I watched him down his fifth glass of scotch. I was amazed at how little effect it had on him, I hadn't arrived at The Grill too long ago and this guy was on his fifth glass. Only the bar tender knew how many he had before I arrived.

"Rough day...?" I asked slowly as I stopped looking at him from the corner of my eye and turned my head in his direction.

"'Makes you say that." He didn't slur but he didn't exactly form a proper sentence. I looked down at my drink and shrugged.

"It's just," I trailed, it wasn't in tonight's agenda to mistakenly offend a drunk at the bar and leave with a black eye, "you're on your fifth glass of scotch," I peered down to his glass and back at him.

He didn't say anything. He looked down at his glass and finally turned his head towards me and looked into my eyes. "I'm Damon. Let's go to my place."

I looked into his deep blue eyes and let out a laugh that I was trying so hard to suppress. "I'm good. Thank you, though, uh... Damon." I raised my glass of scotch in his direction and took a sip, he looked at me with a mixture of confusion which faded when his eyes landed on my ring then his expression turned into frustration and anger.

I wasn't even going to attempt to understand the logic of a drunk on a Friday night.

We didn't talk again until I saw that he was on his tenth shot of a variety of liquors he had requested from the bartender. When he tried to get Damon to go home, Damon managed to very easily convince him to serve him more and more drinks. Maybe the bartender was gay?

"Okay, you really need to stop." I snatched the shot away from his hand. He turned slowly and looked at me in confusion.

"Give it back..." He slowly reached for it, miscalculating how far he could reach before he fell off his stool. I jumped off mine and quickly grabbed his torso in midair. I was a little proud of myself that I managed to save him from a potential concussion considering the fact that I wasn't as sober as before. But then I realized how heavy this guy really was and how I lacked the strength to lift a gown man back on his feet.

"Damon, come on. I know you have feet," I urged nervously as I felt his leather jacket sliding from my grip. I was relieved when he finally made an effort to shift his weight back to his legs and feet and straightened up. He wobbled back and forth as he tried to stabilize himself. "Let's get you a cab to take you home," He nodded, pretending he was fine and surprisingly let me help him outside.

"...Why is it always him?"

I looked around confused and back at his sudden question, he sat on the curb and stared at the empty street before us. I sat next to him. "Why is it always who?"

"Stefan," he slurred and shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Why can't I ever be good enough? I wasn't good enough for Katherine and now... I'm good enough for Elena. When am I going to be good enough? Why is it always Stefan?" He turned and looked at me as if I had the answers. "I tried to change myself... I just can't..." his head dropped in defeat.

"Sometimes... It may seem like things work out better for others. It doesn't mean things won't ever work out for you, I'm sure that thing will turn around fo-"

"I've been at this for 170 years, nothing ever works out for me in life. Ever." He was up, on his feet in milliseconds.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! A little about this story (No summaries or spoilers, promise! Just pairings and who's POV this chapter was in)!

A. It's not Delena it is Stelena. But that's not the main focus in the story, this one's all about Damon.
B. There will be mentions of Stelena.
C. Its in the point of view of an OC of mine. This is what she looks like if you're curious! (The character's mine, the picture isn't.) :

http:/oi44 . tinypic . com/35hijkj . jpg

I hope you liked it!