"In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
It's that sweet, quiet spot of night he loves most. The streets are all but deserted; the bars have long since closed sending their patrons stumbling home to their warm beds, the early morning runners have not yet risen and the homeless have all hunkered down to their respective corners. There is no moon, just the orange glow of the streetlights on the wet Brooklyn pavement. This part of the night, this brief, quiet reprieve in the city that never sleeps, it was made for him.
Tonight though, there appears to be one exception. At the corner, waiting at the bus stop, sits a girl. His mouth twitches in hunger. He was planning on waiting half an hour for the morning runners but here the perfect opportunity sits hunched over in her NYU sweatshirt, crying quietly. He draws closer. Hearing his footsteps approaching, the girl raises her head. His breath is knocked out of him as he takes in her face.
"Katherine." He states clearly. It is not a question.
The girl wipes her eyes. "Sorry, you have the wrong girl."
The man takes a step closer to her, his eyes running over her critically. He can hear her heartbeat, smell her human scent now. "I'm sorry. My mistake." He replies after a long moment. His disappointment is palpable.
The girl shrugs and looks away, reading an ad for a missing girl posted on the bus stand.
"Are you alright?" He inquires after a beat. He's still watching her intently, as if he hopes she will suddenly turn into the girl he thinks she is.
"It's nothing," she sniffs, fingering the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt, "I just broke up with my boyfriend. It's not a big deal." She gestures to the poster of the missing girl. "I mean she's probably dead or in the sex trade or homeless or something. Compared to that, my problems don't seem so big."
The man glances at the poster. "That's not very optimistic of you. How do you know she isn't sipping margaritas in Florida having ditched her abusive, deadbeat boyfriend?"
"I don't. But I mean this is the real world, statistically..." The girl shoves her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt for warmth.
He moves to sit down next to her, "Numbers don't really mean that much. Trust me."
"Fine," she eyes him carefully. He's well dressed, extremely good looking; nothing about him is particularly creepy. Still, she keeps a grip on the cell phone buried in the muff of her sweatshirt. "She's sipping margaritas in Florida. Happy?
"Jubilant," he says curtly, his mouth turned up in amusement. "May I ask what you're doing out here all by yourself at three in the morning?"
"You're out here by yourself at three in the morning," she counters. "Is it not okay just because I'm a girl? I took a self defence class."
He throws his hands up in defeat. "Sorry."
The girl looks away again, "Like I said, I broke up with my boyfriend."
He knows he should leave; there is no way he could bring himself to feed on her. But he is so drawn to her presence; he can't bear to walk away just yet. "May I ask what happened?"
"We've been trying this long distance thing and it just isn't working out is all," she explains nonchalantly. "He wants me to move back to Virginia and major in something practical like accounting and 'build a life together' and all that."
He eyes her sceptically, "And you don't want it?"
"I love him but...I love New York more. I don't want to move back to Virginia and get married. I want to... I don't even know." She trails off, thoughtfully.
He meets her eyes with a half smile, his eyes doing a sexy sort of sideways look. "You want what everyone wants." His voice lowers throatily, "You want a love that consumes you. You want passion and adventure, and even a little danger."
The girl raises her eyebrows and lets out a laugh. "Are you serious?"
"What?" He says in surprise that his usual charm is not working on her.
"It's just not that insightful is it? I want what everyone wants?"
"Do you not?" He questions.
She shrugs, "I guess I do. I just...I'm eighteen. I just want time to be eighteen you know?" She pauses, looking up at the murky sky, "I want to write bad poetry and eat tacos at two in the morning and get drunk on Sambucca. Maybe move to Europe and graduate to wine and bad short stories. Everything thing still has potential right now, you know? I could be anything."
"I hope you find everything you're looking for," he says intensely, "But speaking from experience, I'd avoid the Sambucca."
For the first time, she smiles, and he draws a breath. The resemblance is uncanny. "Duly noted." She holds out her hand. "I'm Elena."
"Damon." He takes her hand in his, their eyes meeting. His hand is freezing, but Elena lets him hold it for a moment longer than necessary.
"So who is it you thought I was, Damon?" She asks curiously.
"Just this girl I used to know."
"Just any girl?" She smiles again, with a mischievous glint in her eye that he knows too well. He has to look away.
"No..." he looks down the street, "She was definitely special. I sort of lost track of her..."
"Well I hope you find her." She tells him kindly.
"Yeah, me too," he lets out, suddenly exhausted. "So you're from Virginia huh? Whereabouts?" He asks casually, knowing she will probably confirm what he already knows.
She doesn't disappoint. "This little town called Mystic Falls. No one has ever heard of it."
"I've been there." He replies, stretching his legs out in front of him.
"Seriously? Why?"
"Just passing through. It's a nice place. I understand why you left though. Nothing beats New York. 'cept maybe London."
"I've never been to London." She says wistfully.
"You should go. There's tons of bad short story material. Or bad poetry if you haven't quite graduated from that yet." He nudges her arm teasingly.
She grins, "I'll put it on the list. Thank you, by the way."
"For what?"
"Distracting me. I feel better now."
"Glad to know I'm good for something."
The sound of tires on pavement echoes on the empty street as a bus approaches. "Tell me, what do you want Damon?" She asks, watching it draw closer to them.
He stands up and offers her his hand, smiling as the bus stops with a squelching of brakes. "I want to see you again."
Elena raises her eyebrows. "Is that some smooth way of asking for my phone number?"
He gives her a half smile. "No. But we'll see each other again. When the time is right." Her brow furrows in confusion but he just smiles sweetly in response.
"Good night, Elena," he says softly. He touches her cheek once and is gone, disappearing back into the night.
A/N: Just a little drabble that came to me while I was waiting for the bus today. For those of you who are curious, chapter 6 of With or Without You is in final edits, it will be out soon. Thanks for reading everyone!