CHAPTER TWO
HYSTERIA

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     She had gotten blood all over her mouth and chin for the second time in the past twenty-four hours, and for the second time that day, she came out of the bathroom with a clean face. There was blood on the cardigan, but she wasn't going to risk leaving it lying around. She couldn't think of the present much, so she focused on the future instead. Sooner or later, someone would call the police. It would probably be sooner, considering the woman who had walked through the door had screamed herself hoarse before Rowan had ordered her to be quiet. Thankfully, the woman herself was fine. As fine as she could be, considering the circumstances. Rowan had managed to pull herself away—not because she was full, or because she wanted to stop, but because her guilt won out over her wants—and had clumsily patched her up the best she could using the first-aid kit she had found in the bathroom.

She wasn't sure how she had managed to make the woman listen. It was instinctual, a talent Rowan didn't need to learn how to do. It came naturally, and she wasn't about to take it for granted. She was afraid any second it would wear off, and the woman would start screaming again. Right now, she was in the dining room, sitting quietly at the dining table, staring into space with a dazed expression. Rowan had told her to calm down, had told her to do what Rowan said. The fact that she had tacked on the word 'please' at the end hadn't dissuaded the guilt eating away at her stomach. The woman was either a nurse or a daughter of Kendra White. She had seen the kind woman's dead body, and it had been horrible enough for Rowan. She couldn't imagine how horrible it was for her. Part of Rowan wanted to see if she could make the woman forget, take the pain away somehow, but she resisted the urge.

She didn't have the right to do that. She didn't have a right to take away her memories or her pain. She barely had a right to tell her what to do at all, and the only reason she did it now was because she was desperate, and alone, and scared. She didn't know what to do, so she did things on instinct. She was running purely on self-preservation, nothing else. She could deal with everything else later.

Noticing that the sun was finally going down, Rowan slowly collected the purse she had dropped in front of the house door, then went to collect the plastic bag with her clothes in it. After thoroughly cleaning the bathtub and wiping down all the things she had touched—her memory was sharper than before, and she had barely touched anything anyway—she slowly made her way back into the dining room and bent down to catch the woman's eye. It seemed to work better when she had eye contact.

"Forget you ever saw me," she ordered, that guilt still eating away at her. She still felt sick, but not like earlier, not like when she had puked into the bathtub. She felt refreshed, energized, and she knew it was because of the woman's blood, and that was what made her feel sick. Her body was buzzing with adrenaline, and she itched to run, to do something. She pushed the urge back. "When I'm gone, call the police and report Kendra White's death. Say you found her this way." She paused, then added, "After you deal with the police and the funeral and whatever else, grieve in a healthy way. Be kind to yourself. Please." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she quickly backed away. It was the only thing she could think of to even remotely make any of it right. She hadn't been the one to kill Kendra, but she still felt responsible regardless.

Rowan wondered if it was possible to fight off Katherine, if she could have done something to break the control she had, and then quickly hurried to focus on something else. Anything else.

For the first time since the night before, Rowan stepped out of that house, though she made sure to use the back door. Her home was five houses down. All she had to do was cut through the backyards of her neighbors, jumping over a few fences, including her own. She focused on doing that, clutching the plastic bag with her bloody shirt and her purse to her chest. The cardigan was open. She wasn't wearing a shirt underneath. She should have been cold, since it was late February, but she didn't feel anything. Despite that, she shivered just at another thing different about herself and tugged the cardigan closed around her. She made it to her own backyard without a fuss. The neighborhood was abnormally quiet—there were a lot of kids, and they tended to play even at night—and she noted that, excluding her own house and a couple others, most of the houses on the street were dark, the driveways empty. She frowned and stepped onto her back porch, reaching for the door handle.

Her parents usually left it unlocked precisely because Rowan had a habit of coming and going, so she wasn't surprised when the handle twisted beneath her hand. Giving a sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping, she attempted to go into her home, wanting nothing more than to have a proper shower, destroy her bloody clothes, and sleep for about a million years. Hopefully she'd wake up and this would have all been a horrible, horrible nightmare. All those hopes vanished when she seemed to slam into a brick wall. Not only did she stop on the threshold by an invisible force, but it felt like hands reached into her chest and squeezed around both of her lungs. For a blinding second, she couldn't breathe. Then she had the sense to step away from the threshold of her home and the grip on her lungs vanished. She released a small sigh and stared in confusion, eyes going to the archways of the door, as if there was an invisible plain of glass she hadn't seen.

There wasn't. Slower this time, she tried to step through again, only for the same thing to happen. The feeling in her chest wasn't nearly as painful as the first time—it felt like she was holding her breath, like one did when they were underwater—though the longer she stayed in the threshold, the more painful it got. She stepped away and reached out her hand. It fell flat like it would if she had placed it against a window. Sighing in frustration, she dropped her hand. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, took her a moment to remember the legend.

Vampires couldn't enter a home without being invited.

This time, she didn't shudder. She just scowled in annoyance. She couldn't enter her own home, she couldn't walk in the sun, she had to feed on blood—everything was so inconvenient. She knew all the legends weren't true, she had seen her reflection, but now she knew that at least some of them were. For a shallow moment, Rowan hoped the legend about garlic wasn't true. She'd be damned if she had to give up garlic bread.

Then she remembered that she was damned anyway, and the scowl turned into a frown. Tilting her head, she peered into the room beyond the back door. It was the kitchen. Dimly, she could hear a television playing, and knew that her parents were home.

"Mom?" she called out tentatively, testing the doorway again. No such luck. "Dad?" There was a clatter as one of them dropped something, and then she saw her mother coming down the hallway from the living room. Rowan offered a sheepish smile and a halfhearted wave.

"Where have you been?" her mother started, surprising Rowan enough that her hand dropped, as did her smile. Her mother didn't lecture her often. Neither of her parents did. They usually barely noticed anymore, since they always assumed she was at a friend's house. "Tyler called. He and all your other friends thought you were home. Do you have any idea how worried we've been?" Rowan opened her mouth to respond, but her mother reached for her wrist and started tugging her into the house. "Come inside, honey, it's freezing. And tell me where you've been."

When she stumbled over the threshold, nothing stopped her.

"I, um—" Bewildered, Rowan turned to stare out the door, then shook her head as her mother went to close the door. She had been so busy doing things one step at a time that she hadn't thought of what she'd tell her parents, her friends. "I—I freaked out after Caroline's accident." The words came out jumbled together. Her mother, a lovely woman in her forties with shoulder-length hair the same color red as Rowan's, crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "I needed some time alone. Stayed with a girl from the cheerleading squad. We're not that close, I just needed a place to crash. Are we done? I actually want to go up to bed."

"Rowan," her mother said sternly. "You can't brush this off. We usually don't worry about this because you stay at a friend's house, but—this is the first time you've done this since last summer, Rowan—"

"I'm tired," Rowan quickly cut off, voice hard. The last thing she wanted to talk about was the incident the summer before. The one that had happened after the Gilberts went off Wickery Bridge, and Elena and Jeremy were away. The one Rowan had tried her best to forget. "I want to go and rest." By then, her father had arrived. He leaned in the kitchen doorway and frowned at her.

"You're not going to the carnival?" he asked. Rowan opened her mouth to immediately ask what in the world he was talking about, and then she stopped and frowned. She had completely forgotten about the annual carnival their high school threw every year. Caroline had been head of the planning committee, and the planning committee itself had involved Elena, Bonnie, Matt, Tyler, Rowan, and anyone else Caroline could rope into it. She was supposed to show up that day to help set up the booths, prizes, and food. Considering Caroline was in the hospital, Rowan couldn't imagine the mess that had unfolded as everyone scrambled to get everything done.

Rowan could say a lot of things about Caroline—most of them very unpleasant—but she couldn't say she was bad at leading. She was too bossy, too much of a control freak, to ever be bad at it.

"Right," Rowan breathed. "The carnival. I was supposed to be there." She put her hand on her forehead for a moment, then dropped her hand. Her parents were looking at her strangely, a mixture of concern and puzzlement. Rowan didn't typically forget things. Despite her attitude toward most things, she was still good at taking care of her responsibilities. She liked focusing on things, liked constantly moving. It meant less time in her own head. Seeing their looks, Rowan smile and said, "I'm not feeling tired anymore. I'm gonna go take a quick shower, then head down there."

"Sweetie, maybe you should stay in for the night?" her mother suggested, sharing a look with her husband. Rowan was already brushing past them, barely paying attention.

"I can take the car, right?" she called over her shoulder. She didn't wait for an answer, just plucked the spare key from where they hung on a row of decorative hooks in the hallway. "Great, thanks."

Her father called her name, but Rowan wasn't even listening.

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It turned out that going to a carnival filled to the brim with people that smelled delicious to someone who suddenly had a thirst for blood wasn't the smartest thing Rowan could have done. The second she arrived she started having sensory overload. All she could hear for five horrible minutes was the sound of hearts beating blood through warm bodies. Then that faded away to voices, footsteps, screams, laugher, cars driving, horns honking, machines running. She ended up clapping her palms over her ears in an attempt to drown out the sounds, but it hardly did anything at all. She was suddenly grateful she had pulled on a jean jacket before leaving the house. She wasn't sure what brushing against humans would have done to her already-sensitive senses. She stumbled her way through the crowd, ignoring the concerned looks sent her way. She needed to get to a more open space, needed to get to a quieter space.

She had finally found a spot near a booth that had yet to open when she bumped into a muscled chest. Before she could look up, hands were on her shoulders, keeping her in place. Blinking rapidly, she looked up to see Tyler looking over her, brows furrowing in obvious concern. He clicked his tongue once he was done and released her shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Alright," he said, and his tone of voice immediately made Rowan roll her eyes. Suddenly all the noises around her didn't bother her anymore. Like she had somehow dulled her own senses. She frowned in thought, then looked at Tyler when he started speaking again. She was jumpy, restless. She hoped he wouldn't notice. "No cuts, no bruises. I say you're fine." Despite his words, he still looked concerned, staring at her with a frown. Rowan attempted a smile.

"That's what I've been telling you," she said, forcing out a laugh that Tyler obviously didn't fall for. He frowned even harder. Rowan shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "I'm fine, Tyler," she said softly, tilting her head. Tyler hummed.

"Yeah," he said slowly, drawing the word out. "Too bad I don't believe you." Rowan's fake smile dropped immediately. She gave him a cold look. She was good at giving cold looks, good at spitting out just the right amount of venom to make people angry with her. If he wasn't going to back off with Rowan being soft, then she would be hard.

"I'm fine," she said, voice cold. Tyler blinked, taken aback by her abrupt change in tone. He stared for a moment, looking troubled.

"Rowan—" he started, sounding even more concerned than before. Rowan's temper reared up so suddenly that she didn't have enough time to reign it in.

"I said I'm fine!" she snapped so harshly that Tyler actually jerked away from her, and a few strangers passing by stopped and gave her astonished looks. She glared at them until they hurried away, and then her burning gaze was back on Tyler. There was a beat of stunned silence. A few moments later, Tyler's open face from before slammed closed, leaving a cold mask of indifference in its place. Part of Rowan was relieved. Another part of her wanted to beg him to keep pushing, wanted to beg him not to leave her alone. She didn't want to be alone. She was always alone.

"Well, okay," Tyler said, voice just as cold as hers was. "How about you find me again when you stop acting like I murdered your cat?" He was gone a moment later. Rowan closed her eyes and tilted her head back, trying to regulate her breathing, trying to control the swirl of emotions rising up inside of her. She felt things so much more strongly now. It was awful. Blinking her eyes open, she saw that a full moon was in the sky. She watched it for a moment before she lowered her head. She cast a glance around, frowning. She wanted to leave. She didn't even know why she was at that stupid, useless, contrived carnival in the first place. She felt just as alone there as she did at home.

Maybe that was her own fault.

"Rowan!" She jumped at the voice and whirled around, eyes widening when she saw Elena hurrying her way, Bonnie following close behind. Both of them looked relieved. They were both out of breath when they reached Rowan. "Thank god, we've been looking everywhere for you," Elena said, laughing breathlessly. A warmth started to form in her chest before Rowan noticed the clipboards in both of their hands. It was like she was doused with ice-cold water.

"Yeah," Rowan said, voice oddly flat. She didn't have enough energy to put venom into the words. "Because you need help with the carnival, I know." Bonnie and Elena paused at that. Elena's smile started to dim, while Bonnie hadn't even bothered to smile at all. She was frowning at Rowan, head tilted to the side as if she could sense something was off. Rowan looked at her for a moment before she looked at Elena. "What do you need me to do? I could use a distraction, even if it's as boring as organizing a carnival."

"No, Rowan, that's—" Elena stuttered and shook her head. "That's not what I meant. I haven't heard a word from you since the Miss Mystic Falls Pageant. Are you okay?" Rowan stared at her in bewilderment, and then she scowled. She didn't like remembering that godawful pageant. It had been horrible for her, had kept her up at night and had made her completely miserable, and she didn't even know why. All she knew was that Elena had looked beautiful that day, and Rowan hated that she had noticed, and she was so angry about everything surrounding it and surrounding Elena that she couldn't breathe and she didn't understand. All that frustration and anger confusion resulted in one thing for Rowan—cruel words spit out impulsively, with no apologies even when she regretted them.

"Don't you have those two Salvatore brothers to chase after?" she snapped, immediately forcing her mouth shut when Elena reeled back just like Tyler had, looking astonished. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and that just made it worse. A pang of hunger went through her stomach.

"What's wrong with you?" Elena stuttered. Normally Bonnie would have stepped in by now, but when Rowan looked at her, Bonnie was still staring at her. This time, she didn't look curious. She looked grim, lips pressed into a hard line, eyes wide and sad. Rowan glanced away. "Did I do something to make you upset because—"

"No," Rowan said, lip curling. "You didn't do something. You don't do anything." It wasn't true, and it wasn't fair, and it wasn't right, but Rowan had never operated on what was right. She was hurting, and alone, and scared and she simply wanted everyone around her to feel the same way. "Just like you're not telling me what you need me to do here. I'm going to take that as a sign that you don't actually need me and I'm going to leave." She turned to go, but stopped when Elena grabbed her arm. She jerked it out of her grasp and whirled around to glare at Elena.

"Rowan, please," Elena begged, not even flinching at the look. "I'm worried about you."

"Everyone's worried about me," Rowan sneered. "Literally all the time. For some reason, all of you collectively decided now was the right time to tell me. And it's fucking annoying. I'm fine." Her voice cracked on the last word, and suddenly her throat was closing up and tears were clouding her vision and she couldn't breathe. For a brief moment, all she could feel was pain. A blinding, all-consuming pain that made her want to scream, made her want to curl up into a ball and never move again. Made her want everything to stop. It was too much. Everything was too loud and too bright and it was too painful and just too much.

"Rowan," Elena whispered, reaching out for her. Just like that, Rowan wasn't sad anymore. She was starving, so hungry that all she could focus on was Elena's neck, on the vein there. Fear immediately took its place. All Rowan could think was, No, not her, anyone but her. She jerked away from Elena's hands, nearly stumbling over her own feet.

"Back off, Elena," she snarled viciously, because it was the only thing she knew how to do, the only thing she could think off to get Elena away from her. It worked. Her sharp, loud voice made Elena flinch back, flinch away from her. It gave Rowan the opportunity to turn on her heel and flee into the crowd. She didn't head for the parking lot. She made a beeline for the school, knowing the doors would be unlocked. She burst through the doors and stumbled down the hall until she came upon a row of lockers. She pressed her forehead against the cool metal and focused on taking in calming breaths. She didn't want to attack another random human. She didn't want to hurt anyone else. Her stomach twisted just at the thought of it.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Rowan twisted around immediately. The veins protruding from her eyes came out before she could control it, lips pulling back from the fangs suddenly sprouting from her gums. The snarl that came out of her throat sounded more like a wild cat than it did a human being.

It was Bonnie.

"What happened to you?" she whispered, taking in Rowan's face with a heartbroken expression. Rowan took rapid steps away from her.

"Go away," Rowan ordered. She couldn't seem to get her fangs back into her gums. They cut her bottom lip when she talked.

"Who did this to you?" Bonnie demanded, following her but at a distance. "Was it Damon?" The name of the oldest Salvatore brother made Rowan stop. She frowned at Bonnie.

"Damon?" she whispered, voice rising in hysteria. "What does that asshole have to do with any of this—" She stopped, breaking off in a pained gasp when a horn honked outside and pain exploded through her head. She grasped at it, tearing at her hair as if she could stop the sounds ringing around inside of her head.

"Rowan," Bonnie whispered, raising a hand and approaching her slowly. "Ro, you need to calm down—"

"I can't calm down!" Rowan gasped, voice rising even more. A sob caught in her throat. "I've had gaps in my memories for weeks and each time I think I've remembered everything, something new pops up and I can barely come to terms with any of it before something else happens! I heard voices in my head that night, Bonnie!" She was crying now, the tears falling down her cheeks, smearing her mascara and leaving black stains. "How is that even possible? She made me drink her blood every single night and I couldn't even remember. She made me turn into—into this. She made me kill myself." She choked on another sob and clutched at her head again. "I can't calm down."

"She?" Bonnie whispered. There were tears in her eyes, but they didn't fall. "She who?"

"Katherine!"

"Katherine? Katherine did this to you?"

"You know who Katherine is? You know what's happening to me?" Rowan didn't even realize she was moving until both of Bonnie's wrists were in her grasp. Bonnie stared at her, eyes wide. It was while Rowan was letting her go, feeling horrified, that she heard the broken sobs from outside. She tilted her head. The sound of someone else sobbing made Rowan's own tears stop. She recognized the voice. "Caroline," she whispered, turning toward the doors at the other end of the hall, leading toward the large field they usually used for cheerleading practice when it was warm enough. "Something's wrong with Caroline."

"Where?" Bonnie demanded. This time it was her turn to grab at Rowan's wrist.

"The field in the back we use for cheerleading practice," Rowan whispered, taking a step toward the doors. Bonnie tugged at her arm, making her stop.

"No," Bonnie whispered. "No, Rowan, you have to stay here."

"Why—"

"I don't know what they'll do to you!" Bonnie burst out. Rowan felt a burst of fear, but above that, self-preservation. She stared at Bonnie in stunned silence. "You're not safe—"

With a slight breeze that ruffled Bonnie's hair, Rowan was gone.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: My baby girl Rowan doesn't deserve any of this. Also, a few notes. 1. This story isn't Damon-friendly, because Rowan has very legitimate reasons to hate him, and I do not like Damon on top of that. However, if you like him, that's fine. I just ask no one argues in the comments because that's exhausting, honestly. 2. This fic is more character-driven than it is plot-driven, so expect more conversations than action. Not to say there isn't action—there is—but don't expect her to be some warrior princess. Nothing at all against warrior princesses, Rowan just isn't one.