A/N: Hello there! Thank you for picking my story to read! I hope you like it! Please review.
Disclaimer: I, Amanda, do not own The Vampire Diaries, but I do owe this entire plot that I created, along with all my charters.
Summary: Ever since Damon saved the girl from her father, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He couldn't stop thinking about how scared she was and how beautiful she was, but what will happen when that girl arrives in Mystic Falls? What will happen when the girl is not what she seems? Will it be worth saving her or will he regret it? Will Damon finally find someone who will love him for him?
Prologue
The sharp silver knife plunged deep inside of her stomach again, so slowly that she felt every ounce of the sharp, throbbing pain the knife created. She let out a loud scream from pain. The darkness pulled on her, wanting to take her away, but she refused to go with the darkness. She had to stay here. She had to do something. She had to get away and be there for her two younger sisters, but how was she going to get away? The only thing she could do is fight. She had to be a fighter, just like her mother always told her she was.
Warm tears traveled from the corner of her green eyes, falling down to her dark chestnut brown locks, darkening her hair with the tears. She forced herself to look up again, and she saw the sinister look of her father looking down at her.
"Dad!" she screamed out, hoping she could find the part of her father that actually gave a damn. "Please stop," she begged, voice weak. "Please stop."
Her father ignored her pleads as the knife went in deeper of the girl's flesh. Warm dark crimson liquid stained her blue blouse, as it trickled down to the tan carpet. Her eyes were shut and her hands were at her side, tugging at the material of her jeans, squeezing her hands as hard as she could on the material to block out the pain, but it was futile to even try.
She felt the knife violently pulled out of her flesh in a swift movement and she whimpered. Even though the knife was out of her skin, she could feel the knife sliding inside and out of her stomach, cutting her flesh, ruining her flesh, ending her life. The girl was inhaling deep breaths, trying to take in oxygen that her burning lungs yearned for. But as she did so, it felt as if the oxygen would just escape and she couldn't get it back. Her chest was heaving up and down as she cried silently. She always knew her father was a bitter man. She just never knew he was an evil man.
The girl shook as she lifted her right hand and rested it upon her sliced up stomach. She felt her warm sticky blood travel out of the huge gashes that were created from the sharp butcher knife. She felt herself become nauseous and cold from the great amount of blood loss. She shook her head as her eyes fluttered open. She searched for her courage that was hiding deep inside of her and once she found it, she grabbed onto it and used it.
"Dad?" she heard herself say as she coughed out his name. "W-Why are you d-doing this t-to me?" she managed to ask between gasps of breaths and then added, "W-What h-have I d-done?"
He turned around to look at his drying daughter, with pupils dilated. His black eyes flared down at her, as his dark hair covered over his eyes. A frown was settle upon his lips as he lifted a wine glass that was filled with red win. He took a couple of huge gulps, ignoring the burning in the back of his throat. He saw his wife, his beautiful wife, in the back of his head. He saw his daughter, who looked much like his wife. Then he remembered the woman, the woman who he detested more than anything and he felt himself grow angry.
"You look like her," he said, voice low with black eyes looking like night. "Your hair, your eyes, your face. Where's my Sophie?" he questioned, becoming angrier. "Where is she?" he threw the wine glass at the white wall, allowing the glass to shatter in small pieces. The girl jumped from the noise.
"I-I d-don't know, Dad," was her only answer.
The girl's mother was murdered a few months ago and her father hasn't been taking it well at all. He lost it. He lost everything. He was gone every night and when he would come home, he would smell of smoke and alcohol mixed with a bitter scent. The girl didn't know what it was, but her guess was drugs and alcohol and she understood the pain her father was going through, because she as well was going through great pain, but she did not understand why her father was taking it out on her. It wasn't her fault for her mother's death. It wasn't anybody's fault, but the person who murdered her.
The girl swallowed hard. She felt sleep pulling on her again as her eyes fluttered close. She began to reminisce about what happened earlier that night. She arrived home and found her father injecting drugs in his arms, which she assumed were drugs. But it was more of a dark red thick liquid. It looked more like blood than anything, but she wasn't an expert on drugs or something, so she just assumed it had to be a drug.
Her father slowly turned his head to the side to look at her. He caught a glimpse of her and his dark eyes widen. He pulled the needle out of his arm quickly. He placed the shot on the table and met his daughter's eyes.
"Sophie?" he questioned, breathing out in disbelief. Is that you?" he asked with much hope. The girl shook her head, walking closer to him. She held her hands out in surrender, her car keys were still in her right hand from just arriving home minutes before.
"Dad," she spoke softly. "It's me, Emma. It's me, Dad."
Her father swallowed hard and stood up. The words that his daughter spoke to him traveled through one ear and flew out the other. He slowly walked to his daughter, placing a hand on her soft cheek. "Oh my sweet Sophie," he spoke.
Emma shook her head again, furrowing her brows. She brought her hand up to her father's and quickly removed his hand from her cheek."
Still holding his hand, she said, "Dad, you have it all wrong. I'm Emma. Your daughter."
Her father furrowed his eyebrows, staring into his daughter's eyes. He noticed that they were slightly darker than his wife's and he suddenly knew that the one standing in front of him was not his wife. It was his daughter.
He felt anger rise in him, remembering the words that she told him. It's her fault. It's her fault. It's her fault. Those words pounded through his ears over and over again and he tried his best to not allow those harsh words to consume him. But the words were closing in on him painfully.
Her father frowned, taking in a huge deep breath. "You aren't Sophie," he stated and Emma nodded her head. She looked so much like his beloved Sophie, but with darker features. Dark chestnut brown hair, dark electrifying green eyes, dark pink lips. She was different. His Sophie was gone and she was never coming back.
Emma simply nodded her head, studying her father. But those words chanted in his head again. It's her fault. It's her fault. It's her fault. Those words haunted him and before he could take control of himself, he felt himself snap inside. Every part of him on the inside broke to tiny little pieces, and right then and there, he was going to do what the woman asked him to do.
"I'm sorry, Emma," he said, voice low. "I'll be right back."
Emma gave him a small smile, letting go of his hand. She watched with green orbs as her father walked rather quickly to the kitchen. Emma walked to the coffee table and sat her keys down on the table. She frowned as her eyes settled on the injection her father was using earlier. It had to be an injection, seeing the remainder of the red liquid in the tube. It had to be blood. It was thick like blood. It was that dark red color of blood. She thought about picking the injection up and examine it further, but she decided against it. That wouldn't be the brightest thing to do.
She heard the pounding of her father's heavy footsteps. She turned around to look at him as he stood straight. One arm was pinning to his fight, while his other hid behind his muscular back and Emma swallowed, her eyes settling on the arm behind his back. She looked up at her father, meeting the dark eyes of her father, tasting the metallic taste of fear on her taste buds.
"Why is behind your back?" she questioned, her eyes looking between his arm and his eyes. He felt her heart slam against her chest like a drum. Something bad was going to happen to her tonight. She could feel it. She knew it.
"I have something I must do," he said to her as he began to walk again. He walked closer to her and Emma took in a deep amount of oxygen, wishing that she stayed with her boyfriend. She would rather be with a complete asshole than her father who looked pretty murderous.
"W-What must you do?"
"No time to explain," he said, removing his arm from his back slowly, almost dramatically. "But I promise you, you will be thanking me later." He moved his arm away from his back, revealing the huge long butcher knife that was hidden behind his back. His left hand held onto the wooden handle, holding it in a tight and steady grip. All the blood in Emma washed away as her heartbeat fluttered down to the pit of her stomach. She listened to survival mode and survival mode said run and she did so. She ran towards the front door. She wrapped her fingers around the metal doorknob and turning it slightly, only to learn that it was locked. She cursed and quickly unlocked the door. Before she could open the door, call for help, and get the hell out of there, she felt horrible pain pounding at the back of her skull.
She screamed as she felt her father's arm wrap around her petite waist and she used her foot to kick his shin. Her father groaned in pain and loosened his grip. It was loose enough to allow Emma to squirm out of his embrace.
Emma ran with great speed, not bothering to turn around to look at her father. She ran to the bathroom. She closed the door shut behind her, locking it quickly. She looked for a weapon that could be useful to her, but the only thing she found was her sharp razor she used to shave her legs. It cut her a few times as she shave, so this had to be good enough.
Emma swallowed hard, feeling her throat go dry. With her shaky right hand, she wrapped her fingers around the pink handle razor. She stared at the bathroom door for a moment and then allowed her eyes to scan around the small bathroom. Her eyes landed on the small narrow window above the shower. She climbed into the tub, placing her hand on the lock of the window and clicked it open. She tried to life the window up to open it, but it would not budge. As much as she tried, it would not move up to allow her to be freed. She was stuck. She was trapped. Emma felt tears weld in her eyes as she thought of what would happen for her. Then Emma looked out the window and noticed some black bars were around the window. Her father planned to murder her.
A loud fist pounding against the door made Emma jump up as she turned around to stare at the ugly brown door again. She heard her father's vicious screams from outside the door, as she heard his foot come in contact with the door. When Emma actually began to feel hope, she saw her father's black boots break through the material of the brown door. Emma let out a loud scream, gripping the razor around her hand tighter.
Her father pulled his leg out and kicked at the door again, wish so much force that the door gave up on protecting Emma and fell down to the white tiling of the bathroom floor. He looked up, giving his daughter a cold smile, as memories of his past flushed through his mind - memories before he met Sophie. "Just like old times," he said, grabbing onto Emma's arm.
Emma shook her head. "No!" she screamed, fighting against him, but it was no use. He was stronger than her.
Before Emma thought about it, survivor mode clicked on and Emma brought the pink razor she was holding up to her father's face. She didn't hesitate as she sliced his cheek with the razor, creating a deep cut.
Her father only shook his head, as if what Emma did caused him no pain. Emma gasped as the cut on his cheek healed instantly and before she knew it, her father through her against the wall of the house. Emma hit the back of her head and she saw bright stars surround her.
Her father walked slowly to Emma as she huddled her body together. She could feel the warm liquid at the back of her head, fall down to her neck and to her shirt. She wished that someone could take her away and save her, but there was no one who would come for her.
Emma forced herself to crawl behind the couch. She crawled to the kitchen, yearning for a knife, a fork, a spoon - whatever could be useful. All she heard was her loud breathing and her heartbeat pounding into her ears like no tomorrow. She couldn't hear her father. He wasn't walking. He wasn't talking. He stayed still, eyes scanning every place, checking to where she could be, and then he heard the soft sound of her footsteps in the kitchen.
With sweaty hands, Emma opened the white drawer that contained all the knives, spoons, forks, etc. When the drawer was fully opened, she saw that everything in the drawer was missing. It disappeared as if it was never though. Emma shook her head as she ran to another drawer. She did the same, pulling it out, only to find that there was nothing in there. She did it until all the drawers were thrown on the ground, except the one she held in her shaky hands. She shook her head again as she felt the throbbing pain at the back of her head.
"I already got rid of everything, Emma," a low voice said behind her and Emma felt fear travel down her spine in shivers. She turned around slowly, her father was there in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her, examining her. His eyes glared at her.
"What did I do?" Emma questioned strongly, holding the drawer in her hands, but it was slipping slowly a bit, because her hands contained sweat on them. She was breathing fast, taking in the oxygen that surrounded around her. She wished she could run outside and inhale the sweet oxygen of the cool air, because she felt as if the oxygen in here was disappearing slowly.
"If I would have killed you before, then she wouldn't have died! If I would have just listened to that bitch and did what she asked for, then I would have my Sophie."
Emma swallowed hard. Who was this woman that her father kept on mentioning?
"Dad," Emma spoke softly. It's alright. Everything will be alright. Just put the knife down, stop with the drugs-"
Her father rolled his eyes, tears traveling from his dark eyes that looked close to black than brown. Emma frowned, never seeing her father so broken before. "Those aren't drugs," her father snapped.
"Then what are they?" Emma scoffed. "Wonderful things that do wonderful things?" she questioned sarcastically, despite feeling fear swallowing her.
"Don't use that tone with me," her father said, pointing a single finger in Emma's green orbs, meeting her eyes, but he only saw Sophie.
"I don't want to do this, Emma. I don't, but I have to. You must die tonight," he spoke, walking closer to his young daughter. Emma held the white drawer in front of her, using it as a shield.
"It would save you and your sisters in the long run," he said, walking closer. "I will be doing you a favor."
Emma shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Daddy, you said yourself you don't want to do this. You don't have to. Let me help you."
Her father looked down at his black shoes, considering what his daughter said, but then he heard the bitch's voice again. "Kill her," it whispered. Her father looked up. "You're dying."
"No!" Emma screamed as her father ran towards her. Emma shakily brought the drawer up and as he appeared close enough to her, she smacked it across his head. As her father fell to the ground, so did the pure white drawer. She stared at her father, with a moment of shock, before she ran out the entrance of the kitchen and to the living room. Her eyes spotted on the door as she scurried to it. She placed her shaky, sweaty hand on the silver knob, wrapping her pale fingers around it. She turned the knob in a fast pace. The door opened and Emma breathed out a sigh.
She ran out the apartment, running down the hall with great speed that she could feel the wind in her hair that she created. Her heart beating against her rib cage like a drum, as her chest rose up and down in great speeds from her heavy breathing. She felt the pain everywhere and especially at the back of her scalp. Her father was pulling on her beautiful dark chestnut brown locks and dragged her from her hair, more tears falling from her eyes. The warm tears feel down her cheeks as she kicked, screamed, begged for help, but no one came to her. No one helped her.
She kicked harder, bring her hands up to hair so she could reach his hands. But she could not. She began to feel angry with herself for being so helpless.
"He's trying to kill me! He's going to kill me!" her blood curdling scream vibrated in the apartment building. Emma shook her head, tears falling harder.
"Dad," she begged. "Please let me go. Please. I'm your daughter."
Her father ignored her pleas, swallowed hard as he dragged her back into their apartment. "Help!" she screamed louder.
He threw his daughter to the right. She hit against the wall, wincing as she felt a pain at the side of her head. He closed the door, locking the door once again. He turned around to look at his daughter. She was shaking in fear.
Emma shook her head, feeling a warm liquid at the right side of her head. It blanketed itself in her hair and she raised her hand up and rested her hand on her head. As she did so, she felt a warm, sticky, liquid traveling down slowly from the wound that was created. Emma gasped, bringing her hand away from her head and looked down at her head. It was drenched in a dark, warm, red liquid. Blood. It was drenched in blood.
"Now was that to hard," her father questioned and Emma's eyes looked away from her hand and to her father. She hated to say it, but she hated him. She hated her father.
"Dad," Emma said. "You don't have to do this. Mom would want this. Mom, remember her?" she questioned him. "Your wife. My mom. Please, Dad. Please," she begged, backing further into the wall.
His father shook his head, walking to her, the knife in his left hand glared at Emma, and Emma felt all of her blood wash away from her body.
"Emma," he said to her and Emma shook her head, feeling tears falling from her pale cheeks, her pink bottom lip trembling.
"What did I do?" she asked and when her father didn't answer, she yelled, "What did I do, damn it?"
Her father stopped walking and choose his words carefully. "You didn't do anything yet. You weren't meant to be born."
Emma looked at him with narrowed eyes, that were filled with tears, that fell slowly from her eyes.
"I won't do anything and the born part, I believe that fits in the parent department, ergo, your fault."
Her father walked closer to her and Emma shook her head. "I-I don't understand what I did or what I'm going to do. Yeah, I wasn't the best daughter, but I-I made sure that we stayed with you, because I didn't want you to be alone, knowing you couldn't handle it without Mom."
Emma licked her pinks lips with her dry peachy colored tongue. "I always thought there was something evil in you. Mom said no. That you have a lot going on, but she was wrong. I guess you are showing her I was right tonight."
"Emma, you don't understand or know anything about me. I honestly will be doing you a favor. She will-"
"Who the hell is 'she'?" Emma asked angrily. "Why do you keep talking about her? Is she a girlfriend, a-"
"She is not a girlfriend," he cut her off, saying that sentence through clenched teeth, allowing each word to drip with hatred.
Emma inhaled a deep breath. "A relative? A friend then? Who the hell is she?"
"You don't need to know, because I'm making sure you will never see her."
Emma stood up, ignoring the pain that shot her entire body. Her eyes scanned the door. She could get out of here. She could and she will. She will survive tonight. And if she didn't, she was going to survive trying.
Emma ran to the door with great speed, but her father gripped his arm around her waist, pulling her away from running. A sharp, stinging pain erupted in her stomach and she fell down to the floor, gasping for her. She placed a hand over the wound on her stomach, feeling the warm liquid plunge out.
Emma looked up at her father, her body shaking with unshed tears in her dark green orbs. She studied her father as he knelt down to her, raising the knife.
"No, no, no, no," Emma begged, her weak voice echoing in the room. "Please don't, Daddy."
Her father sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, knowing that if he opened them, he would stop. He stabbed repeatedly, blocking out the pain he felt deep in his chest. He imagined this was someone else. He imagined it was another of her kind, that he used to murder many years ago. He did it over and over again, hearing Emma's sobs as he did so.
Emma coughed, gasping for air as she pulled herself from the memory. Her father sat on the couch, staring at her, watching her, ignoring the guilt he felt. Her cursed at himself for allowing Sophie to turn him weak.
He stood up as there was a loud knock at the dear. At first he feared it was the bitch from hell, but then he could feel it was a different vibe. It wasn't her. It was someone else and he breathed out a long sigh.
Since it wasn't the bitch, he had to appear as if nothing was wrong and that's what he did. He hid the knife in the couch as he ran to the bathroom. He cleaned himself up quickly, changing into a pair of fresh clothes. The person behind the locked door, knocked again and he breathed a frustrating sigh. "Be there in a minute!" he yelled from his room as he pushed his foot in the black expensive shoes.
He traveled back to the living room, where Emma's pale body laid upon the cold floor. She did not move one bit, and at first, he thought she was dead, but then he heard her gasp fro air and saw the hope ignite in her green eyes.
Her father licked at his lips and walked down to Emma, kneeling beside her. "If you make a noise," he whispered, voice low so only she could hear. "I will stab you again and this time in your heart."
Emma swallowed, finding her strength to say, "Do it. I dare you."
But before her father could reply, there was another knock at the door and her father stood up and walked to the door. Her ears heard the door unlock and open and Emma wished more than anything to run and beg for whoever was behind the door to call the police. Her father had a nice little chat with the person at the door and Emma could realize it was a man who spoke.
Her father studied the young man, wearing the dark navy blue shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots. Black raven hair, curled under the man's earlobes as the light blue eyes stared at Emma's father, a fake smile appearing on his lips.
Hi. I can't get in my apartment. I forget me keys in there. Clumsy me. I was hoping you could help. I need an extra pair of hands."
Emma's father nodded his head. "Yeah," he said, "sure."
Her father walked out the front door, grabbing the handle and closing it shut. The raven head man walked down the hall to a random door and turned around to face Emma's father.
"One," he spoke, as Emma's father furrowed his brows.
"Two," he said, raising his hands a bit.
"Three," he said, bringing his hands up to Emma's father's head and he struggled to get away.
"Snap," the raven head man said, as the sound of Emma's father's neck breaking, echoed in the apartment building. The raven haired man looked down at Emma's father, before walking down the hall, remembering where he heard the screams and sobbing from earlier that night.
When he reached the door, he wrapping his hand around the doorknob, twisting the door the right. When he heard the click, he pushed the door open, revealing the man's apartment. A young girl laid upon the wooden floor. A pool of blood surrounded her and the man swallowed hard, smelling the intoxicating blood, wanting to drain the girl from the very few blood she had left in her body.
He honestly didn't know why he was thinking about doing a good dead. He did kill that man. That was usual for him, but thinking about saving a young girl with much blood loss, that was a new thing for him.
"Invite me in," he commanded, as the girl turned her head a little. Her vision blurred and all she saw was a beautiful dark figure stand in the doorway.
"What?" Emma asked as the man sighed. "Invite me in," he repeated. "No helping with no inviting," his velvet voice spoke and Emma took a deep breath, not really understanding why he needed to be invited in, but if he was going to safe her, that's all that mattered to her. She nodded her head, her eyes feeling heavy as she closed them.
"C-Come in," she weakly stuttered.
The man walked in and in a flash he was beside Emma. She felt his hand on her, pulling her up. Emma felt her shiver at the contact as she felt the feeling of ease take over. She felt safe and she knew that everything would be okay.
Her head rested on his lap, as he moved her chestnut strands of hair out of her face. Emma forced herself to open her eyes slightly and she gasped at what she saw. The most beautiful color of a light shade of blue stared down at her. It held so much pain and secrets, that Emma found herself wanting to help the light blue eyes.
She studied the beautiful blue crystals that were eyes as she felt the darkness tugging on her. But not like the other times, where she refused the darkness, she welcomed the darkness, knowing she will be save in the man's strong arms.
The last thing she remembers from that night are those beautiful light blue crystal for eyes and a warm liquid traveling down her throat, taking the pain away.
The only thing she could summon up was that the man saved her. He was her protector. He was an angel. He was her angel.
Far From an Angel