title: love the way you lie
notes: having just watched the video for the song "love the way you lie" by eminem, i was honestly ~struck~ by the relationship between megan fox and dominic monaghan. the constant push and pull of emotions and the despair of it all seemed so honest and moving in the video, particularly with the imagery of their relationship burning each other in the end. i found myself relating the song to damon and caroline's somewhat unhealthy relationship and the way he uses her. well, that sort of snowballed into this. a little darker take on the two, and although i don't think it ever would've been possible for me to capture the emotionality of the video and song, i tried. feedback is, as always, very much appreciated.
okay so given the notes above, this fic is obviously very old. i found it going through my old archives on my computer, and i still really love the dark take on daroline's relationship so i decided to post it up. hope you like it x
"Goddammit, Damon!" she cries, her small frame struggling in his impossible grasp. His hands are clamped firmly on her arms, and she fights to free herself, shoving her full weight against him the second she has an arm loose to push. Tears are sticky against her cheeks, and she watches him fearfully from the few feet of safety she's carved for herself. "Why don't you just fucking kill me and end it?"
"Caroline," he begins, his tone lower and softer; it's overflowing with apology. It's always his favorite tactic to play. He takes a careful step toward her, reaching a hand to gently bring her closer.
"No, no!" She slaps his hand away from her body, backing up towards her bedroom wall, needing to free herself with this distance. It's the only safety net she has in a house that is her constant prison; she can't keep him out, and couldn't escape him if she tried. "Stay the hell away from me," she warns in a trembling voice, a hand wrapping around her waist as if to hold herself together. The other she points threateningly at him as she makes her statement. Her sweater sleeve falls past her wrist to her palm, and as she pulls her hand back to grip her upper arm, she rests a cheek on the material trying to find comfort in herself.
The concern in his face slowly drains as it fills again with that confidence and that sick cruelty she recognizes all to well. He advances on her and she knows she can't run.
It's the moments like these that are a rush to him. When he's cornered her completely, when he can make that fire in her fade until she's begging him not to hurt her, and when he bites her anyway, deaf to her pleas.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm leaving you."
She brushes past him with more confidence than she really feels, heading for the front door of her empty house. She knows she can't get make him leave, so she'll be the one to go. Anywhere to escape this hell she's living.
"No." The single word is forceful, demanding, and he follows it up by grabbing her arm and yanking her back toward him.
Caroline uses her free arm to attempt a slap across his face. Reflexes sharp, as always, he grabs her wrist and holds her in his unbreakable grasp, despite her struggles.
"Why can't you let me go, Damon?" she whispers after a moment, her body going limp as she gives in to the fact that she can't fight him.
"Because I'm not done with you," he replies coolly, using the hand gripping her wrist to pull her into him. He releases her, his hand finding hold at the nape of her neck instead, and he brings her mouth to meet his.
The first time, she uses her free hand to push herself away, breaking the kiss. She knows she could use this opportunity to take advantage, to attempt another escape. But, really, how far would she get? A few feet closer to the door before he throws her down again, not pulling her back to kiss gently but ravaging her completely despite her protests?
She meets his eyes warily, knowing that guarded expression all too well. Then in a second, the palm flat against his chest that she used to push him away clutches at the fabric of his shirt and she crushes her lips against his again. Although she's too proud to admit it, she sealed her own fate a long time ago and now she needs to live with it. And, at the times like these when his hands are roaming her body and she feels nothing but impassioned, it's okay. Caroline knows they never last, but somehow she always chooses to act against her better judgment.
Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as his tongue explores her mouth and they steadily retreat toward her staircase. Her back meets the wall next to it, and somehow the need to make it back to her bedroom isn't overwhelming anymore. This is his favorite place to have her, after all: trapped.
She crumbles to the floor as he shoves her into her bedroom wall, hiding the cascade of tears and bloody lip while her fingers paw through her hair as she buries her face in her knees. Her cries fade to whimpers as she attempts to sober herself.
The shadows around her shift as he kneels down in front of her, hands on each of her shoulders. She knows better than to try to escape. Running a hand through her hair, she brushes the blonde curtain from her face, revealing her tear-streaked cheeks and pleading eyes.
He hates and loves to see her like this: very much the victim. And not just any, but his. The power and control over her, the way he can hurt or break her on a whim, with a single touch. But in these moments, he also sees her delicacy and fragility. How she's breaking and cracking so far beneath the surface, too far to ever be fixed when he inevitably leaves her, and sometimes he wonders if death would be a kindness. It stirs something in him that he vaguely recalls as guilt, because this tangled affair, this unhealthy attachment, has pierced him as well as her and he cannot leave well enough alone; he returns to break her down again and again, before pulling those pieces together and descending into a tumultuous cascade of ecstasy that cycles into hurt again.
It's their sick little game, and he's afflicted. He can't live without it.
Her eyes dart around nervously, scared like all the times before. Small whimpers still escape her lips and although his fingers are brushing the hair off her shoulders, rubbing her arms as if to comfort, she cannot find it in herself to notice or care. She presses her lips together and searches his face for a sense of safety that she deludes herself into thinking she can find.
"Caroline," he murmurs to her, fingers grazing her neck now and he leans his forehead against hers. He can feel her shaky breath blowing against his lips, sense the fear rolling through her trembling body, and kisses her gently this time. But just this time. As she soothes herself into thinking the worst part's almost over now, she presses her mouth back against his tentatively. He waits for her to give over to him before his lips trail to her throat. He makes his mark on the soft curve of her neck, and fangs graze the skin but he doesn't taste her just yet; he waits for that dead realization to set in for her, to know what's coming and the anxiety to tighten in her chest before he finally pierces her porcelain flesh.
Caroline lies awake long after he's asleep. She turns her head to the side, gazing at him with genuine emotion even if she knows in the pit of her stomach that he doesn't deserve it. Somehow, she's always able to convince herself that the worst has passed and truly, he does care about her.
Rolling onto her side, she places a tentative hand on his bare chest. He stirs slightly, but doesn't wake entirely at the touch. Feeling more confident, she rests her head on his shoulder and leans into him. In only a moment, she feels his arm tighten around her small body, keeping her close.
Now, she finally lets herself close her eyes.