Chapter 3 - Still

 Lingering thoughts 

5:59 AM. Some things never change. 

I still woke up a minute before my alarm, mentally preparing myself for the day ahead in those sixty seconds. He still slept through all five he had obediently set the night before, sprawled on his stomach on the sofa cum single bed against the adjacent wall on the far end, his hair messy, his mouth ajar.

I slipped out of bed, walking to the other side to my black double doored cupboard to grab a formal pantsuit. Tuesdays were always scheduled for department meetings, a ritual Mystic Falls Publishing had introduced five years ago; just a year after I had started interning. Unable to take his blaring rock music any longer, I walked up to the small round coffee table painted in gray, ready to put his vibrating phone to rest when I stopped.

I no longer had the right to silence his alarm, to let his body get the rest it needed. I had given up that right the day I left him.

My fingers trembled short of his iPhone 11 screen before silently retreating. I heaved a deep breath, trying to accustom myself to his usual rock music alarm ringtone as I made my way to my bathroom.

6:21 AM. Just on time.

I emerged dressed, toweling my hair as I smiled contently at the after effects of a warm shower. He still remained sound in his sleep, his phone finally silent as I breathed in relief. There was only so much of a rock song on repeat I could handle. I worked through the tangles of my wet hair with gentle strokes of hairbrush, internally groaning for having naturally wavy hair I had to straighten each morning.

Grabbing a pair of formal ballerinas, I slipped the black shoes on my feet before walking down the stairs.

6:36 AM. A glass of orange juice, two slices of buttered bread and some fruit.

Between crunchy munches of bread I heard another set of footsteps before a groggy voice in apology, “I’m so sorry, Elena.”

I turned in my chair to find my babymate rubbing his eyes, dressed in checkered pajama pants and a cotton grey tee. “Morning to you too, Damon.”

He settled himself onto the next chair on my dining table before letting out a nervous chuckle, “Yeah, morning to you too.”

“Sleep well?” I asked out of habit before taking a sip of my drink.

He grinned, “Like a log.”

I returned his smile, well aware of how much of a sound sleeper he was. It was a quality, really. Not many had the talent to be able to fall asleep wherever, he was one of the few.

“I remember setting about five alarms in five minute intervals but--”

“You slept through them, I know.” I giggled before adding, “Still not familiar to the concept of alarms?”

“Nope. I still stand against the purpose of their invention.” He boasted with strong tenacity as I shook my head in disbelief. 

He tapped an enthusiastic melody of fingers, his eyes hovering over the kitchen counter as he got up, sliding two slices of bread in the toaster.

“You’ve got any--”

“Restocked yesterday. Top cupboard on the right, bottom shelf.” I instructed out of memory before chuckling to myself.

He passed a million dollar smile before kissing the jar of Nutella, unwrapping its packaging as he inhaled its supposedly wonderful smell.

“I can’t believe you can like something as bland as butter, Gilbert.” He mocked. 

“I can’t believe you can like something as overly sweet as Nutella, Salvatore.” I imitated as he settled himself with a plate.

We ate in silence, him relishing his slices of toast with two layers of chocolate and hazelnut spread while I munched on the remnants of my breakfast, scrolling through my phone for any missed emails.

6:45 AM. Some things never change.

----------

I let the heat iron straighten my waist length hair before pushing it back with a pin and tying a low bun. Pursing my lips in approval, I lined my eyes with kohl and dabbed my lips with some soft pink gloss, making sure it matched with my grey pantsuit. Not forgetting the most important item in my makeup kit, I wore some concealer to hide the growing signs of exhaustion. 

7:02 AM. Just the final touches. 

Arranging everything back into the chest of drawers below my dresser, I looked at my collected self in the mirror. The one who stood with her head held high in confidence had no idea how dubious I really was. The one who looked so calm and composed, her life nothing short of perfect, completely contrasted my jumbled life and my messed up heart.

I picked up my phone, dialing a number I knew by heart before pushing the device to my ear. I still waited with bated breaths, each ring raising hope and crushing the same as it eventually met a longer beep. I tried again, and a couple times more, only to still hear the same automated response rather than the voice I longed to hear.  

The man I had moved on with but lost again.

Inhaling timorously, I typed a message:

‘Hey, 

I know things didn’t turn out the way we expected. But we can figure this out, you and I. I know a baby is a huge responsibility, but please give me a chance at this. Give us a chance.

I love you. Please come back.

Yours,

Elena’

My thumb hovered over the ‘send’ button, eyes scrolling through the previous similar messages sent everyday that received no response. He had been online, had probably read them too, but refused to respond. I still pressed ‘send’, feeling a sudden surge of determination course through me that moment. One of these messages would tug his heart, would reach his soul, would want him to come back to me. I would work for us until my last breath. 

I had to. My heart wouldn’t be able to bear two failed love stories. 

I knew he was scared. Oh, how much I knew the fear. The panic. Who had thought I’d get pregnant within eighteen months of our relationship? It was too fast, I understood. Which is why I knew why he left, why he abandoned me.

After all, I had abandoned someone too.

My vision blurred at the irony of the situation, tears threatening to pool as I shuddered in anxiety. I longed for a family, for a home where I felt belonged. I longed for him--I made sure my heart did--for the man who spread nothing but love with me for the past one and a half years. He picked up the broken pieces of my heart and fixed them with gentle caresses and soothing words. With over-affectionate stares and loving dances. Each memory spent with him bombarded my head like a freight train, reminding me of what I lost.

How I lost the man I love, again.

“Elena?” A velvety voice slipped through my thoughts much like a head peeked through the door. 

I quickly took deep breaths, warning the familiar tears to go back as I cleared my throat, “C’mon in.”

“You...okay?” He asked with hesitance as he walked up to me. Finding a convincing smile, I looked up at him, “Yeah. Perfectly fine.”

He tilted his head skeptically to which I groaned, “I’m fine, Damon.”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to tear up?” I felt the bed dip and I swallowed.

I looked away, “Just hormones, I guess.” I chuckled nervously to myself.

He refused to relent, “By the way, you never told me about its father.”

I flinched at his statement, my eyes blurring with the image of a man with blue eyes and blond hair. Damon knew him. He had unknowingly known the father of my baby for the past six years.

I couldn’t bring myself to confess so I dodged his question, “It’s father shouldn’t concern you as my babymate, Damon.”

His jaw tightened at my tone filled with austerity. He turned to bore his light blue eyes into my honey brown ones, his orbs glinting with ferocity and a hint of mischief, “Someone’s feisty.”

I spat back with equal fervor, “Someone’s overambitious.”

I gathered my work tote bag, shuffling manuscripts and other files in them before rushing to the door.

I couldn’t help myself from turning to him when Damon spoke in a voice filled with concern, “Any signs of queasiness?”

How this man irritated me to no extent yet held me hostage with his genuine emotion of care was beyond my comprehension.

“None yet.” I answered, my eyes not meeting his.

“Thought this might help.” He shrugged while holding out two items in his hands - a bottle of water in one and a bag filled with saltine crackers.

“With the morning sickness.” He explained when I furrowed my brows.

“They shouldn’t call it that.” I shook my head at the irritable frequency of nausea strokes before saying, “Thank you, Damon.”

“Anytime, Elena. See you at 2.”

I rolled my eyes at his reminder before walking out the door, “Later, Farrell.”

“I’ll be waiting, Bancroft.”

I smiled to myself, wondering how he still remembered.

Some things never change.

----------

8:02 AM. I gather my belongings past the glass doors of Mystic Falls Publishing. 

“You’re alive!” A squealing Caroline ambushed me in a tight hug as I breathed her name.

“He’s alive?” Her brows perched while her lips pulled in a smirk as I nodded in affirmation. 

“He is.”

I walked to my desk and started organizing my files while she bombarded me with questions, “Was he difficult? A jerk like always? Did he snap too much?” When I started shaking my head with an incredulous expression she changed the stream of assumptions, “Was he cute? Charming? Caring? OMG, did you guys kiss?!”

“Caroline Forbes!” I shrieked with one hand on my chest and the other covering her mouth.

Her squeals lessened to murmurs as she eagerly waited for me to answer, “So…” She prompted, amused.

“A latte please.” I told her my coffee preference she knew too well before giggling at her poker face.

“You’re such a spoilsport, Elena.” She pouted in annoyance before handing me my coffee. I leaned against my chair, sipping on the warm liquid as it sizzled through my insides, treating a smile to my face.

I swiveled my chair to face the greenery through my windows as I began, “He was everything I had least expected him to be, Care. Highly irritating one second, extremely caring the next. He still was the complete opposite to me, and yet it felt unbelievably familiar. It felt like home.” My voice cracked as I looked up at my best friend, finding her head tilted to one side in empathy.

“He’s my babymate, Care!” I shook my head in disbelief. “Damon Salvatore is my babymate! I mean, who thought of that?!” 

She sashayed a chair over next to mine before resting a hand on my shoulder, “No one expected this. I may have silently prayed for an incredibly handsome and caring person as your babymate…” She resorted to giggles as I playfully rolled my eyes. “...but I certainly hadn’t prayed for Damon Salvatore. He’s bad news, Elena.”

I gave her a pointed look, surprised at my defensive tone, “No he isn’t. I was the one who ended things three years ago.”

“He had forced you to, Elena!” She gritted, failing to suppress her anger.

People just couldn’t keep their emotions in check when it came to Damon Salvatore.

I took another sip, delving back into the wilderness outside, “Did you know he’s a father? He’s happily married with a son, Caroline.” Tears started to spill as I bit back, “And here I thought there was a tiny chance he was here for me. That he came back because he still lov…” I didn’t have the courage to complete that sentence as a stream of tears burst from each eye.

My best friend rubbed my back, her eyes wide in concern, her lips quivering to the brink of tears.

“But you do. You still do.” I cried harder at the admission. No matter how much I thought I had moved on and had fallen in love with someone else, all it took was for him to barge into my life again to find myself still utterly weak in the knees, my heart still soaring with erratic heartbeats.

Around him. For him. 

I still tried to deny, “I don’t. I can’t. I love Matt.” My desperate voice broke my even weaker resolve.

“Did you tell Damon about Matt being the father, Elena?” She pressed with urgency as I shook my head in guilt.

“He won’t take it well. I know he won’t.” I shuddered at the thought.

Caroline walked up to the window and leaned against it to face me, “You still care about him.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an inevitable confession.

“How could I not?”

She hung her head and heaved a sigh, probably debating how pathetic my love for Damon had made me.

Silently handing me my list of appointments for the day, she walked to the door of my cabin, “You know, I wouldn’t have allowed the website to set you up with him had he not hidden his identity with a stupid farce name.”

I looked up, “I did too, Care. He must have had his reasons too. Moreover, we could have verified beforehand by checking his documents.”

“Yeah, but who does that?!” She flailed her arms in frustration.

“Exactly.” I whispered softly. 

We both played the same trick, using different names to hide our identity. I used Meredith Bancroft and he--

“What was his fake name again?” Caroline wondered as I answered instantly, “Matthew Farrell.”

----------

1:43 PM. Some things did change, after all.

The exhaustion drained me worse than I could imagine. This time of the day used to be the peak of efficiency and instead here I was, thanking George for picking me up as I settled into the comfortable car seat. 

After my brief breakdown with my assistant and best friend this morning, I had headed out to the conference room for our weekly 9 AM meeting. My pitch on Bruce’s new story had given small yet approving smiles around the room. This was a profitable romance novel we could reap the benefits of if we published it. The guy had a fresh concept, a different flair for writing. It was familiar yet intriguing simultaneously.

After being assigned two new developing stories, I informed Caroline to have appointments booked with them for the next day. My bosses trusted me to give fair opportunities to new writers, but I couldn’t trust them enough to share my pregnancy with them. Guilt of hiding such an important detail of my life ate me alive but I didn’t know how to say this. How could I, when the father of the baby, as well as a fellow colleague and Commissioning Editor had fled without explanation?

He had lost the job, obviously. But I couldn’t risk the same. What reputation would I have left?

I had tried to suppress the pain from my irregularly frequent cramps in that one long hour in the conference room by biting my lip and clutching the ends of the oval shaped wooden table. To my relief, they hadn’t bothered me when I was up there, pitching for my client’s new book. A string of curses and an unexpected confession would have streamed out of my mouth had something that unbearably painful had occurred. 

In the next three hours, I had a few more irregular bouts of cramps along with an uncanny stroke of nausea. The world had spinned a lot faster, buttered bread and juice and coffee spilling out of my mouth with bile, shivers of anxiety trailed down my back when I could barely keep my eyes open and my hands still to reach out for my water bottle. Least to say, I was out for a good fifteen to twenty minutes.

Thank God Caroline was out for lunch when that happened. I wasn’t planning on telling Damon either.

They already worried too much. Caroline had stopped living her life, stopped leaving my side just so that she could protect me. Damon constantly had his brows arched in concern each time his eyes met mine. I couldn’t burden them with my problems. Couldn’t bombard them with my concerns when they had enough worries in their lives. I couldn’t be dependent on them.

Not anymore.

So when my stomach grumbled the moment I stepped out of my car, I started rummaging my head for dishes I could potentially make in around five minutes to stop my stomach from complaining. I had only thought of heating frozen Mac and Cheese I had stocked in the back of my freezer when the door opened to a wonderful aroma.

“You’re home.” He smiled as he approached the door, repeating the words I once had.

“I am.” He threw his jacket haphazardly on the sofa, his tie already loosened. 

His eyes held a faint glimmer I couldn’t fathom. Before I could ask, my nose crinkled at the stench and I finally noticed the slight sway in his gait.

“You’re drunk, Damon.” I whispered in shock because he rarely lost complete control over himself. He wasn’t like this.

“You bet I am.” He gave a lopsided grin as he swung his hands in the air, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled to his elbows, one end loosely dangling from his pants.

I knew things had been a little strained lately. We weren’t speaking to each other unless it was important, just maintaining small talk at the end of the day. It seemed pointless to try, knowing how disastrous more than a few words became for us. Yesterday was enough to evidence that. 

We didn’t hold each other in embrace, our lips refused to kiss for more than a few seconds. We had stopped making love. Each night I would turn over my shoulder to find his back turned to mine, watching him slip further and further away from me. I could no longer reach out to him, no matter how much my heart craved for his love, or my body craved for his touch. 

No matter how much my soul longed to reunite with his. 

But I refused to relent. We loved each other even though that love had recently disappeared under layers of hidden secrets and betrayals. I would make this work, make him see how apologetic I was for my mistake, how desperate I was for a second chance. This couldn’t be the end for us, it just couldn’t.

My heart wouldn’t be able to bear a failed love story.

So I attempted to make his favorite spaghetti al pomodoro for the evening. Just the exact type of ripened tomatoes, a tinge of garlic for flavor with a garnishing of basil leaves. I didn’t cook too often since Damon always loved to be the chef in our kitchen. But today I wanted to try, and from the aroma I could tell that it had been a rather successful attempt.

I set out two glasses for wine, lit up a few candles, changed into a flowy backless beige dress for the evening as I waited for him.

12:07 AM. That’s when he came back, a jumbled mess.

“I made us dinner. I didn’t know you’d be late.” I sighed, not letting the dejection flicker in my eyes.

He groaned in misery, “I shouldn’t have come home at all.”

What was wrong? Had something happened at work? Was his father being difficult with him again? I had so many questions but no answers. How would I know, when we never talked anymore.

“Damon, is everything alright?” I asked, reaching out to him.

He fell back in his step, distancing himself from me, “You’re asking me this, Elena?” He asked incredulously.

My brows furrowed as my heart sped, “What are you talking about, Damon?” I asked worried, my voice trembling dreadfully.

“Don’t you get tired of this pretense? Of this ‘polite talk’ rule I can no longer handle?” His shoulders sagged, his hand rubbing his temple as my heart fell.

My lips quivered as I tried to persuade, “I know things haven’t been smooth between us lately. But this is just a bump--”

“No this isn’t!” He hollered, his words echoing around the house as I flinched.

“This is it, Elena. After what you did...I don’t think I can ever see you the same way.” His voice softened to a whisper as he turned away.

“No Damon, please. I love you.” I pleaded, sounding so weak in my ears.

“Maybe it's never enough.” He repeated his words from yesterday, his voice broken and he slumped onto the sofa, reminding me of the drunken daze he was in.

I inched up to him, perching myself onto the edge of the sofa as I held his hand, “You’re drunk. Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

His head fell back, his eyes slipping into slumber as he waved his hand in protest, “There’s nothing left to talk about. I can’t get over what you did, no matter how much you want me to. So it’s best that you get over me. Because we can’t live like this, Elena. I can’t see myself hurt you everyday by crushing your hopes every second.” His eyes fixated onto mine, his sky blue colored orbs weakening my honey brown ones as I let his words sink in.

A tear slipped past my right eye, “You don’t mean this…”

They pooled in his eyes too, “Then how come it’s true?”

I looked up at him, letting myself engulf into the swirling depths of his baby blues one last time. I took his hand in mine, helping him find his bearings as I took him to our bedroom one last time. He whispered guiltily into my ear, his cool, minty breath fanning my face, causing goosebumps to shudder one last time. I gently lowered him onto his side of the bed, reaching for the duvet cover one last time. I caressed his face, memorizing every line, feeling the softness of his pale skin and the roughness of his stubble one last time.

A tear rolled down my eye as I cursed myself for the doom I had created. All because of me.

He murmured under his breath, but it was a question I knew was coming, “Will you let me go?” He asked with innocent desperation, clinging onto my hand.

I knew his fears. I knew this was the liquid courage talking. I knew he wouldn’t be able to face this tomorrow, wouldn’t be able to say these words again. I now knew what I had to do, for his happiness. For my love for him. So I held onto his hand, covering it with my own as I drew soothing circles one last time.

“I am.”

“Didn’t think you’d show up on time, Gilbert.” Damon brought me out of my reverie as I joined him in his playful banter, “You shouldn’t doubt my punctuality, Salvatore.”

He held his hands in surrender, “Duly noted.” 

“You made pasta?” I asked before sniffing again, “In white sauce?”

“You remember.” He released an astonished breath.

I smiled as I walked in, “Don’t flatter yourself. Your cooking skills are the only thing I haven’t been able to forget.” I smirked, inwardly groaning at the lie.

“How’d you know I didn’t have lunch?” I asked as an afterthought. Lunch time was usually around noon, not this late.

“I have my contacts.” He boasted with a sly grin as he walked around the dining table, setting out two plates of pasta.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance, not even bothering to know when he contacted Caroline. I slid my work bag onto the rack by the door before settling into my chair, my stomach already grumbling from the scrumptious scent.

He took out two glasses, filling them with water instead of wine as he served them next to our plates.

I looked at him, reciprocating his expression in delight as I clasped my hands together in anticipation.

Two plates of food in front of us, drinks in hand and smiles on our faces. This is what I had dreamt of that night. This is what he fulfilled today.

Maybe, things were changing after all. I could feel it in the flutter of my heart.