It wasn't long after Georgia that she realized he visited her. Maybe her skin recognized his touch, or maybe she simply knew his presence better. But three or four times a week, she'd wake in the middle of the night, keeping her eyes shut, and know that he was in the room with her. Lying awake, she'd stay that way until she felt his fingers brush her cheek, her hair, and then she could relax, back into her dreams. It never occurred to her to be afraid until the next morning, when she swore she'd tell him to get out the next night. But she never did.
So many questions wandered through her mind in those few minutes while she waited for his touch. What are you looking for? Do you want to talk to me? Do you even see me, or are you looking at her? But she never wondered if he'd hurt her. Fear of him was meant for when she was awake; he wouldn't touch her when while she slept, she knew instinctively.
But as time progressed, she began to want to talk to him. Questions that, under the clear, lucid sun, were stupid, inane, but in her almost trance-like state, they made sense. What's your favorite color? Who's your favorite musician? Do you have a hobby? Besides, you know, eating people?
Then, one night, she woke, but she was not groggy. It was as though she had an off switch that had been flicked on. She knew he was there. In fact, he actually sat on her bed tonight. He shifted slightly, feeling the change in her body, but before he could flee, Elena's hand darted out and caught him by the wrist. "Damon. Wait."
Her eyes opened to look at him, but it was almost a totally different man, or vampire, that she stared at. His clear, icy eyes were vulnerable, completely transparent, and she could see one hundred and sixty of pain and suffering that he always kept hidden. "I should go," he whispered, the words he so often used on her suddenly reversed.
"No," Elena said, with more force than either of them expected. "Don't…please."
His weak motion to stand up halted, and he fell back onto the bed again. He studiously avoided her gaze, so she simply asked, "How long?"
"Since I first came back to Mystic Falls. Three to four times a week."
Elena paused a moment to let that sink in, waiting for it to terrify her, waiting for the instinct to shriek at him to leave her the hell alone to kick in---but it never did. Only curiosity. "Why?"
Damon's brow furrowed. Apparently he'd been expecting the same. "You looked like Katherine. At least, that's why it started. And then…I don't know. You're an interesting person, Elena. You never do what anyone expects, least of all me."
She watched as his eyes iced over, his shoulders tightened and straightened, and she sat up suddenly. "Don't do that," she whispered fiercely.
He turned his head, meeting her gaze for the first time. "Do what?" he snapped.
"Don't hide behind that jackass façade you put off just so that you don't have to admit that you do have something in there. I don't know if it's a soul, or if it's humanity, or if it's even a sliver of a heart. But something there has been keeping you coming back to my room almost every night, and touching me, and now, I can't sleep unless you do, so if you think you can just go back you your little---"
She didn't get any farther than that. Damon wrapped his strong fingers around the back of her neck, and pulled her roughly forward, bringing his lips to hers. The kiss was not soft, was not sensual. It was rough, demanding, and desperate, as though it was something he needed. She could feel him draining her of something totally different from blood, but strangely, as she kissed him back with the same ferocity, she drank from him just as greedily.
He broke off from her, breathing raggedly. "That's why I keep coming back," he said harshly.
Elena stared mutely at him. He growled in a strangely feral way, but she could see no signs of bloodlust. He stood, went to the window, and opened it. And then like lightning she was pinned to the bed, and he was flush against her body kissing her lips her cheeks her ear her jaw her neck and ohdeargod this was Damon not Stefan but somehow none of that mattered as long as he kept pressing into her and then---he was gone. The fog cleared from her eyes, and she saw him in the window.
His eyes, no longer clear ice but now as dark a blue as the ocean floor, burned into hers. "I come back every night because you are nothing like Katherine." And then he was gone.