Damon, Elena, and I sat in Damon's corvette, cruising down route 111. We'd finally pinpointed Stefan, in some crappy apartment in Chicago.
"I sure hope we find him, 'cause it would suck if the last memento of Stefan was that crappy old necklace," Damon muttered, glancing at the rather ugly amulet on Elena's chest.
"It's an antique, Damon. Like you," Elena responded perkily.
"Hmm," Damon mused, obviously not appreciating her joke. He reached behind him and picked up an old book with tattered edges and yellowed pages.
It was beaten and battered, with corners of pages sticking out here and there and bits of ink dripped onto the cover, not to mention the scratches and falling out sections of pages.
"Read this," Damon suggested, "Paints a pretty little picture of Stefan's first experience in Chicago."
Elena took the book, shuffling through a few pages, before placing it down, "It's Stefan's diary, I'm not going to invade his private thoughts." She closed the book, setting it down on the armrest next to her.
"You need to be prepared for what you're about to see." Damon insisted, nudging the book towards her again with his elbow.
"We've seen Stefan in his darkest periods, we can handle it," Elena cried, nodding to me for validation.
I shook my head, "Don't add me to this. I'm just hanging out with you guys to make sure you don't get distracted and make out or something.
"Shut up,"
"No,"
Damon rolled his eyes, picking up the book and shuffling through a few pages, "Here's one. March 12th, 1922," He paused, making his voice comically deep and dramatic, "I've blacked out days. I wake up in strangers' blood, in places, I don't recognize, with women I don't remember," Damon recited, before pausing, his eyes widening, "I'm shocked," he turned to us, "Stefan's not a virgin?"
"Eyes on the road Grandma," Elena muttered, obviously annoyed. I felt tears coming to my eyes as I held in my laugh, bitting my lip as I held my hand over my mouth.
Damon smirked, eyeing me through the mirror, "I'm hilarious, what can I say... "Anyways, back to my game. Tell me if you see a Florida plate." He continued.
__________
We stopped at an old apartment complex. Damon stole a key from the front desk and made his way in.
He walked to room B140, opening the door, "Here we are," Damon spoke.
We were brought into an empty apartment room. It was nice, everything in their proper places. Except for the smell. And the dust particles floating around, and that everything was grimy to the touch. It looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.
"Pretty obvious he hasn't been here in a while," I spoke, rubbing some dust off my finger as I glanced down at my finger print on the table.
"Tour's not over yet," Damon muttered.
He went towards a bookcase. He put his hand to the side of it before he opened a latch. He swung the door open, though creaking and groaning in protest. Inside were century-old bottles of alcohol. Damon stepped inside, turning on a small lightbulb.
"Stefan hid his alcohol," I murmured, "What a monster,"
Damon rolled his eyes, "Look harder." We did as asked, both walking towards the entrance.
I looked from side to side as I studied the contents of the closet. Inside sat a list of names, all drawled out in messy ink. The paper looked ancient.
YOU ARE READING
Little White Lies | Klaus Mikaelson (1)
Teen Fiction"You call me up just to break me like a promise. So casually cruel in the name of being honest," "This thing was a masterpiece until you tore it all up," When life knocks you down, you always stand back up. But sometimes, you stumble, and then you f...
