When he wakes up on the floor of the cell, he doesn't know where he is at first. He is cold, and his arms feel like they are on fire even when he's not trying to move them, and he doesn't know why. Something metal sticks into his chest, and it's one of the shackles that used to be around his wrists. His face rests against the floor underneath him that is cold... and sticky and smells... strange.
There's this insistent feeling, thudding in the back of his head along with his heart beat which almost sounds too quiet in the near silence that surrounds him.
This feeling he needs to- there's something. There's something that has happened, and he aches with it, screams with it, howls with it in the back of his head. It wasn't only his screams at all. It was....
It was hers, and he shoots up to a sitting position. The strength of the movement sending a wave of pain through him that he ignores. His heart beating at a hundred miles per minute.
"No, no- that's not-"
It couldn't have happened. It didn't happen. Elena's not dead. He didn't kill her. Please, please, please, make it a nightmare, make it not real, but he kissed her and that- that was real.
He searches through his head, tries tries to piece it all back together as he pushes himself up in the cell, slipping slightly, and he hasn't even thought of what he might be slipping in. It hasn't occurred to him, because he is still in shock, pale and shaking and sweating. He's covered in it too but he hasn't thought about it yet.
He paces back and forth and back and forth with his shaking hands and fingers sliding through his hair as he pieces it together, one by one, bit by bit, the very last moments, why she was in the cell with him, what it-
What it meant, it can't have meant it. It can't have meant it, but he remembers- a flash of his claw digging into her arm and her screaming as he lashed out. There was no time. The- the- ohgod the shackles. The shackles are broken and off the wall, and they aren't on-
They're not on his mangled wrists anymore.
"No, please-"
And it hits him like someone has shoved a sword in him, his hand resting against the wall to keep him up right, shock and grief and guilt and pain all at once like he has never felt before, nearly doubled over from it.
That's when he notices the blood on his hands, and he jumps back as if jolted, as if something's struck him, and he lands roughly on his back in something that's-- it's not quite the ground. He turns his head back horrified to see what it is but unable to not look, moving almost against his own will without thinking about it until he sees-
"No! Elena, I-"
you killed her
The blood stained all across the floors and the wall, staining the drain that was supposed to catch it all... horror and shock hit him and his reaction is instantaneous. Ethan doubles over in pain and sickness as it rises up in his throat and he vomits, pukes everything out of his stomach and it only takes him a second to realize--
you killed her
to realize-
she's dead
and this is her
blood
to realize what he is puking up is more blood, which twists his stomach in a fire, making him sicker, making him puke further at the sight and the horrific realization that crashes down on top of him, hands, the whole of him shaking where he's lying until there's nothing left, nothing-
"Can't be, you can't be- I can't have-" His voice is hoarse and strained and almost crazed, the sound of it, and nothing like his own, what it used to be.
But it's there, the realization, the knowing, the thing he is trying to fight himself not to know but he knows anyway because it is splattered everywhere, all over the cell and all over him and inside of him- and he lets out a sound that's not human but pure pain and grief.
No more blood inside of him. It's all been coughed, hacked out underneath him, tearing at himself with shaking fingers and hands that are too weak to do more than scratch at his skin, tear it back but not- and ignoring the fire in his wrists and his arms as he sobs and screams incoherently, trying to make it not be true notbetrue don't let it be true please, his stomach on fire, the taste of blood in his mouth, her-
He didn't think he could puke anymore, but he does bile and blood as he lashes out weakly at nothing- there's nothing.
And he's lying in her blood with it dripping from his mouth, and tears are burning in his eyes as he stares at it feeling hate for it and hate for himself and hateandhtanteandhate and so- he- he's so sorry elena, please, i and how much did it hurt? how LONG was he ripping her to pieces before it was finally- how much did she scream? how much did it hurt? why did she have to die that way alone? why couldn't he have killed himself right then and there, and he can't- he can't- he-
somewhere in the sobs and the screaming, he stops.
he just stops.
his brain shuts down. turns off without warning. one moment it had been breaking into pieces and then it's gone, can't take it, can't take anything, can't hear, can't speak, can't move.
ethan shuts down, and he lies there on the bottom of the cell, unmoving.
done.
They come in later and tell him the ceremony will begin tonight.
2/2
There's this insistent feeling, thudding in the back of his head along with his heart beat which almost sounds too quiet in the near silence that surrounds him.
This feeling he needs to- there's something. There's something that has happened, and he aches with it, screams with it, howls with it in the back of his head. It wasn't only his screams at all. It was....
It was hers, and he shoots up to a sitting position. The strength of the movement sending a wave of pain through him that he ignores. His heart beating at a hundred miles per minute.
"No, no- that's not-"
It couldn't have happened. It didn't happen. Elena's not dead. He didn't kill her. Please, please, please, make it a nightmare, make it not real, but he kissed her and that- that was real.
He searches through his head, tries tries to piece it all back together as he pushes himself up in the cell, slipping slightly, and he hasn't even thought of what he might be slipping in. It hasn't occurred to him, because he is still in shock, pale and shaking and sweating. He's covered in it too but he hasn't thought about it yet.
He paces back and forth and back and forth with his shaking hands and fingers sliding through his hair as he pieces it together, one by one, bit by bit, the very last moments, why she was in the cell with him, what it-
What it meant, it can't have meant it. It can't have meant it, but he remembers- a flash of his claw digging into her arm and her screaming as he lashed out. There was no time. The- the- ohgod the shackles. The shackles are broken and off the wall, and they aren't on-
They're not on his mangled wrists anymore.
"No, please-"
And it hits him like someone has shoved a sword in him, his hand resting against the wall to keep him up right, shock and grief and guilt and pain all at once like he has never felt before, nearly doubled over from it.
That's when he notices the blood on his hands, and he jumps back as if jolted, as if something's struck him, and he lands roughly on his back in something that's-- it's not quite the ground. He turns his head back horrified to see what it is but unable to not look, moving almost against his own will without thinking about it until he sees-
"No! Elena, I-"
you killed her
The blood stained all across the floors and the wall, staining the drain that was supposed to catch it all... horror and shock hit him and his reaction is instantaneous. Ethan doubles over in pain and sickness as it rises up in his throat and he vomits, pukes everything out of his stomach and it only takes him a second to realize--
you killed her
to realize-
she's dead
and this is her
blood
to realize what he is puking up is more blood, which twists his stomach in a fire, making him sicker, making him puke further at the sight and the horrific realization that crashes down on top of him, hands, the whole of him shaking where he's lying until there's nothing left, nothing-
"Can't be, you can't be- I can't have-" His voice is hoarse and strained and almost crazed, the sound of it, and nothing like his own, what it used to be.
But it's there, the realization, the knowing, the thing he is trying to fight himself not to know but he knows anyway because it is splattered everywhere, all over the cell and all over him and inside of him- and he lets out a sound that's not human but pure pain and grief.
No more blood inside of him. It's all been coughed, hacked out underneath him, tearing at himself with shaking fingers and hands that are too weak to do more than scratch at his skin, tear it back but not- and ignoring the fire in his wrists and his arms as he sobs and screams incoherently, trying to make it not be true notbetrue don't let it be true please, his stomach on fire, the taste of blood in his mouth, her-
He didn't think he could puke anymore, but he does bile and blood as he lashes out weakly at nothing- there's nothing.
And he's lying in her blood with it dripping from his mouth, and tears are burning in his eyes as he stares at it feeling hate for it and hate for himself and hateandhtanteandhate and so- he- he's so sorry elena, please, i and how much did it hurt? how LONG was he ripping her to pieces before it was finally- how much did she scream? how much did it hurt? why did she have to die that way alone? why couldn't he have killed himself right then and there, and he can't- he can't- he-
somewhere in the sobs and the screaming, he stops.
he just stops.
his brain shuts down. turns off without warning. one moment it had been breaking into pieces and then it's gone, can't take it, can't take anything, can't hear, can't speak, can't move.
ethan shuts down, and he lies there on the bottom of the cell, unmoving.
done.
They come in later and tell him the ceremony will begin tonight.
And he doesn't move.