It's a Monday when he realises that she's dying. He knows through her smile that comes too quickly and too sharp, through her eyes that watch him desperately, through her hands that shake ever so slightly as they hold his and from the doctor's words which he can barely hear. Damon ignores the man as tells them that it's going to be more like weeks than months and nowhere near years. But it doesn't matter because Damon won't believe it yet.

It does make him hate Mondays though.

It's on a Tuesday that he accepts that she's dying. When her laugh sounds wrong and her insults sound feeble for the first time since he met her. When her cough starts to bring up blood. The first time she coughed up blood, he stood there unable to move. As she watched him, she wondered if it was the blood or her that had stilled him. When he reached out his hand to give her another tissue, she knew that it was her, that it would always be her.

He couldn't stand Tuesdays after that.

On a Wednesday he finally admits that she's dying to someone other than himself. But it's not the image of Stefan's face, aghast and upset, that will haunt Damon's mind forever he decides. It's the slight flash of relief, not that the girl he once loved is dying, but rather that he does not love her like that anymore. So he will not have to feel how his brother feels now. However, it's not the relief that makes Damon want to punch his brother but rather the overwhelming pity that follows it. Elena turns away, unable to see her former lover's sympathy. She doesn't cry though. She never cries in front of anyone but him.

Damon decides that if he never sees a Wednesday again, he will be happy.

It's on a Thursday that he stops her from dying. He would never call it saving her life, nor would she, both agreeing that death would be more agreeable. He sits there saying nothing as she screams at him about the unbearable pain, about the unending treatment that afflicts her worse than the disease itself. He stands motionless as he punches him, eventually embracing her as she sobs into his chest, soaking his shirt through. The state of his John Varvatos shirt was the least of his concerns however. As she cries, he apologises over and over again. He was sorry for forcing her to live, but he couldn't let her die.

Thursdays were never any good after that.

It's a Friday when he finally kills her. It's nearly midnight but it has taken him all day to work up the courage. As he approaches her, she smiles and he knows, finally, that this was the only option he had left. He gives her a way out of the pain and she takes it gratefully. He knows it was all he could do now. He couldn't stand another day of her suffering, of her tears, of her desperation.

And he figured that he'd never liked Fridays anyway.

He watches her die on a Saturday. At some point that night, the clock passes over midnight and he realises regretfully that he's lost another day to her sickness. It is on a Saturday that he kisses her for the last time and holds her until her heart is still. And he realises regretfully that she's taken his heart with her.

And it was a shame as he'd quite liked Saturdays before that.

Damon Salvatore kills himself before Sunday dawns. 167 years was more than enough for him and he figures, quite reasonably, that he doesn't really have anything else to live for anyway. Sunday's had always been his favourite day. On a Sunday he married her, on a Sunday he proposed to her, on a Sunday he first kissed her. And he figures, he doesn't really want to stay around long enough to see what this next Sunday would bring without her. It seems right, that only in death can a vampire and a human's relationship really work – their definitions of life varied too greatly. He dies before he ever sees another Sunday again.

After all, he had always really liked Sundays.