She's your girlfriend. She's all yours. She loves you. So very much. She tells this to you every day. She's with you all the time. She wakes up in the morning and calls you up, wishing you a good morning, while she's frantically pulling on her clothes and putting on her make up. You'd call her too, but you don't want to wake her up. She deserves a good sleep after each stressful day. And you want to give her that.

You ask her how she slept. Sometimes she waves it off with a simple fine, sometimes she confides in you and tells you about her nightmares. You try to comfort her as best as you can. You whisper soft soothing words and she thanks you for your support. She tells you that you're amazing, the best she ever had, and just how lucky she is to have met you, and how much she loves and treasures you.

You keep saying sweet things to her. Her angelic voice keeps filling your ears and your soul, if you have one that is. After a while you can hear her aunt's voice in the background, and she hangs up quickly and rushes down for breakfast, while you pick up the car keys that you discard at your table beside her photo every night, grab your jacket and head out.

And then you see him. Sitting on the couch, glass of wine in his hands without fail, empty blood bags scattered all over the table. His eyes look so empty, so disconnected from the world around him, like that of the ruthless murderer that he is, yet so engaged in something too deep, and you think he's gazing into that past where Katherine's curly brunette locks rested against his shoulders while they slept peacefully.

You have everything, he has nothing.

You shake your head, clearing the images and the ones that you know will follow them, and spare one more moment pitying your brother, your friendless, loveless, lifeless, emotionless brother for how terribly lonely he looks. You wait for a snarly insult that you think he'll shoot at you like he usually does, but he doesn't even look at you.

And then you storm out of the house in super speed and are driving straight to her home, sunlight making your lapel lazuli ring shine bright. She's already at the gate, waiting for you, and you can't help the smile spreading on your lips when you see her. She waves goodbye to her aunt and a reluctant nod to her father, and gets in your car. She greets you with that smile that's been winning over you from day one, and places a kiss on your lips. For those few moments, you're in complete bliss. You feel happy, almost human, your eyes gleaming brightly as you gaze deeply into hers. "Let's go", she urges, pulling back from you, and you nod and start the car.

All through the classes that you have together, it's so hard for you to look away from her. You keep staring at how her cheeks look so bright and her smile looks so perfect. Sometimes she returns your gaze and seals it with that perfect smile. Perfect. That's how everything seems as you walk around with your hands intertwined.

And then it's evening, you're in the bar. And he's there too. Your brother, your friendless, loveless, lifeless, emotionless brother. And you know what will follow.

"Elena".

"Damon".

There tones mimic each other. Some sort of cold indifferent tone with a desperation to bury something deeper somewhere deep inside. If you started digging it'd be a bottomless pit.

And then you remember that she will never call your way like that. Like she can't stand you. Like you're breathing poison that's affecting her. Like she hates you. Like she hates that she doesn't hate you. She'll never look at you like that, fiery eyes narrowed, eyebrows curled up in annoyance and irritation, nose flaring with the deep breaths she took in, lips pursed together into a thin line.

She's your girlfriend. She's all yours. She loves you. So very much. She tells this to you every day. She's with you all the time.

She's not his. And she never will be. You know that. She promised, and you trust her. But even though she's not his, you know she's not all yours either. You know you're not the only one in her heart. He's there too, occupying a place that the three of you are too scared to define.

He's always there for her, she's always there for him. He teases her, she teases him back. He jabs, she jabs back. He flirts with her, she glares. He drinks and sulks, she scolds. It's friendship, but it's so much deeper than platonic. If the looks on their faces were something to go by, you know it's love.

You know she's his, all his. She loves him. So very much. She'll never tell him this, but he'll still know. Because he has found some magical way to read her mind, because she's his.

You have nothing. He has everything.

And in that moment you wish, that maybe, just maybe someday she will love you the way she loved him.

A/N: I haven't written a thing in SO long. Please review and let me know what you think. Thank you so much for reading. Have a nice day ya'all :)