We'll Always Have Summer | Stefan Salvatore

Chapter Twenty-Four

1993 — Mystic Falls, Virginia

   The moment the car hit the tree, Florence assumed she was dead. Then she kept waking and waking, because when she was awake she could taste the coppery blood pooling in her mouth. She could feel it grazing her teeth and soaking her tongue. She could feel the aching and crack of her bones, each crack like rocks burrowing into her skin. She sucked in cramped air, feeling her lungs caving into themselves. She saw spots in the corner of her vision, making her head feel like a television on static. She heard a buzzing noise fill her ears, drowning out the pitter-patter of the rain. She felt as if she were there for hours and hours, fading and waking. Fading and waking. Her agony was the only thing keeping her alive; it was the only thing she could feel anymore.

   That was when she died.

   The next moment Florence Gilbert woke, she sucked in a harsh breath and let out a whimper of pain. The rain was still falling, coming in from the broken windshield and bent metal. They ricocheted against what was left of the car, falling onto her as if it were trying to clean her of her blood. She felt it falling down the side of her face, felt it in the wounds created by the broken glass, tasted it on her tongue. She breathed again, then let out a scream.

   She realised she was pressed against the dashboard, her legs pressed against her seat tightly. If it weren't for the cold rain, she wouldn't be able to feel anything below her waist. She tried to push herself away, but she nor the car budged. Her arms burned and ached, her lunges felt as if they would run out of air at any moment. Another scream left her mouth, followed by broken sobs.

   "Dad!" she screamed. "Grayson!"

   When no one answered, her breathing began to accelerate. Her heart hammered against her chest, threatening to jump out and land on the jagged pieces of glass. Her breathing was ragged, as if she had finished a swimming meet. She swallowed hard and slowly turned her head to the driver's side, a silent scream escaping her mouth.

   Her was in the driver's seat, head bent to the side in an inhuman position with blood falling from his forehead, nose, and mouth. His eyes were wide open, looking right at her in a blank stare. 

   Florence reached for him, trembling fingers touching his shoulder. She saw the blood decorating her sleeve and hand, as if they had always been there. She ignored it and looked directly at her father's bleak face. "Dad," she called, her voice breaking. Her hand began to shake, either from the cold or the fact that she realised that her father was dead. "Dad!" The scream that escaped her mouth echoed through the night, just like the thunder. Every memory she had shared with her father, both precious and terrible, passed through her mind. She wanted to apologise for shouting at him, wanted to promise that she would go to Whitmore and swim, become an Olympian like he wanted.

   "Grayson!" she called, remembering her eldest brother in the back. "Grayson!"

   "Flo..." It was a soft and pained answer, but an answer nonetheless. 

   "Grayson!" she cried, trying to move to look back at her brother. "Grayson, don't leave me. P-please don't leave me!" There was no answer, no breathing, no indication that her brother was alive. She called his name over and over again, anxiously expecting for him to say her name. The memories of her brother ran through her mind, the times he had caught her sneaking out of the house, the times he had invited her over to his house because he knew how she felt when her parents fought.

   She especially remembered a hot summer afternoon two years ago. John had come back from college and Grayson decided to go the ice cream shop to celebrate the return of the middle Gilbert sibling. The eldest bought three scooped cones for each of them, saying that it was a great idea that they all got different flavours. Florence had gotten rocky road, raspberry, and the famous Superman. She could almost taste them then, feel the warmth of that hot day on her cold skin, remember her brother's laughing at her mouth covered in the assortment of colours from the Superman ice cream. For a moment, she was back in 1991, the summer before her parents began to fight louder and louder. She would always remember that summer.