One thing at a time. Otherwise, he would just stop giving a fuck about everything except the taste of alcohol. The pain first. The pain he never talked about. He didn't need to. What good would it do? Elena hadn't chosen him. After being hurt once more, rejected, he needed to be alone. Damon was now at the boarding house. He sat on the couch, looking at nothing. Not at the empty space that surrounded him. He thought about nothing. He couldn't move. Didn't want to. And he had a good reason. That no matter which way he moved, Alaric's wasn't there to acknowledge him.

My hands are searching for you. My arms are outstretched towards you.

So what reason was there for anything right now? Stefan would stay with Elena until she awoke. Elena had chosen Stefan. Not him. Damon would never kiss Elena again. Damon would never kiss anyone again. Why should he? No one else would kiss him like Alaric could've. And right now, only that could've eased the pain. A kiss from Alaric. And thank God these were silent thoughts no one could hear. Damon didn't want to hear anything from anyone. He swallowed the saliva that wanted to push its way through the slit of his mouth. If only he had held Alaric once. The way he really wanted to. If only he had the balls to kiss Alaric. Just once. Instead of wasting his time holding Elena. Betraying his brother. Betraying himself.

I feel you on my fingertips. My tongue dances behind my lips for you.

He stood up and reached for an empty glass. He glared at the bottle of bourbon, so intensely, as if he was trying to create waves in it. He hadn't drank bourbon since the last time with Alaric. He wasn't in denial anymore. Alaric was dead. He had held him in his arms and seen his skin dry up. Nothing could've prepared him for that sight. And the fact that he was put through it stir such anger inside him. Yes Damon knew how to flip the switch. Yes he could make this all go away, pretend it didn't happen. But no, he wouldn't. Alaric deserved more than that. His chest began to ache. He had no courage to pick up the bottle of bourbon.

This fire rising through my being, burning. I'm not used to seeing you.

He turned away from the mini bar; something he never thought he would do. What the fuck was wrong with him? He sat back down, with an empty glass. He looked at it and laughed. It was a morbid laugh, and Damon was sometimes a morbid being. He couldn't help it. The glass was empty. So empty.

I'm alive, I'm alive.

But why? He couldn't push the memories away. No matter how hard he tried, even with his eyes open, he saw it all again. Every moment he spent with Alaric. Around Alaric. Talking about Alaric. Thinking about Alaric. Drinking with Alaric. And now the memories were so many they were suffocating him. He couldn't breathe.

I can feel you all around me, thickening the air I'm breathing.

If he was a stupid, weak and pathetic human, he would be torn into pieces. If he was a weak human, he would be laying on a stranger's couch, telling this stranger how he felt. If he was stupid, he would be laying on his own couch, telling his own friends how he felt. No. If he was pathetic, he'd be human. And he could never think this on his own, but if Damon was human maybe he could be healing.

Holding on to what I'm feeling, savoring this heart that's healing.

No, Damon was not pathetic. And sometimes he did unnecessary stupid things, but he wasn't stupid himself. He was not human. What is the healing process for a vampire? He stood up again, and without looking down at it, he finally poured some bourbon into his glass. Some overflowed and he felt the liquid make its way down the creases in his palm onto the surface of the table. It was so cold and refreshing. He wanted it. Fuck, he needed it. He could never get through this without his favorite toxic drink. Mix it with blood and you've got yourself an orgasm in a cup. He laughed again. He did that once, actually. Not to his own drink. For some reason he had slit his own wrist once, and pressed on his skin so Alaric's drink would turn a bit red. It was funny at the time. Alaric never found out anyway. Maybe it was funny because he was drunk and Alaric was sitting on the toilet of the Mystic Grill, drunk too, laughing at something stupid they had said a few minutes before. Maybe it was funny because whenever they were drunk enough, and either made a joke stupid enough, the other would laugh anyway. Maybe it was funny because it was those times when Damon could easily say "Fuck, I love you man," and really mean it.

My hands float up above me and you whisper you love me. And I begin to fade into our secret place.

This could work. This could be it. He could almost hear Alaric's laugh again in his head, and it was beautiful like music. He could almost dance to it. Damon wasn't the religious type, not anymore. But he wanted so badly to believe. Maybe that way he could heal. He could reject the truth about how alone he really was now and that it didn't matter. He just had to convince himself Alaric was somewhere better than this fucked up, cruel place.

The music makes me sway. The angels singing say we are alone with you. I am alone and they are too with you.

If a heaven existed, Alaric would definitely be welcomed in. He was a good person. If a God existed, only He would know how much time has passed since he got home. Only He would know if Stefan was back yet. Only He would have any idea where the fuck Damon's head was right now. He would give Alaric wings. And maybe that was okay, if Damon could also convince himself he would one day receive his own as well. Probably not. You're a vampire, remember? You're a vampire and you're an asshole. You're a killer and you're a beast. You're a monster, remember? So why the fuck is Alaric the one who died?

I'm alive! I'm alive.

The bourbon was now warm in his hands, as he finally mustered up the courage to look at it. And to look at that empty room. The warm fireplace. His face scrunched up, and his fangs began to emerge. His face became the monster. He threw the bourbon into the fireplace. There was no way he could drink it alone. Damon would never drink bourbon again. Right now all he could drink where his own tears. All he could look at was the fireplace. And all he could think about was Alaric's face.

So I cry. (Holy) The light is white. (Holy) And I see you...

And he would probably never understand why he's still alive. He's been alive for so long, and he never truly felt it. He had felt excitement. He had felt passion. Love. Lust. Fear. Sadness. Anger. Never life. He was so used to the ring. His ring. He trusted it so much. But how could he have been so stupid to leave Alaric's life at the hands of a stupid piece of jewelry? Maybe it was this moment now. His first time being alive. He fucking hated it.

I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive.

And then it all crashed down on his shoulders and he felt that too. He felt that weight. And it was too much that he fell to the ground. He fell to his knees because life was too heavy for him. His own life was stronger than him, and he saw it all in his head again. He clenched his eyes shut as he gave in to the flush of memories. It was like a stupid teen movie playing in his head. He just wanted to yell at someone to change the channel because he'd seen it before and it was disappointing. But it was life. It was the burn of the floor on his palms as his body swayed back and forth. The heat of the fire in his face. The sweat dripping down his forehead, and the black cloth sticking to his skin. The salt of the tears on his lips. The scream he held in his throat so deeply. For God knows how long.

And I can feel you all around me thickening the air I'm breathing. Holding on to what I'm feeling, savoring this heart that's healing.

Damon was weak. Stupid. Pathetic. And maybe healing. But not human, not ever again. So it was okay to lie. And he began to smirk, maybe laugh too. He remembered the time he had told Alaric everything he felt. It was a day when they were sober, and there was peace in Mystic Falls. They were walking to the Gilbert house, and Damon confessed that Alaric made him feel like he was okay. Like he didn't need to save anyone or be saved. He was grateful they were always there for each other, and he was grateful for this friendship. It kept him sane. It made him feel fine. Alaric looked at him and smiled in agreeance. He felt fine too. He said no one but Damon mattered to him, and Damon said it back. 'Only you matter, Alaric. Just you.' Then, those two words: 'I'm yours.'

Take my hand, I give it to you. Now you own me, all I am.

He was definitely laughing now. Because it was fucking stupid to have a memory of something that never happened. Though Damon convinced himself that it would have one day. Alaric wasn't helpless. He didn't need saving. He was going to say those things one day. There was no need to rush. There was always time, because Alaric would always come back to life. Who could've warned him the ring wasn't all that? How would he have known he should've been more careful? That he would contribute to not only Alaric's demise, but also his own without Alaric?

You said you would never leave me, I believed you. I believe.

He was a Salvatore, that wasn't a choice he was given. He was a savior, that wasn't a choice either. He just became one against his own will. Someone he knew had taught him to value life more than the stupid weak vampire used to. And so he stood up. It still hurt. And it always would. Sure the friendship (or whatever he had shared with Alaric) was dysfunctional, but everything had been real. Alaric was in his heart and he always would be. And some days he would be there reminding him to save those who needed him. Other days he would be there just so Damon could miss him and feel this pain again. But it was done. Two deaths (his own and Alaric's) and close to 200 years. That's how long it had taken Damon Salvatore to finally be alive.

I can feel you all around me, thickening the air I'm breathing. Holding on to what I'm feeling, savoring this heart that's healed.