There was no response. Of course there wasn’t. They’d been trying for days, first Damon in Paris and then, once he’d gotten Elena home, Meredith had tried to wake her every way she could think of.
In all that time, nothing had changed. Elena had lain as still and passive as a mannequin, with only a shallow, steady breathing to show that she still lived.
Damon had said that, before she fell into this coma, Elena had been in terrible pain. Meredith was glad she had missed that, glad that Elena wasn’t suffering now. But this—this silent, pale creature—terrified Meredith. It couldn’t be Elena. Not clever, quick Elena who had survived so much, who had been closer than a sister to Meredith since they were kids.
Meredith rose from her chair next to the big white bed, unable to bring herself to look at Elena anymore. Instead, she moved around the bedroom, efficiently tidying: books off the nightstand and back onto the shelves, shoes neatly straightened on the closet floor. She kept her eyes fixed on what she was doing. She was not going to think about the still figure in the bed.
Meredith’s teeth gave a hollow throb, and she rubbed absently at her gums with one finger. She would need to slip out to the woods soon to feed, but she couldn’t leave Elena alone.
Alone. Their ranks were dwindling. Stefan was dead. Elena was dying. Alaric, Bonnie, and Matt were all still on their way: Bonnie from her new home, Alaric from an academic conference, Matt from visiting his girlfriend, Jasmine’s, parents. Who knew where Damon was? He had disappeared hours ago.
Meredith picked up a thin, silver-patterned scarf and folded it neatly. Elena had been wearing this the last time Meredith had seen her. “I finally know,” she’d told Meredith, her face so full of joy it hurt to remember. “Stefan wants me to live. He wants me to be happy. I can love Damon now … it’s okay.”
Meredith blinked hard, pushing her tears away. Elena had been wrong. Everything was far from okay.
Clutching the scarf, Meredith jerked open a drawer. As she was about to stuff it inside, her hands faltered at the sight of the maroon book inside. Who would have guessed that poised, grown-up Elena Gilbert kept a high school yearbook in the nightstand next to her bed?
Gingerly, she pulled the book out of the drawer and flipped through its pages. Junior year. Their last real yearbook, the one before everything changed. There had been two yearbooks for senior year. The first, the one from the senior year Meredith remembered, had a memorial page for Elena Gilbert and Sue Carson. The other, for the changed world the Guardians had created, showed nothing but teams, classes, and clubs. Neither felt true now. But there was only one version of their junior year.
Her own face, years younger, smiled up from a picture of Homecoming Court. Elena had been class Princess, of course. Junior dance committee. She, Elena, and Bonnie had quit debate team after about a month, but they were in the picture, grinning like goons. An action shot of Matt on the football field, his face set as he powered past a tackle. It all seemed so normal.
She turned to the back, and her own handwriting stood out at her.
Elena,
What can I say? My best friend and sister, you’re always there for me. But I’ll remember the picnics up at Hot Springs, driving to the fraternity party at UVA, Matt and the guys crashing your birthday sleepover. All the times getting ready for a dance together—you, me, Bonnie, and Caroline—was even better than the dance itself.
Have a super-fabu time in Paris this summer, you lucky girl, and remember this! Only one more year till FREEDOM!!!
XOXO
Meredith
Such an ordinary yearbook message, between two ordinary girls. Before Elena’s parents had died. Before the Salvatore brothers had come to Fell’s Church, and nothing had ever been ordinary again. Elena and Meredith hadn’t gotten that freedom the message promised, the freedom to grow up and be normal, to determine their own destinies. Neither had Bonnie nor Matt, nor had the people they’d fallen in love with as they got older.
Instead, they’d all been dragged under by the supernatural: vampires and werewolves, demons and Guardians. The responsibilities of saving everyone, of standing guard between everyday life and the darkness outside had pulled them all in, held them hostage.
Elena most of all, Meredith thought, and snuck a look back at the bed. Elena’s chest moved almost imperceptibly as she breathed, her rattling, slow breaths loud in the quiet room. Elena had never really had a chance, not once she’d fallen for Stefan Salvatore.
The bedroom door creaked open, and Damon came in, silent and graceful. He looked to the bed first, a quick, worried glance, and then leaned against the doorjamb as if he was suddenly too tired to stand. His eyes, red-rimmed, met Meredith’s, and she wondered if he’d been crying. Damon might rage or let himself be consumed with bitterness, but he never cried.
But maybe now, at the end of everything, he did.
Matt parked crookedly, one wheel up on the curb, and bolted out of the car, slamming the door behind him. “I knew this would happen someday,” he gritted out, teeth clenched, as he stormed down the sidewalk toward Elena’s apartment building. “I knew Stefan and Damon would get her killed.”
Jasmine followed more slowly, her golden-brown eyes serious. “Don’t say that,” she told him, laying a hand on his arm as they waited for the elevator. “Elena’s not dead. We can’t give up on her.”
Matt bit his lip and stayed silent for the elevator ride up to Elena’s apartment. The hall was quiet, and he hesitated a moment before knocking heavily on the apartment door.
“Take the worst possible thing you can imagine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with rage, “and that’s it, that’s the truth. Always.” Beside him, Jasmine sucked in a breath and raised a hand to touch him again, just as the door swung open.
Damon was in the doorway, his pale face pinched, his dark hair messy. He looked more human than Matt had ever seen him. Before anyone could speak, Matt balled up his fist and punched Damon in the face as hard as he could.
Damon’s head rocked back slightly and he blinked in surprise, a red mark on his white cheek.
“Didn’t think you had it in you,” he said with a thin, joyless smile. He touched his cheek lightly, and then let his hand drop, the smile disappearing. “I probably deserved that.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Matt said, shouldering past him into the apartment.