Wooden bullets soaked in vervain really hurt.
He'd temporarily forgotten how much, because really, people these days are lazy. Nobody feels like carving out each wooden bullet, individually soaking them in vervain for days until they're saturated enough, not even him. It's a god damn tedious project, and everybody in the 21st century hates tedious.
So excuse him if he doesn't hear her already. And what if he had? Sure, he could have just gone to one of the many other showers in this oversized house, but he still wouldn't have been able to do anything about it. No, she's the queen of 'I'll-do-whatever-I-want-and-you'll-like-it' these days. And he has no choice but to be patient with her. Because, after all, this is his fault.
He's the king of patience, anyways.
And Rebekah really is a bitch. Because even though he was decent enough to pull those tiny, miniature pieces of metal from her back in that cursed cave, she wasn't feeling decent enough to do the same to him a week later. Even though he was saving her ass. Again.
Seeing her in his bathtub does nothing to help his pissy mood. He spots her out of his periphery while he rips his already ruined shirt off, her long mane of mahogany hair tied in a bun and using up all his favorite bubble bath and essential oils. And she's splashing water all over the floor while using her wet hands to read his first edition, autographed copy of And Then There Were None.
She's really not as smooth as she probably thinks she is. And he knows she does, because newbie vampires with their humanity freshly turned off always, always think that they're hot stuff and the sun shines out of their asses. That was something he liked about Rose, that she wasn't arrogant and vain about her beauty. It was something he liked about Elena. But her modesty is gone now, and he deals.
His fault, remember?
Damon joins her in the bathroom and turns around in front of the mirror to look at his back. Three out of four of the wounds are gaping open, and the fourth one healed over the bullet. Great.
Elena briefly flickers her eyes up. "Have fun with Rebekah?" She frowns, albeit mockingly. "What, she didn't kiss your boo boos for you?"
He thinks he might hear a tiny, underlying tone of jealousy in her voice. Afterall, Elena loves to get green where Rebekah is concerned. And she's got to see how much time he's been spending with her lately, even if it is for their ongoing search for this god damn cure. The strange part is, most of the time, he doesn't totally hate it. When you get past the lip gloss and eye shadow, Rebekah doesn't make a bad member for his abandoned Team Badass.
"I wouldn't let her unworthy hands on me, even after she begged." He replies absently while still looking in the mirror, attempting to think of a way to get the little fuckers out. He could ask Stefan, but that would just be uncomfortable for everyone and he'd rather just avoid it altogether. Plus, he's probably too busy at Walmart buying five packs of Fruit of the Loom wife beaters or joining a prayer circle, or whatever the hell he does in all his free time.
While he's contemplating calling the doctor over here, because he definitely wouldn't mind her hands on him and she's trained for it, he hears water splashing and he wonders if Elena dropped his book in the bathtub just to piss him off. But then he feels warm, slippery hands on his back and sees her in all her naked glory in the mirror behind him and he's frozen for half a second before he realizes what she's doing.
Well, well.
Miss I-Don't-Feel-Anything might actually feel... something. Because if she didn't, she certainly wouldn't give two flying fucks that someone was in pain, least of all him.
He sees a smirk grace his lips in the mirror, and when Elena sees it she digs her fingers harshly into his flesh and yanks a bullet out unkindly. When it falls from his face as he winces, she gentles her hand. You'd think a vampire's touch would be ice-cold and hard, but no. Elena's hands are all warmth, even though she's anything but inside.
He almost wishes his back was laden with bullets, just so he could feel her on him for a little bit longer. After she gets the third bullet out, she starts to back away but he calls out. "Wait," he says, "There's another one."
"Here?" She asks, brushing her fingers over the round bruise that he knows is there. At his nod, she presses her fingernail into the flesh until it breaks and he winces again and braces his hands on the porcelain sink. She pulls it out quickly, like ripping a band-aid off and throws it into the sink. And she pauses for a long , brief moment before he feels her lips press against his already healed skin. God. It's everything and not enough at the same time, and before he can help it, he lets out a sigh in contentment.
"Better?" She asks, and he has no idea if she's being a smart ass or not but like the pussy he is, he nods. "Good." She says, her voice sickly sweet and turns around to climb back into her bath. She goes back to reading and making a mess as he cleans off the blood from his back, and he can't help but think of when he was doing the same thing because of her fingernails raking across his skin. God, he is one sad, pathetic son of a bitch.
Later, when he goes to put the book back, he notices bloody fingerprints smeared on the pages.
A/N: And Then There Were None, also known as Ten Little Indians, is a book by Agatha Christie about ten people going to an island and all being killed off one by one and they realize that the killer is among them. The title is from the poem that the people die by "Two little indian boys sitting in the sun, one got frizzled up and then there was one." Most of you probably know it already. But I thought it might make sense Elena would read this. Anyways, I wrote this as a sort of... therapy for 4x15. Because, God, that episode... I'm not really into this whole 'No Humanity Elena' so I hope she reverts back to her old self soon, but I'm worried she'll hate Damon for making her turn it off, although I completely understand why he did it. Urgh.
Please tell me what you think, criticism welcome.