"It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens, but it is never gone." - Rose Kennedy
He could smell her before she walked into the room, an exotic and heady mix of aromas coupled with the metallic scent of blood. With a self-righteous smirk, Damon quickly cast aside the dress shirt that he had begun to shrug himself into.
"Stefan?"
Like a true Salvatore, Damon had found the fortitude to move on after Katherine Pierce. Now, the chase was on for her, and he permitted himself the image of her legs entwined around his, her lips greedy and seeking out every inch of him. He bit back the strange heat rising in his throat.
"Better," he returned, swaggering out from his walk-in closet to greet her. "Me."
He couldn't help noticing that Elena wore a close-fitting trench coat that hugged the curves of her body. Not for the first time, Damon wished that vampires came fitted with x-ray vision.
"You look, um…" Elena trailed off.
"Dashing? Gorgeous?" A pause as he leaned into her. "Irresistible?"
She made a face and pulled away. "Wrecked. You look wrecked."
Well, that was different. Damon shrugged bemusedly, leaving her reaction to the scent of liquor on his breath, and arched a brow. He had to admit, he'd been expecting something a bit more along the lines of what…Katherine would say.
But of course, Elena was no Katherine.
He ignored the lurching feeling deep within his chest.
"You know the reason why," he snapped before steering the conversation to a less painful subject, something that would properly pique her interest, turn her undivided attention to his better points. "Do you know that I am one of Mystic Falls' most eligible bachelors?"
"Huh."
"Yep."
Damon turned and ambled towards the full-length mirror, seizing the spare shirt he'd lain out on a nearby chair, purposely diverting his gaze from the bed. The temptation there—to make love to his brother's girlfriend, to wring from her a cry of passion as her body arched violently up against his—was far too great.
"How are you doing?" Elena inquired, momentarily distracting Damon from his desire to shred her coat and undergarments and take her right there.
"Never better," he immediately responded, regaining composure as he slid into his shirt and adjusted the collar. "Yep. What can I do for you? I'm a barrel of favors today; it's my newfound purpose. How can I help people?"
"I'm just meeting Stefan, and we're going to the fundraiser."
Stefan.
Wrong answer.
The circuits in his brain backfired, and his fingers stupidly fumbled with the first button of his shirt. "Help a guy out, will you?" he asked Elena, angling his head towards her. "I can't…get this…"
She sighed but moved forwards to help, heedless of Damon's piercing eyes as they stared down into her face. He wanted to kiss away the lines there.
Almost as if she'd read his mind, the lines immediately eased away, replaced with a gentle smile. "So…I found out who my birth mother is."
Wrong answer. Again.
"Ugh," he muttered in his disappointment. "Who cares?"
Her face fell, and he suddenly wished he could take back his response, anything to erase the hurt in her eyes. Damon hastily added, "She left you. She sucks."
But her expression didn't change.
He opened his mouth, his willpower draining from him in increments. She was so close, her lips so inviting. Happiness was a warm kiss.
"Stefan!" Elena's eyes tore away from his, and her hands fell to her sides. "There you are."
Damon gritted his teeth, causing the muscle in his jaw to jump violently.
He meant this sincerely.
He hoped Stefan died.