"Oh my fucking god turn that ear deafening piece of crap you call 'music' off!" I hear a deep voice yell over the loud music I was playing. It was Damon. I knew it. I let out a sigh as I lowered the volume to a ten. "Sorry about that grandpa!" I yell back as I roll my eyes walk to the doorway of my room. Damon scoffs as he leans against the blood colored surface of the wall. "Is that how you treat your elders? You rude little girl. Ever heard of manners? Oh and a reminder, I do not look like a grandfather, I look far better." His voice caked in what I like to call, asshole-ism. I know it's not a word, but it's the perfect word to describe the way he speaks. I walk back over to my radio and switch to 'I Want' by One Direction. The song and boy band Damon Salvatore, despised.
I grin deviously and turn around singing along to the song. He narrows his sea colored eyes at me, I laugh as I sing. "I want, I want, I want to be loved by YOU!" I poke his stomach and run around the room, Damon rolled his eyes. "Oh the torture!" He yells in a sarcasm kind of tone. I stop running standing in front of the room, I feel like the perfect background music for this scenery would be 'Doomsday' of Doctor Who. You know? The BBC Orchestra thingy? I sigh watching Damon turn his back to me and walk down the hall. I frown; he's been pulling away from me these past few days.
God damn that Elena Gilbert. When I saw Damon for the first time since 1920, he told me about her. The Petrova Doppelganger. How he fell in love with her, how he compelled her to forget he ever told her that he loved her, especially when he kissed her for the first time. You're probably wondering, why would Damon tell me? Who am I? Well, first off. My name is Cecily Jones, my actual name in my original language is longer but I don't want to confuse your little brain. I met Damon Salvatore in Manhattan, New York. That was the year where women did not dress like prostitutes, we wore flappers. It was quite fun actually. Damon was wearing a suit when I met him; I was relaxing at a restaurant watching crowds of people pass by. All laughing and smiling. Emotions I could no longer feel or express. I shook my head from the tears, the memory coming back to me. I couldn't bare it, not now, not ever. I hear sounds of footsteps approaching; I look up to see a light skinned man who looked as if he were to be eighteen or older, his face structure charming me. Especially his polite smile. I couldn't help but smile back, "Mind if I sit here miss?" I shook my head softly after he spoke. "Not at all. You're welcome to sit kind sir." He sat down across from me with grace, the smile carved into his face.
The twenties was such a joy after I met Damon Salvatore. We were the best of friends until that night in 1922...I was sitting on the balcony watching the moon as if it were Marilyn Monroe performing, eye captivating. "Cecily!" I hear Damon call; I blink my dark brown eyes and turn away from the room and to the voice calling. I gasp at how close his face was to my own, "Y-Yes?" I stutter. His lips twist into a grin, "Just wondering, who's the gentleman you wrote about here?" He held up an old parchment, my eyes widened as my hand reached out to grab the paper. Damon pulled the paper away backing up. His eyes connected with the paper and he began to read right off the lines. "By the Angel Raziel, nobody would ever speak to me after all that I have just done. I've taken in the blood of a poor girl. He told me it was just part of the process. But this is 1540; people would look at me as if I gave birth to a child out of wedlock. I'm a monster now. A terrifying bed time story. But this is all reality." "Shut up!" Next thing I know…I slapped him. I slapped Damon right across the face. Tears were beginning to form in my eyes.