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Elena’s breath hitched, and she tightened her jaw. She wasn’t going to cry again, not now. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Damon glance toward her and then his hand, cool and reassuring, brushed her shoulder. Elena sniffed and looked back down at her journal.
Would it be so wrong? If Damon and I stopped fighting these feelings we’ve always had for each other?
I made up my mind. I chose Stefan, and I’ve never regretted it.
But now he’s gone, and I’m going to live forever. Alone forever. I can’t help panicking every time I think of it.
I could turn to Damon. I’m not going to lie to myself about that. I can have him, if I want him. If I stopped holding myself back, I could fall into his arms, and I know he’d catch me.
But I don’t know if I can. For years, my feelings for Damon tainted what Stefan and I had. It hurt Stefan that I loved Damon, too.
Would turning to Damon now be my last, worst betrayal of Stefan?
Elena looked up again. Damon was humming to himself, softly. His eyes, fixed on the road, had a faraway look.
Something in her chest turned over, a tight, uncomfortable feeling. Elena realized that, for maybe the first time ever, she had no idea what she wanted.
“I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t have any suggestions. ” Mrs. Flowers sipped at her tea, holding the delicate china cup carefully. “Vampires created by science are a little outside my area of expertise. All I can recommend is increasing your use of the protection spells you already know. Try to keep your friends safe. ”
Bonnie nodded. It had been a long shot, anyway, expecting her old friend to have a suggestion. But it just felt natural to come back to Fell’s Church and ask Mrs. Flowers, who had taught her so much of her magic, for advice.
Since Bonnie had broken up with Zander, she’d thrown herself into trying to find a way to help Meredith and to protect them all from Jack and his minions. It had made her feel a little better, helped her to avoid thinking about how empty her apartment was, how empty her big bed was.
How empty her heart was.
Mrs. Flowers was looking older and frailer than the last time they had seen each other, Bonnie realized with a pang. Her hand, pale and thin and spotted with age, shook as she placed her cup back on the table. A little tea sloshed into the saucer.
“Now tell me, Bonnie,” Mrs. Flowers said, fixing Bonnie with sharp blue eyes that were not in the least dimmed by age. “What else is bothering you?”
Bonnie fumbled for a reply. “Well, Meredith…”
“Not Meredith. Meredith’s problem is the same as the vampire problem. There’s something else. ”
Bonnie heard herself give a funny, half-choked laugh. Mrs. Flowers had always been able to read Bonnie’s emotions.
“It’s Zander,” she said, as a hot tear ran down her cheek. “He’s left me. ”
With that, the dam broke and she burst into sobs. By the time the frantic storm of tears stopped, Bonnie found herself sitting on the floor, her head in Mrs. Flowers’s lap as the old lady made soft tutting noises and stroked her hair. Mrs. Flowers’s dress smelled of lavender, and Bonnie couldn’t bring herself to care that she was probably staining it with tears and snot—it was amazingly comforting.
“Tell me everything,” Mrs. Flowers said, and Bonnie blurted out the whole story: Zander’s strange disconnectedness and the way Bonnie had finally confronted him about it; how he had proposed in the warm, fragrant rose garden and how Bonnie had said no, even though it broke her heart. That Zander was gone now, and that Bonnie ached with loneliness without him. That the few we
rewolves he had left behind to temporarily guard Dalcrest looked away, their faces stony, when they saw her now, and that Bonnie couldn’t blame them. Of course they hated her—she’d hurt their Alpha.
“But I had to,” Bonnie said, sitting back on her heels and wiping her eyes. “Didn’t I? I have to put my friends first right now. They need me. ”
Mrs. Flowers sighed and sat very still for a moment, gazing off into the distance. Then she rose, resting one hand on the table as she shuffled toward the living room. “I want to show you something,” she said. “Wait here. ”
After a moment, she returned, a framed picture in hand. Bonnie recognized it as one she’d seen before, sitting on the mantelpiece in the living room. A black-and-white photograph of a handsome young man in uniform. His dark hair was close cropped, and his eyes were pale, probably blue. His face was serious, but there was a natural curve at the corners of his mouth that suggested he had a sense of humor.
“He looks nice,” Bonnie said, scrubbing her hand against her face again. She felt exhausted and longed to just lie down on Mrs. Flowers’s floor and take a nice long nap. “Who is he?”
“William Flowers. ” Mrs. Flowers gazed down at the picture, her smile soft and sad. “Bill. ”
“Your husband?” Bonnie asked, peering at the picture with fresh interest.
Mrs. Flowers sighed again, a soft, almost soundless exhalation of breath, and shook her head. “Not quite, although I took his name,” she said. “He was my sweetheart. We grew up together and fell in love. It felt like it was meant to be. We laughed so much together, knew each other so well. Understood each other without having to try. I thought we’d go on like that forever. ”
“So what happened?” Bonnie scrambled up off the floor, settling herself into the chair next to her mentor.
