulled out every photo frame of us decorated around the house, every moment of happiness and love we had captured over the past three years.
I had to make sure nothing could ever remind him of me, nothing could make him drown into the pool of pain and betrayal I had given him.
It was surprising to see how brisk my hands and feet were at packing, despite my crumbling heart and blurred vision.
I heard him turn the shower off the moment I took two suitcases to the door. I wore a random black coat, not bothered to get out of my pyjamas knowing I’d be hogging on ice-cream in a few hours. I positioned myself on the edge of the bed, barely sitting as my fingers fidgeted with each other in anxiety.
This was for the better.
I heard the bathroom door unlock, revealing the man I loved with all my heart in grey dress pants and a tucked in white shirt. I reminded myself it was a workday today, that he no longer looked forward to stolen moments of love, that he no longer wanted to make excuses for why he was late to work.
I looked up at him to find the first four buttons of his shirt open, the cuffs still unbuttoned and loose. The blue in his eyes still glimmered, the messy locks of black hair still made me smile. He had a slight stubble today as opposed to his usual clean shaven look.
He stopped doing his buttons to notice me and frowned, “Elena? Are you heading out somewhere?”
His voice sounded so distant, so detached. Like he remembered nothing from last night. I heaved a breath and nodded, my insides coursing with newfound determination of all the reasons this was right.
He began to say something more when his eyes found the two suitcases and his jaw tightened.
“What’s this?”
I stood up dubiously, fumbling through my words, “These are my bags, actually.”
He connected the dots all too soon, “You’re leaving me.”
His eyes reflected a flicker of fear as I gulped in guilt.
“I...you’re not happy with me. You don’t want me anymore.”
He bit out with a flail of arms, “What does that even mean?”
I walked up to him, my voice softer than I could imagine, “I love you.”
“I...I know.” He stuttered, hesitance spreading across his face as my lips curved into a grim smile.
“That’s why.” I rubbed his arm as I looked away.
“So you’re calling it quits.” He accused with his predatory glare.
“No...” I shut my eyes in despair.
“Three years, Elena. And you’re just letting go.”
“Please…” I pleaded, well aware of where this was going.
“You’re just leaving without a fight.” He raged on, provoking me.
“You didn’t have the courage to do that either!” I seethed.
His steps faltered, and for a second I felt swarmed by guilt. His lips curved inwards into a thin line, probably debating on a comeback when I continued, “We both know we’ve been walking on eggshells around each other for the past month. Ever since that night…”I gulped with great difficulty as tears threatened to spill.
“You won’t meet my eye. You won’t talk to me. I know I made a mistake, and I’m sorry. I’ve apologized a thousand times before and I’m saying this again, I’m sorry! You think it doesn’t hurt but it does! It hurt that night when you distanced me for the first time. I’ve been hurting ever since. It hurts seeing you hurt.”
He hung his head in shame, slightly shaking his head as he whispered, “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
I cupped his face, my thumbs rubbing soothingly over his ticklish stubble as I delved into the deepness of his orbs, “I know. That’s why I’m doing this.”
“No.” He clasped my wrists, the fear evident in his eyes as I broke.
“We can’t live like this.” I tried.
“Elena, it’s difficult. But I’ll get past this, I will.” He lied. I knew he had because it wasn’t what he had said last night.
I shook my head, “I don’t want to force this relationship on you. I don’t to be a burden on you. You’re not happy with me anymore. And nothing matters to me more than your happiness.”
He looked up, his orbs glistening yet reflecting a thousand emotions. Pain, regret, guilt. And under it all, our broken love.
“I love you and I always will. But this is something I need to do, for the both of us. It’s unfair to bind you in a love that’s only mine. You deserve someone who’ll keep you happy for the rest of eternity. And no matter how much I want, it’s not me.” I sobbed, tears streaming down my face.
This was my worst nightmare. And my biggest reality.
“Elena…” He whispered. In longing or in hatred, my thoughts were too jumbled and my heart was too crumbled to decipher.
Grabbing the bags, I head towards the main door, taking in our apartment and every memory we made with me. This was all I had, memories. Turning on my heel to the man I love with all my heart, I murmured, “Goodbye, Damon.”
And with that I shut the door behind me, simultaneously shutting a beautiful future I could never have.
“Elena, open the door.” A bang echoed through my empty apartment as I breathed against the door.
Moments after I realized the identity of my volunteer, I had scurried in, not sparing another glance before closing the door on his face. I did it three years ago. I could do it again too.
It had been three minutes. Three minutes since I had been huffing wildly. Three minutes since he had been knocking on the door consistently.
“Go away, Damon.” I lashed out, hating the way my voice broke at uttering his name.
It had been three years since I had voiced his name.
He stood silently for a minute, his anxious breaths echoing in my ears as he taunted, “Still running away like a coward?”
White rage blinded my eyes at his impertinence as I flung the main door open to a smirking Damon Salvatore, “Don’t you dare.”
I cursed myself for falling for his tricks again. Three years, and I still couldn’t tame my heart enough yet.
The smirk lessened to a grim expression as his eyes hovered over my belly, “You’re pregnant.”
I wrapped a protective arm around my still flat stomach, “Yes I am.”
His face contorted slightly in distaste, probably murmuring a string of curses as I took a deep breath, “You’re married.”
It seemed more of a question than a statement, a growing hope waiting to be crushed.
“Yes I am.” He shrugged casually as I felt my heart sink.
What was I expecting anyway? That he came back for me?
“Why are you here, Damon?” I sighed.
He spent a moment staring at me, his orbs rummaging from top to bottom and for a second I thought there was something wrong with me.
“I’m your Babymate. Apparently.”
“I never thought you'd volunteer on a platform like this.” I raised my brow quizzically.
“It was a ‘spur-of-a-moment’ decision.” He chuckled to himself, probably reminiscing a joyous incident as I stood across the threshold, hanging onto the door handle in wonderment.
“Anyways, I’ve got the experience, so I am eligible for this.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
My breath hitched at the revelation, “Experience?”
He met my eye and his jaw tightened, perhaps scolding himself for letting out too much.
“Yeah...I um, I have a son. With Katherine.” He said in a strained voice as I heaved a deep breath.
He had a son. He was a father. He loves his wife. How stupid was I to think he came for me? That he still felt something, anything for me?
“I...I don’t know what to say.” I blurted before composing myself, “I mean, congratulations, Damon.”
“Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he added, “he’ll turn two in four months.”
I barely nodded, unable to register this information. He had moved on. I had too, or what I thought I had until he barged into my life again, ready to create havoc. My insides felt on fire, in pain and guilt. Guilt that I made a mistake that drove us apart. Pain that he was happy, but not with me. I grimaced at myself for being so selfish, for wanting him to myself when I was the one who let him go. I suddenly felt light-headed, unable to balance myself on my two feet. Blood surged like adrenaline coursing through my veins, only this wasn’t out of excitement.
This was a stroke of nausea. Again.
I mentally groaned, not wanting to be vulnerable in front of him. Not when my life was so messed up. I felt my throat constrict, I heard myself gasp for breath. I could faintly hear him call out my name in concern but I held my hand in defense, indicating that I could take care of myself. I tried to keep my eyes open, the exhaustion wearing me out as I walked to the nearest sofa and grabbed a bottle of water. I guzzled down huge gulps, praying this would end as abruptly as it began. I felt a soothing rub on my back and leaned in to it, hearing faint murmurs.
I knew I had nothing to spit out since I hadn’t eaten anything other than breakfast. I could imagine Caroline scolding me for not taking proper care of myself, and could feel myself muttering words of assurance to my best friend.
My head hit the headrest of the sofa in a jerk as I felt a hand caressing my forehead. I didn’t want this. I couldn’t handle this.
My eyelids felt heavy, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. All I wanted was blackness to engulf me. And it did.
----------
I swallowed with a little difficulty, realizing how parched I was. I opened my eyes to a grey colored ceiling filled with a thousand glimmering spotlights. Shifting in my seat, I decided to hydrate myself only to find my hand burdened with something.
Or encompassed in something.
Damon sat next to me, his eyebrows perched in worry, his thumb drawing calm circles on the back of my hand. Surprise took over me at seeing him here before every new piece of information bombarded my head.
“How long was I out?” I managed to ask.
“Roughly ten minutes. I think you just needed to rest.” He answered and I nodded, straightening my back.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I formally acknowledged before slipping my hand away from his.
“No you’re not.” He denied immediately, stopping me from moving anywhere.
“You’re exhausted, Elena. You need to rest.”
“I am completely fine. It’s probably you coming here unannounced that threw me off guard, nothing else.” I muttered, looking away from his prying gaze.
“I don’t think so. You’re overburdening yourself with work.” His remark made me gasp.
“You spoke to Caroline?!”
Damon shrugged, “I needed to know a little bit about your patterns. Her number was the only emergency contact. Only, I found that out after dialing in.” He feigned fear as I shook my head.
“This was a ‘spur-of-the-moment’ decision too. Look, I’m capable of taking care of myself, you don’t need to bother about this.” Anything was better than spending nine months baring my heart open with Damon Salvatore.
“Elena, I’m not going anywhere. So why don’t you just stop with the excuses.” His eyes bored into mine as its intensity made my insides flutter. This was wrong. So utterly wrong.
Yet I couldn’t help myself from asking, “Why?”
His lips quivered for a bit, debating on a range of answers before delivering, “Company policy, can’t help it. So, shall we get on with discussing the terms of the contract?”
----------
The contract between
Elena Gilbert (client)
And
Damon Salvatore (volunteer)
I stared our names highlighted in bold, at the way our relationship was so void of emotion right now. The only thing binding us together was a written contract, not an eternal bond of love. Shifting in my seat, I watched Damon swiftly help himself to a glass of bourbon in one hand, while a glass of crystal clear water in the other.
I rolled my eyes as he approached the round mahogany dining table, sitting right across me as he passed me my glass, “You carry that around with you, right?”
He gave a knowing smirk before waggling his eyebrows, “In case of emergencies. Plus, I have a preference not many are willing to accommodate to, much less know about.”
I shook my head in mock despair before clearing my throat, “Ready?”
“Whenever you are.” He smiled, sending a nervous tingle down my back.
I gulped any remnants of feelings I ever felt for this man sitting in front of me, constantly reminding myself that he had a family. That he had moved on.
And I had too. Supposedly.
“The terms are fairly detailed, the non-negotiable ones at least.” I said after a brief skim through the contract before passing him his copy.
His brows furrowed as he flipped through the first few pages, humming a song I couldn’t quite identify. Figures.
“I can’t believe the database did not give you a copy of the contract. How would you know what you’re getting into?” I asked, breaking the companionable silence.
Not that I had bothered to read it beforehand. I was too occupied to open the document - had I done so, I would’ve been able to save us both from this imminent heartbreak.
“Well, they explained the gist. Somewhat. I guess that’s how they are, they don’t let the client choose the volunteer and don’t let the volunteer dictate terms.” He shrugged.
“Weird.” I snorted before turning a few pages ahead.
“Page 5 is when the negotiable terms begin, I think it’s best to start there.”
“With you.” He responded formally, his voice as smooth as velvet.
“You’re to stay at my place six days a week. Sundays are off, though you can be contacted in a case of emergency. That essentially means labor which is a long time away.” I muttered the last few words as a thought to myself.
He seemed to have heard it too, for he pointed out, “Note the asterix at the bottom of the page. You are to contact me in case of any emergency, Elena. Not just labor, but anything that doesn’t feel right. Hiding things from me is a breach to the contract.”
“Yes, Damon. I know. I’ll annoy you to no extent on a Sunday, I promise.” I teased, finding the usual banter slowly kicking in.
He snickered a little before asking, “What time do you want me to be here?”
“Six in the morning, preferably. That’s when I start my day.”
He shrieked a little at the supposed odd hour before chuckling, “You haven’t changed a bit. Still the early riser.”
“Apart from the time I was with you. You were a bad influence.” I pushed back with a grumpy face.
“Well, the nights were exhausting. And it’s not like we slept all the time.” He insinuated our countless nights of pleasure filled with love and lust for each other and I felt my cheeks redden.
Control.
“Thankfully, they haven’t been anymore. I’ve mended my ways and like to get up early in the morning. So 6 AM would be great.” I affirmed with a nod as he brushed out a pencil.
“Duly noted.”
“I’ll head out to work at eight so--”
“Elena, you can’t work.” He chided, interrupting my sentence.
“Damon, you can’t dictate terms.” I mocked his tone before sighing, “I need to go to work. I’ll lose my sanity if I don’t. Also, I can work at the office until the third trimester, so I’m not skipping out before that.”
He tilted his head in disappointment, ready to reason when I added, “But, I’ve decided to shorten my working hours. I’ll be back by six in the evening.”
He raised his brows skeptically, “That’s ‘shortening’?”
“Yeah, normally I come home by eight.” I shrugged.
“Nope, can’t do. Midday, 12 PM. That’s it.” He shook his head with finality.
I shrieked at his absurd suggestion, “What?! No way am I following that.”
“You shouldn’t be working in the first place, Elena!”
“I can do whatever I want to, Damon!”
“Yeah, after having this baby.” He scolded.
“5 PM max.” I decided.
“12:30.”
“You’re kidding right?”
“Do you see me laughing?”
“4 PM, that’s it.” I proposed again.
He refused to budge, “1 PM.”
“2 PM.” This was the limit.
“Okay, fine.” He finally relented as I heaved a sigh.
“You are so stubborn.” I taunted, scrutinizing my eyes at him as I scribbled the time down.
“Says who.” He bit back as I rolled my eyes.
Spending five minutes with him was mentally draining. How was I supposed to survive nine months?
“What about your work?” I asked suddenly. I didn’t want my lifestyle to compromise his.
“I’ll work from home, around your hours.” He answered with a hunch of shoulders.
“Damon, I don’t want you to...you can go to work as usual, I’ll call you if there’s an emergency. I’m capable of handling myself, y’know.”
“I know what I was getting into, Elena. I’ve sorted this out. You don’t need to worry about it.”
I was still perturbed, curious to know why he signed up to this.
So when I asked him, he chuckled, “Katherine came across this website a few months after the birth of our boy. She thought it was a great idea to be a part of. I didn’t see much scope, considering they never pair a woman up with a guy volunteer, so I did it anyway. Guess that wasn’t the case.”
I took in his answer with nothing more than a nod, letting my thoughts brew over the new information.
“You’re allowed to bring whatever essentials you need to make yourself at home. I don’t mind anything as long as it doesn’t affect the baby. In a bad way, I mean.” I reverted back to the contract.
“Sure. I guess that’s something we can decide along the way.” I nodded in approval before turning a page.
“Page 6, bedroom preferences. While I appreciate your amiability to the thought of us sharing a bed…” I looked up to find a smirking Salvatore with a glint of mischief in his eyes as I rolled my eyes, “...we’re not sleeping together.”
“Aw c’mon Elena, don’t be such a prude.” He snickered with a sly grin as I tilted my head in shock. How was he still an incurable flirt?
“You’re married, Damon. And I’m pregnant. If we want to remain civil about our past, it’s best that we draw a line.”
He nodded in seriousness before flirting, “Don’t blame me if you can’t resist me.”
“Yeah, right.” I scoffed back before explaining, “I’ll get a makeshift bed arranged for you since the contract requires you us to sleep in the same room for some monitoring purposes.”
“About that…” He began with a hint of urgency, “I need you to be honest with me, Elena. About this pregnancy. Anything you feel, any thoughts, bouts of anxiety, all of it. You need to trust me on this.”
His forehead wrinkled into ripples as his brows arched, his enigmatic cerulean orbs boring into my honey brown ones as I nodded, “I know. I’ll trust you, as my babymate.”
His smile flickered for a second before restoring, “As your babymate.”
“This is strictly professional. No feelings attached.” I added, asking for a promise.
“I know. No feelings attached.” He reassured, making my lips curve upwards in relief.
He was married. I was pregnant.
There was no way something could happen, right?
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