DAMON.

　　I sat in my room, still as paralyzed as the same day that Carlisle, my mate, was taken from me.

　　The pain of losing her was more than I could ever bear. It pierced me every time that I woke, leaving a void in my heart that told me that I was missing something - I was missing Carlisle.

　　I hated myself, now more than ever. How could I even think to lose to Jake, of all people? Admittedly, his win was due to a petty trick of magic on his part, but still, he had won and I had lost. The loss had left a bitter taste in my mouth that would not go away. I knew that it was not going to be easy to let go of it.

　　I had no idea how I even got back home from the penthouse.

　　Now, I have locked myself in my room. I had heard knocking from my mother several times, but had not even answered.

　　Most times, I would just pace around the room staring blankly at the walls. Sometimes I would also feel a rage inside of me, especially when the thought of Jake came up. I would have thoughts of what Jake was doing with Carlisle right that moment. The images that popped in my head were truly not friendly ones, and I would end up letting out pained shouts that filled the air.

　　I had no idea how many parts of the wall that I had punched in the past few days.

　　Yes, days.

　　It had been days since I got back from the penthouse, and since then I had been unmistakably sequestered in my room. I did not want to see anyone, not then and not for a long time to come. I was not even willing to go to the door and answer whoever it was that knocked on it.

　　If I had to guess though, many of those times that knocks would come on the door of my room, would have to be from my mother.

　　She had even begun to speak at the door, and I could hear her.

　　She said things like, “Damon, open the door and let’s talk”, or “I don’t understand why you are being like this, my dear. Please open the door”, to name a few examples.

　　Now she had taken to coming to my door three times a day, like clockwork, to check on me.

　　Sometimes she would leave a tray of food at my doorstep and knock on the door, asking me to open up and take my food. I did not listen to her, nor did I ever end up opening the door.

　　Besides, at this point, I was subsisting mainly on alcohol from my small bar in the room.

　　My collection of whiskeys, red and white wines and vodkas were slowly running dry. There was not a day that I would not end opening a brand new bottle, as the previous one had been finished the day before.

　　It was simply my own way of dealing with everything, and it was unhealthy. I knew it was an unhealthy coping mechanism, but I was desperately in need of drowning my sorrows. I wanted everything to be a blur and to not think of anyone even when I was sleeping.

　　I needed to be alone. I simply needed to be left alone.

　　However, as they say, all things must come to an end. And that came when I woke up from my drinking-induced sleep to persistent, sharp knocks on the door.

　　I got up while trying to stave off the headache bearing down on me, and just wondering who it was at the door.

　　After a few more seconds of knocking that felt so loud in the face of my horrible hangover, I had to let out a growl of frustration as I walked to the door.

　　I took hold of the doorknob, turned and opened the door to find my mother looking at me with her hand poised mid-knock.

　　We stared at each of them for what felt like forever.

　　“Mother,” I finally said, feeling like a bucket of cold water had been poured over my head. I sobered up immediately, and saw the concern in her eyes which made me feel even worse than I already was.

　　“My son, what have you been doing?” She crosses her arms over her chest, releasing a harsh breath from her lips, before scrunching her face up in determination. “Let me in, Damon. We need to talk.”

　　“No,” I replied almost immediately. I did not want her to see the state I was truly in, I did not want her to see the room, with empty bottles of alcohol strewn around, the bed a mess, and broken pieces of porcelain decorative objects all over the floor. I did not want my mother to look at me and truly see me as the mess that I was.

　　Yet, she did not budge. I looked back at her and saw the gleam of determination in her eyes. It was enough to make me want to groan in exasperation. She looked like she was going to push me aside and walk in if I did not think to step aside.

　　“Damon, my son,” she said, and I avoided the look in her eyes. Eventually she sighed, and I watched as she shook her head imperceptibly.

　　“Let me in. Or I will break down this door and come in regardless.”

　　I felt a shiver down my spine as she said that. She always tended to make good on her word whenever she said it. I had no choice, and ended up having to step aside , because I knew that the next thing that would happen is that she would want to enter my room. I ended up being right, as in the next few seconds, I watched as she almost barreled over me in an effort to gain entry into the room.

　　I saw as her head whipped to the left and to the right, and I noticed how her eyes caught sight of the empty liquor bottles and the general messiness of the room. She turned back to me with a shocked look on her face, and I had to look away from her, for I feared to see the disappointment inside her eyes.

　　We stood there in silence for another couple of seconds before she spoke.

　　“Damon,” she began, and took a few steps towards me. I simply grit my teeth and squared my shoulders, trying to not show how tired and angry and gone I was.

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