Dear Diary,
Every time I remember the look on Stefan's face when I told him I needed space, my chest aches. It's like I can't breathe.
I never wanted to hurt Stefan. Never. How could I? We're so close, so wrapped up in each other that he's like a piece of my soul - without him, I'm not complete.
But...
I love Damon, too. He's my friend - my dark mirror image - the clever, plotting one who will do whatever it takes to get what he wants, but who has a kindness deep inside him that not everybody sees. I can't imagine living without Damon, either.
Stefan wants to hold on to me so tightly. He cares for his brother - he does - and Damon cares for him, too, and having me between them is messing that up.
All three of us have been held so closely together by the crises we've had to deal with recently - my death and rebirth, Klaus's attack, Damon's return from the edge of death, the phantom's attack - that every move we've made, every thought we've had, has been wrapped up with the other two. We can't go on like this.
I know I've done the right thing. Without me between them, they can become brothers again.
And then I can sort out the tangled threads of my relationships with both of them without having to worry that any move I make will snap the tenuous bond between us.
It's the right decision. But still, I feel like I'm dying a slow death. How can I live for even a little while without Stefan?
All I can do is try to be strong. If I just keep going, I'll get through this time. And in the end, everything will be wonderful. It has to be.
Chapter Eleven
"Coffee, my dear?" Professor Campbel - James, Elena reminded herself - asked. At her nod, he bounced to his feet and bustled over to the tiny coffeemaker perched on top of a teetering stack of papers.
He brought her a cup of coffee, creamed and sugared, and settled down happily in his chair, gazing across his crowded desk at her with an expression of innocent enjoyment. "I think I have some cookies," he offered. "Not homemade, but they're reasonably tasty. No?" Elena shook her head politely and sipped her coffee.
"It's very good," she said, and smiled at him.
It had been a few days since she had told Stefan and Damon she needed to take a break from them. After a much-needed sob session with Bonnie and Meredith, she had done her best to be normal - going to class, having lunch with her friends, keeping up a brave mask. Part of this attempt at normality was coming to James's office hours, so that she could hear more about her parents. Even though they couldn't be there to comfort her, talking about them offered some solace.
"My God!" James cried out. "You have Elizabeth's face, and then, when you smile, Thomas's dimple comes right out. Just the same as his - on only one side. It gave him a certain raffish charm."
Elena wondered if she should thank James. He was complimenting her, in a way, but the compliments were realy directed toward her parents, and it felt a little presumptuous to be grateful for them.
She settled for saying, "I'm glad you think I look like my parents. I remember thinking when I was little that they were very elegant." She shrugged. "I guess al little kids think their parents are beautiful."
"Well, your mother certainly was," James said. "But it's not just your looks. Your voice sounds like hers, and the comments you made in class this week reminded me of things your father would have said. He was very observant." He delved into his desk drawers and, after a bit of rummaging, pul ed out a tin of butter cookies. "Sure you won't have one? Ah, Well." He chose one for himself and took a bite. "Yes, as I was saying, Elizabeth was extremely lovely. I wouldn't have cal ed Thomas lovely, but he had charm. Maybe that's how he managed to win Elizabeth's heart in the end."
"Oh." Elena stirred her coffee absently. "She dated other guys, then?" It was ridiculous, but she had kind of imagined her parents as always being together.
James chuckled. "She was quite the heartbreaker. I imagine you are, too, dear."
Elena thought unhappily of Stefan's soft, dismayed green eyes. She had never wanted to hurt him. And Matt, who she had dated in high school and who had quietly gone on loving her. He hadn't fal en in love, or even been realy interested in, anyone else since then. Heartbreaker, yeah.
James was watching her with bright, inquisitive eyes.
"Not a happy heartbreaker, then?" he said softly. Elena glanced at him in surprise, and he set his coffee cup down with a little clink. He straightened up. "Elizabeth Morrow," he said in a brisk businesslike voice, "was a freshman when I met her. She was always making things, particularly amazing sets and costumes she designed for the theater department. Your father and I were both sophomores at the time - we were in the same fraternity, and close friends -
and he couldn't stop talking about this amazing girl. Once I got to know her, I was sucked into her orbit, too." He smiled. "Thomas and I each had something special about us: I was academicaly gifted, and Thomas could talk anyone into anything. But we were both cultural barbarians.
Elizabeth taught us about art, about theater, about the world beyond the smal Southern towns where we'd grown up." James ate another cookie, absentmindedly licking sugar off his fingers, then sighed deeply. "I thought we'd be friends forever," he said. "But we went in different directions in the end."
"Why?" Elena asked. "Did something happen?" His bright eyes shifted away from hers. "Of course not," he said dismissively. "Just life, I suppose. But whenever I walk down the third-floor corridor, I can't help stopping to look at the photograph of us." He gave a self-conscious laugh, patting his stomach. "Mostly vanity, I suppose. I recognize my young self more easily than I do the fat old man I see in the mirror now."
"What are you talking about?" Elena asked, confused.
"The third-floor corridor?"