Prisoner In My Own Body

By: Tracy Cook

Disclaimer: I do not own anything; these characters belong to the creators of Glee and The Vampire Diaries.

Authors Note: This is an AU fic that focuses around Glee/Vampire Diaries. There will be NO VAMPIRES and characters may be slightly OOC, but I will try and keep them in character.

Pairings: Bonnie/Damon, Quinn/Rachel, Kol/Bonnie, and Caroline/Rebekah.

Warning: This fic will contain dark themes, including suicidal tendencies, homicidal tendencies, abuse, drug and alcohol usage etc. Basically a really dark fic, so please if these are triggers of yours do not read. Thank you all.

Rating: M

Prisoner In My Own Body

The cuffs around his wrists dug deep into his skin, cutting away at the veins there and adding to the marks that previously existed on them.

His clear blue eyes were covered with long dark bangs and his curly hair reached down to his shoulders. It was disheveled and it looked like he had just woken up. He was wearing a frown that told a deep and dark story. His shirt was a black t-shirt with a v-neck. He had on a leather jacket and a pair of torn up jeans and boots.

"Get in the car." The policeman pushed him down into the car, slamming his forehead against the door frame in the process.

The young man didn't even flinch. He could not feel any pain. It was like his body had gone completely numb. He couldn't believe what he was being accused of doing. It couldn't have been true.

It had only been a dream.

He couldn't have possibly done that. His body shook as he recalled what the police were accusing him of. His heart started to race loudly in his ears and he bit down hard on his cheeks causing them to bleed as he sat in the backseat and stared toward the front of the car. He felt completely trapped and claustrophobic. It caused his stomach to twist and bile to rise into his mouth.

Running a hand through his hair, he held onto his forehead tightly. Trying to alleviate his building headache. His eyes were fixated on the window and he was watching the scenery pass them by as he headed toward the insane asylum.

His mind was plagued with the hateful faces. The screams and protests as he was granted insanity charges. They had wanted to watch him die. They thought that getting off on insanity charges was too nice. They claimed he was faking it.

But, he wasn't.

He truly could not remember anything that had happened.

"Damon!" He could hear her scream out in his memories. She was screaming out in fear, in desperation, like she needed him to hear her. He was staring through his eyes at her, but it wasn't him. He had no control over himself.

"Please, Damon, please! Snap out of it!"

Everything felt surreal. He could not move, he felt trapped in the darkness that surrounded him and all that he could see was her beautiful face twisted in pain and horror. It felt like he was staring through holes in a Halloween mask. It felt like he was someone else entirely.'

But, it had all just been a dream.

At least he had thought it was a dream. Yet, when his blue eyes snapped open and he stared up at the ceiling he had a sinking feeling in his chest as a metallic scent filled his senses and made him sick. He wiped the sweat from his brow and moved the hair that was sticking to his face. He didn't dare turn to see what had happened. He simply lifted his hands and stared at the blood that stained them. In the distance he could hear the faint sounds of the ambulance.

Turning to his side his breath caught in his throat and tears filled his eyes.

Staring back at him were the vacant eyes of his love. They had once been full of happiness and emotion and now they were empty and blue.

He stood to his feet and threw his pillow off the bed, covering the sheets in bloody hand prints. Why were his hands bloody? He hadn't killed her? That hadn't been reality! It as only a dream.

Backing away from the bed he found himself pressed against the wall of their room. His hands running blood along the wallpaper that they had chosen together. His chest was heaving and his tears were rolling down his cheeks and over his exposed chest. It felt like he was going to pass out as he stared at the scene before him with horror written across his face.

His lover was dead.

They were to be married in May and his biggest fear was to lose her. He had been having nightmares about her dying for months now. He was so scared that she would be hurt, and now it was his reality.

This man's tragedy has made him a prisoner in his own body.

And It's Not Just Tragedy. It's dementia, despair.

When he arrived to the ward it was nearly three in the morning. And he could tell by the prying eyes watching him that they were all internally judging him. His trials had been all over the news and they had practically made him look to be a fool. Saying that he was lying about his nightmares and being unconscious during the event.

They all believed that the murder was a conscious decision.

If only they could understand just how hard Damon was taking this. If only they could tell that he was not capable of doing something so evil. Not to the woman he had loved more than life itself. He would have died to let her be alive now. He could have never killed her.

Not ever.

He wanted to ask them what they were all looking at. He wanted to be sarcastic and spiteful. They had no right to make assumptions about him based on nothing but evidence. Evidence could be planted after all. He could have been drugged and placed there. His veins popped out in his arms as his muscles tensed and his jawbone was visible as he clenched his teeth together tightly.

Still, despite all of the looks, he did not say anything. He just followed the nurse into the other room where they wrapped his bicep up with the blood pressure monitor and wrote down his numbers. Then they weighed him and took all of the items that could possibly be used to harm others and stored them away until he got out.

Damon wasn't stupid though, he knew that he was never getting out.

They probably just threw his belongings away.

Finally, they took him into the cafeteria and a young woman sat down across the table from him. She had fear evident in her eyes as she pulled out a clipboard and a pen in order to ask him the same generic questions he had been asked over and over since his trial. They all wanted to analyze him, to understand him, to figure him out.

They wanted to make sense of him so that they could ease there minds.

It was hard enough to think that a human is capable of doing evil when they are awake, but to think that they are capable of doing so without even knowing it dwells deep within them, that was terrifying.

She stared into his eyes.

Searching for the answers.

'It's these holes I can see in both of his eyes.

Where all of the events that happen in this real world, Kind of Just fall through.

It's loneliness in it's most crippling form.

The kind that no amount of love, or human contact,

Could ever mend.

"Are you having suicidal thoughts?" The psychiatrist read it like a routine. Uninterested and disregarding his actual feelings.

She couldn't care less.

Damon cast his eyes down at his arms and nearly laughed at the question. It was ridiculously obvious. His arms were covered in open wounds, his skin so cut up that you could barely see anything but scabs and scars. His nails were bitten down as far as they could be and his pants were covered in blood where he had cut open his legs.

He wasn't proud of it. But, when he had lost his love, he felt no reason to be alive.

"Yes." He spoke sarcastically with a raise of his brows, his eyes widening as he spoke.

The woman ignored his tone. She must have been used to getting sarcastic responses to that question, because she didn't even flinch. She merely gave a slight shake of her head and wrote down his answer. Then continued on to the next question, "Are you sleeping well?"

"I haven't slept in weeks." Damon spoke honestly. He hadn't been able to sleep since what happened with his wife. He had become an insomniac, if only to keep himself from accidentally murdering anyone else that he loved. It was extremely terrifying to feel like you had no control over your body, like you were trapped behind the eyes of someone else in control of you. He was a marionette on strings and he didn't trust himself anymore.

He didn't know what he was capable of anymore.

"That isn't healthy for you. We may need to prescribe you sleeping medication."

"I don't want it."

"Why not?"

"I don't wanna sleep."

They shared a look that said that she was worried about that answer, then she wrote something down in her notes. Undoubtedly judgmental. It amazed him that people were actually paid to over-analyze and judge other people.

"Can I ask why not?" She wondered.

As if she didn't already know the answer. "Well." His lips twisted up into an almost demented grin as he told her, "I wouldn't want to kill anyone, now would I?"

This silenced her and she coughed and continued on with her questioning. "How about your appetite? Have you been eating regularly?"

"Nope." He stated simply.

"I would really appreciate it if you would take these questions seriously."

"Why should I?" Damon raised his brows. "No one seems to want to take what I have to say seriously? So why not just feed them the shit that they obviously want to hear?"

"If we are going to help you then we need you to answer these questions honestly."

"You have no plans to help me. Don't act like you do." He was bitter. He hated that no one took the time to actually listen to his concerns, to his fears, to his worries. He was horrified that he had killed his wife and that he didn't remember it and yet all anyone could do was be extremely harsh and judgmental. "You all keep asking me the same questions and every time that I tell you the truth you all act like I'm just lying to get out of trouble. So, what's the point?"

She didn't say anything to that.

Her eyes were now connected to his and she felt herself believing him. She had been told to not buy into his lies. To not believe him. They had told her that he was a genius and he knew exactly what he had done. But, right now, she could see honesty shimmering behind those eyes.

Maybe this was what they meant when they said that he was maniacal and could trick her into anything. Or maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth.

I know he seems fine.

But 'Seems' can be a very dangerous word, especially in this business.

It can be fatal.

"Do you remember anything from that night?"

"No more than what I already told them."

She stared up at him and sighed. "Damon, I need you to cooperate with me. Please, tell me what you remember."

He cast his eyes away from her and he dug his nails into his legs through his pants as he recalled that night. That night had haunted him for a month straight and it made him physically ill. What the therapists and police didn't understand was that he wanted to know what had happened just as badly as they did. He wanted to prove himself innocent. He wanted to find the person responsible and slaughter them with his bare hands.

Even if he found out it was him. If he had truly killed her, then he deserved to die.

He deserved to be punished.

"I remember." Damon started and then he swallowed hard and glanced down at his hands. His stomach twisting in thoughts. It suddenly felt like there was a giant lump stuck in his throat, he could hardly breathe. "I don't remember much." He sighed.

"Just tell me whatever it is that you remember."

"I remember having these terrible nightmares for weeks and sleepwalking. My wife would find me standing over her and staring down at her, but I was completely asleep. When she woke me up I was terrified because my dreams had been of her being brutally murdered. I was watching it happen, but I couldn't control it." Damon's voice broke and he sucked in his tears. He didn't dare show his vulnerability. "She tried to get me to go and talk to someone, but I refused. I was too stubborn."

She could hear the self-hatred saturating his words as he spoke about his own stubbornness. She could tell that he blamed himself. That he thought that if he would have just listened to her and gone to talk to someone about his sleepwalking and nightmares then nothing would have happened. His wife would be alive.

Despite her best interest, she believed his words.

"She always told me I was too stubborn." He laughed and shook his head.

Damon spoke about her memory with fondness, with love, and with passion. It was the same way that someone spoke about a lost loved one. She could tell he didn't want her to die.

After collecting himself, he continued to explain that night. "It had been weeks of these nightmares, so that night..." He paused and forced his tears away. "I was already expecting the dreams. I didn't think anything of them. I knew that they weren't real. At least I thought that they weren't real. But, when I woke up I."

He couldn't keep speaking yet and the therapist respected that. Giving him a second to collect himself and offering him a small helpful smile.

"I had her blood all over my hands." He stared down at them disgusted. "She was mutilated and sprawled out on my bed and it was just like my dream. But, it was only a dream. I didn't kill my wife. I would never kill her."

She believed him.

The patient was plagued by violent nightmares, terrible, deeply troubling dreams.

Which one night overflowed into reality, and he murdered his wife, in his sleep.

These people were in love, deeply in love.

And it was that love filling those holes that I can now see behind his eyes.

Honestly, she had never witnessed a patient so broken.

So afraid of himself. So hateful of himself. That was what gave him away to her. His actions spoke louder than his words. Some people could convince you with their words that they cared, but his actions told her that he really did love the woman. He was going through a loss and he deserved some compassion.

She didn't know how else to show the young man compassion then to allow him to get some rest and put an end to the questioning. There would always be plenty of time for that later. It was the middle of the night and he looked past the point of exhaustion. Offering him a smile she said, "We can finish this tomorrow. I'll show you to your room so that you can get some rest."

Damon furrowed his brow in confusion as he stared across the table at her.

No one had ever shown him compassion or understanding. Not since the incident.

He nodded his head and stood to his feet following her toward the main hallway of the ward.

Suddenly, his eyes landed on a young girl who was at least five years younger then him. She was sitting out in the main living room with her hood up and her green eyes fixated on the television. The light from the television reflected off of her beautiful caramel skin and full lips and he couldn't help but admire her beauty.

He was nowhere near ready to be in a new relationship. But, he could still admire someone who was as beautiful as her.

Damon wondered who she was and what had brought her there.

His thoughts were interrupted by the therapist as she opened his door and spoke to him. "You are in room 102. You are to keep this door open at all times. If you need a shower please do ask one of us nurses to watch your door." She didn't outright say that she didn't trust him, but it was implied. He assumed that that was protocol. They couldn't trust people here. People here had done terrible things. Especially him.

With a nod of his head, he headed inside and pulled his shirt over his head.

His eyes glanced down at his toned exposed chest and his eyes glazed over with tears he didn't dare shed. Written across his chest was the name of his dead wife. He had carved it into his chest when she had died. He had wanted to always live with the reminder of what he had possibly done to her, of how he had lost her and it was all due to his own stubborn nature.

Falling down on the bed, he gripped the sheets tightly and stared ahead.

He knew that he would not be capable of sleep.

And he wasn't allowed to have pens or notebooks so he could not stay up and write. So he simply thought.

And it's my job to try and fill those holes with something else.

But with what?

Hope?

I can try to fill those holes with drugs, soothing words, but that's all.

I hope his wounds will heal with time, but right now, things aren't looking good.

Authors Note:

I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter! I am really interested in writing this story! The next chapter will explain a little why Bonnie is there and it will have them meet each other. Rebekah and Caroline will also be in this story and probably Kol and Quinn and Rachel. But the main relationship will probably be Bamon. Please do tell me what you guys think!

I honestly don't know if you guys will want me to continue this fic or not. So if y'all leave me some reviews I will try and update ASAP!

Thank you all for reading! I love you all so much! :)

Seriously, you guys are the best!

-Tracy Cook