I know that I haven't written in what feels like FOREVER. But I knew this would happen once I got to Uni. I'm so BUSY – just writing this story has put me late: now I'm going to go running even though I shouldn't, then I have to hit the library to attempt to finish my seminar prep (okay, start it) and then I have to send certain forms off so I can become a peer counsellor (and read them) and THEN I have to start work for an essay, and sometime between all that I have to find time to iron my clothes. Also I'm not particularly feeling healthy at the moment.

I swear, there aren't enough hours in the day!

Anyway, here is another one-shot. I'm not sure if it's any good, because I haven't been writing in AGES. I thought this would be a good thing to break the ice. It's something that popped in my head and I had to put it down.

For those people who are waiting for the next chapter of BLOOD'S THICKER THAN WATER – don't worry. I have not forgotten about it, and I am DETERMINDED to finish it. Like I said, I just don't have a lot of time at the minute. Also I'm kinda struggling with it. Stupid really, 'cause the next chapter is when it all kicks off (smiles wickedly). Hopefully I will get it up soon.

Anyway, I hope you like this story!

xXx

No More Lies

The second Damon enters the boarding house, he can hear her crying. The noise ricochets off the walls, seeping into the woodwork and right into Damon's body. He believes the crying will never leave the house. Like the ghost, the crying will whisper into the ears of the people who live here. Damon thinks it's better to tear the house down altogether. Who would want this place anyway? He doesn't even want it; it looks too much like 1864, a time he would rather forget.

Damon wouldn't even be here if he could help it. But Stefan insisted. Finally, Saint Stefan was at his wit's end; he was so desperate that he was willing to invite the devil in to help. Not that this is the first time it's happened, and nor will it be the last. For some reason everyone seems to not want him around until a crisis emerges – and then all of a sudden he's everyone's best friend. He doesn't bother to think of the irony of it all; he's got too much on his mind.

None of them understand it. They get that Elena's emotions are flying about at the moment, but – crying? Why crying? Why is she sobbing her own heart out? Why can't they get a word out of her? Stefan is freaking out because he thinks Elena doesn't want this; past evidence surely dictates this is the reason. But Damon has another idea, a sickening suggestion that creeps into his head. He pretends that he had forgotten about it, that it had been so long ago that he had gotten over it. But that's a lie. The truth is he thinks about it every day. He is lying, even to himself. In moments of clarity he understands how Elena did it; it's because that if you don't lie to yourself, you'll lose it.

He goes to the bottom of the stairs, finally reaching the door. A part of him wants him to run, like a terrified little boy, away from the house and not look back.

But he can't. He's never been able to do that with Elena.

He's not worried when he opens the door and slips inside, not even bothering to bolt it behind him. A tear stained Elena looks up, truly lost in her own world she hadn't even heard him. He can't read her expression – odd, because isn't he her best friend? Her other half? Shouldn't he know what she's thinking?

He doesn't say anything. He's trying to think of anything to say that won't give it away when Elena, her voice flat – empty of its usual musical quality – speaks first. Thickly she says, "I remember."

Damon exhales. It is the last thing he wanted, but in some weird way he feels relieved. No longer a secret, no longer does he have to keep it to himself.

"I'm sorry-" he begins, but is cut off. Elena whizzes to her feet, her eyes flashing fiercely.

"Sorry?" Her voice is something between a hiss and a scream. She is so angry her fangs have appeared, and the veins around her eyes enlarge. "You're sorry? Do you honestly think that makes it better? Do you-" She doesn't finish, she is too angry for words. Instead she flashes in front of him, attempt a punch.

But Elena is a newbie while Damon is experienced; he grips her hand tightly, forcing in back down. They are face to face, so close that one loose breath could have them kissing. They are too angry for that. Even Damon finds himself struggling to keep his temper, though when he actually speaks his voice is quiet, calm.

"Being a vampire has certainly made you like Katherine." Even though she is lost in anger, Elena still flinches at that. His voice turns to a hiss. "Have you thought about what this has been doing to me? How this hurts me?"

"You?" Elena spits. "You decided to do this Damon! I'm the victim!"

"Just because I didn't say it doesn't mean it wasn't there! Surely you didn't need to become a vampire to remember that I loved you? Surely you already knew it?"

He knows then, that he's hit the bull's-eye. Elena quietens, her fists ceasing to struggle in Damon's grasp. Damon watches as her face changes, as her eyes light up with the memories. Elena may remember that Damon wiped her mind to forget that he ever said those three words, but as Jeremy pointed out a long time ago, compelling someone to forget doesn't stop them hurting. No one has the power for that.

Elena jerks her hands away, not looking at him. "I hate you." She says it quietly, without the force that she had before, but somehow this hurts worse. Yet Damon is used to these three words. He's heard them often enough.

"I know," Damon replies, his eyes on her. "I hate you too."

These words Elena doesn't expect; her eyes fly to his face, widened and bemused.

"I hate you because of the way you make me feel. How one word from you can make my day or destroy it. How I do stupid things, crazy things, things that aren't me – just to put a smile on your face. How every time I see you with Stefan my chest explodes with pain and I don't know why, Elena, because surely I don't even have a heart!"

He realises that he has started shouting these words. Like darts they fly to Elena, and from the look on her face they have reached the intended target. She looks pale as she stares at him. Her fists are clenched at her sides, as if she's debating over whether to punch him again.

But instead she flashes past him, out the door that he left unlocked. Damon doesn't even care that she may start killing people, as a new vampire usually does. Instead he closes his eyes, squeezing them shut. That wasn't how Elena was meant to react; it wasn't how it was meant to happen. It wasn't what he hoped.

Whatever happens now though, at least Elena knows. No more lies.