Note from the author: Hey everyone! If you haven't seen on twitter, I spilled champagne on my computer on New Year's Eve, destroying my computer. I haven't been able to get a new computer, but I cannot stop writing, so I decided to start a new fic on my iPad. Hopefully, I'll be able to get a new computer soon so I can complete my other fics. Until then, I hope you enjoy this one.
*WARNING* This is a dark romance, not for the faint of heart. Though it will always be completely consensual between Damon and Elena, there is rape and abuse in this story.
Chapter 1
Cold sand encased my ankles like cement, weighing me down, making me immovable. Water lapped at my calves as I sank deeper and deeper, the pull of the current moving in and out with the rhythm of the waves crashing and drawing back. The hem of my torn white nightgown stuck to my small lithe body as I stood facing the crescent moon, always looking toward the horizon of endless waves, and never back to that cold small cottage, surrounded by a couple of other small homes in a cul de sac, in Rusty Beach, a small town in the middle of fields of tall grass and wild strawberries that stain your lips the color of blood, but were your only nourishment when you were so hungry, you feared your insides would rebel with a roar of frustration.
I dreamed of being like the mermaid in that fairytale, the one who dreamed of living on solid warm land and not drowning in the depths of loneliness, swimming in an endless pool of nothing, tied to a fate of isolation, in a prison of her own making.
"Elena?" A voice called, familiar and warm. "Jesus, you look like you've been out here for hours."
A leather jacket draped over my shoulders, firm hands made sure it stayed on. She can't speak in the fairytale, and I wonder if maybe I'm her. Always looking toward the unattainable. Love, warmth, family, affection, happiness were all an illusion. If I spoke, would he disappear? If I turn around, I know how the boy that lived in our neighborhood would look. I spent hours from the small cracked basement window watching him. Watching him dodge the beer bottle thrown at his head as he ran out of the house. Watching him tend to his brother's wounds on the driveway, behind his car. Watching him leave for school with a black eye, or split lip, but walking like he owned it, was proud of his ability to survive. He had hope. A foreign concept.
If I turned around right now, he'd run a hand through his wild dark raven hair, his clear glass blue eyes would penetrate me, reading every thought, knowing my darkest secrets. Except that'd be an illusion too, because he didn't know, my uncle was too cleaver, too careful.
Damon would be wearing a white shirt and dark jeans that hung low, stained with grease from working on his car. He's older, much older, eighteen and getting ready to leave home for the marines. He got to escape.
Arms picked me up, cradled me, I nestled my head in his chest, seeking warmth, seeking the soothing rhythm of his heart. He tenderly brushed the sand from my feet. "Where do you want to go?"
Anywhere but to that house.
Anywhere.
Anywhere.
As long as your there. As long as it's your arms holding me captive and not his.
I kept my face tucked in his chest, staying silent like that girl in the fairytale, afraid he'd disappear.
But his feet carried him down the familiar path that I'd run from. I could hear the sand turn to gravel, turn to dirt, turn to pavement. The air smelled different, acrid.
And then.
"Damon, what are you doing with her? You know Dad will flip."
The sobs came, chocking me from the inside. Don't leave me. Don't take me back.
"She's not safe there," Damon said. "We can't leave her there."
"Dad will kill us, Damon. He's friends with Marcus."
"I am not taking her back!" Damon shouted. "End of."
I could feel him bending over, laying me down on a scratchy surface, but I clawed at his shirt. Don't let go. If he let go, I knew he'd leave me forever. I knew I'd never see him again. Those cool blue eyes that could cut down anyone with a look, that darkened to grey and clouded with anger. Those possessive eyes, always watching, always ready for a fight.
"Shhhh," he soothed. "I'm not leaving."
A soft mew escaped my lips. Bubbled up from a place I didn't know existed. A place under lock and key.
My eyes peaked out from the safety of his chest. His eyes looked into mine, his hand ran fingers through my chestnut hair, brushing it out of my face. "There she is," he cooed.
My eyes met his, memorized his face, his furrowed brow, his long eyelashes, the cheekbones that could cut glass. He looked concerned but determined.
"You leave tomorrow," his brother said. "You're getting out. You keep her here, you'll never be able to leave or worse, you're both dead."
He didn't waver. "I'm keeping her."
Keeping me? I sighed, tears streamed down my face. Maybe this was a fairytale and I was safe. Even if I wasn't a princess, maybe I was worthy and not the piece of trash Uncle Marcus called me so often.
"You're mine," he muttered. "I'll keep you safe."
I nodded, like I understood. He never saw me in that way, I was like a kicked puppy he was trying to rescue. And maybe he saw his own pain reflected in my eyes. We were connected by circumstance, he was the tide that pulled me in and I was the current pulling him under. As soon as I nodded an affirmation, he let go, leaving me on the scratchy orange couch in his garage, and like trying to hold onto sand, I felt him slip away between my fingers, grain by grain, bit by bit.
"I'm going to get the stash," Damon said. "Watch her."
I shook my head. No, no, don't go.
"I'll be back soon," he promised.
He left, and suddenly it was cold again and I was back in the basement.
Stefan paced the garage, muttering to himself, then as if he decided something, he strode over to me and tried to pick me up. My arms flailed and my legs kicked air. I knew what he was going to do, but I had to wait. I had to wait for Damon to come back. "You need to get out of here or we're both dead, you got that?" He said.
I shook my head.
"Damon will die. He has a future ahead of him, don't ruin that."
Stefan dug into his pockets and pulled out a twenty. He stuck it in my clenched fist. "Go! My dad has a gun and he's looking for an excuse to use it. Go!"
Damon had a future. Damon needed to stay safe. I couldn't compromise that, because this wasn't a fairytale, this was my sad cold life and maybe Damon, the boy with steel grey eyes, maybe he could survive and live to tell the tale.
I got up and ran out of the garage door, but I didn't run back to my cottage, I ran until my feet bled, into the city. I'd live on the streets before I'd ever go back.
XXX
Six Years Later
My uncle said that I was good for one thing, I was a warm body with holes and no gag reflex. That was my price for a bed and food, I earned it with my body and when I refused, I was locked up and starved. When he was mad, lost money in poker, or was fired from one of the many jobs he had, he locked me up. I was his dead asshole brother's kid. I should've died in the car accident that killed my dad, mom, and baby brother. So he used me and in order to avoid the basement, I learned to keep my mouth shut.
Wearing a black mini dress I found off of a prostitute that od'd behind a seedy club, I slink through the alley in downtown Mystic Falls, trying to find scraps of food. Seeing a fresh trash bag in the alley outside of an Italian restaurant that served warm garlic bread and meatballs the size of your face, I dash to the bag and peel it open, hoping to beat the mice. The familiar feeling of despair consumes me, but even so, I don't cry when I see that it's onion scraps and raw fat from meat, I don't cry when my stomach clenches with hunger so deep, I doubt the organ can still function. I haven't cried since the day Damon held me to his chest. Not even when I sucked a fat man's cock for the first time near a dumpster and he threw pennies at me after I spat out his come. Not after being kicked in the stomach for refusing to take it up the ass. Crying made it all real and permanent, crying made me weak.
Too weak to move, I lay on the cold cement, looking at the crescent moon, stars literally blinking before my eyes. This was it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Quick, one breath in, and one escaping out of my mouth and into the heavens above. Suddenly, I felt someone there, in the alley with me. The clipping of footsteps came closer, hurried. I attempted to drag myself further behind a dumpster. Easy prey didn't get paid.
Another set of footsteps. More calm and confident.
"Sir, I didn't know. I didn't know they'd be there," a voice begged. This wasn't a simple plea, this was the sound of someone asking to live. The choice was no longer his but in the hands of someone more powerful.
A heavy disappointed sigh, and then a shot rang through the air. Startled, a mouse squeaked from its hiding spot and scuttled across the alley. My eyes tracked its path, realizing only too late that my legs were exposed. I commanded my legs to tuck in, but they wouldn't move. Footsteps came closer, but leisurely slow, as one would approach a wild rabbit. I could see him, cold and calculating, wearing a grin. Caught.
"Well what do we have here?" He cooed in a foreign accent. "A present, just for me."
Sandpaper coated my mouth, unable to speak. I shook my head and tried to shirk back. I didn't have the energy to run or give oral. I wish he'd just shoot me and get it over with. He could use my body after he gave me the gift of death.
He knelt down beside me, studying my body, trailing his gun up my calf, lazily over my knee, down my thigh, he flipped up the hem of my dress and grazed the gun slowly over my naked sex. "You skin blooms," he commented. "I wonder what would happen if I..."
I sucked in breath as he used the gun to trail my sex. I did not want this, I did not want this man or his gun anywhere near me but it didn't matter, my uncle was right I was only good for the three holes I had because my traitorous body always was prepared and clenched as he used the tip of the gun to trace my clit.
"No tears?" He observed.
I may not have been able to move, but my eyes glared at him. He would not see me cry. I would not give him the satisfaction.
"No fear?" He took his index finger and inserted it in me, still using the gun to probe my clit. I sucked in breath, my cheeks flushed because of what he'd find. I did not want this, I didn't want this with him or in the middle of the alleyway on the bad part of town, but he'd still find me wet.
"There she is," he said soothingly. "There's the fear."
He stuck two fingers in, rough and calloused. Tears streamed down my face. No. No. No, this wasn't supposed to happen. "Stop," I cried.
The ghost of a smile played on his lips. He received a sadistic pleasure from me, drawing everything I had left. "I want your fear. I want your tears. I want your voice. I want to possess you so badly, you'll be begging for my cock."
He removed the gun, put the safety back on, and put it in his jacket. He picked me up, cradling my body and took me out of the alleyway, where a limo waited. He told a man in a black suit waiting by the door that a doctor would be needed. Then, the driver opened up the back door, and the stranger from the alley placed me on the cool leather before he sat down, and then scooped me in his arms, holding me as if I were a prized possession, something he lucked into.
XXX
Two Years Later
On the compound, I have a small room the size of a walk-in closet that I got to decorate. I had Louis buy me paints online so I could paint a mural on my wall. I painted the ocean. I painted the crescent moon and I painted a mermaid on a rock, looking out. Always looking beyond the shore for something new. I wasn't allowed to go on the internet, but Klaus had his assistant Louis buy me anything I need. If Klaus knew how much I loved my room, he'd take it away and make me sleep at the foot of his bed like a pet. He did that anyways, sometimes, because he liked keeping me close. Easy access, he said.
Maybe he was afraid I'd try to escape, but that can't be right, because he liked it when I thought I'd live, it meant I still had fight in me, and Klaus liked to fight. To dominate. To own. If he was angry, he needed someone to take it out on, it was usually me. If he was horny, which was always, he'd fuck me against any and every surface hard surface, chained to the leg of his oak desk or spread open by the ankles against the wall. He'd push me to my knees and make me use my mouth.
I had my ways of fighting back. I would escape to someplace else in my mind when he'd take me, usually back to the beach where Damon laid his jacket on my shoulders. Klaus noticed, and he hated it when I did that. He wanted me present. He wanted to ride my pain like a wave crashing to shore. I was still sporting a greenish-yellow bloom of bruises on my ribs and thighs from the last time I tried to escape his eyes.
Klaus didn't think I was smart, which was a weapon in and of itself. He thought it was "cute" when he found me curled up on my bed with a book, before he dragged me by the hair to his bed. He thought I was impervious to conversation, so I listened. Klaus was typically up at early hours of the morning, making arrangements for shipments to various parts of the world. Columbia. Russia. Mexico. Middle East.
I heard everything. Tried to absorb as much information as I could. Sometimes Klaus would push me onto his cock while he sat at his desk to take a phone call. He'd hold my head down while I'd try to concentrate on sucking him off and listening to where his latest shipment was going, or the names he'd list as he talked. Names of policemen or politicians on his payroll, names of friends in government or leaders of competing families. Account numbers. Addresses. Phone numbers. I memorized them. Said them to myself over and over again until I could write the names down on the inside of one of the books on the shelf in my tiny room, Pride and Prejudice, a book I knew he wouldn't touch.
From months of watching Klaus operate his organization, I knew that secrets were the best weapon. Collecting information was how he became so powerful. Knowledge that a politician liked little boys, power. Knowledge that the CEO of a popular social media site preferred heroin over cocaine, power. So I started to do the same. Not just about him, but about the people he knew, the people he worked with.
I was sitting on my small bed, reading a fashion magazine Louis bought me and painting my nails blood red when Klaus came in, carrying a sheer black dress, high metallic shoes, and the velvet box. I hated that velvet box. It meant we were going out of the compound and seeing the outside world in a cage is the worst kind of imprisonment.
He hung the dress up on a hook on my door, laid the velvet box on my vanity and placed the shoes on the ground, then sat next to me on my bed, taking the bottle of polish from my hands, he carefully finished painting my nails. Ever the artist. He was in a good mood, which was bad for me because good moods meant he was unpredictable.
"I need you to behave tonight," he said, brushing blood red onto my big toe. His accent may have made some girls swoon, but it only brought me dread. Yelling, soft whispers, even chatter only brought pain, never pleasure. But I tried to appease to his mood, hoping he'd let me sleep in my room tonight.
I nodded in affirmation.
He stopped and looked up at me, disappointed. "Your voice, Elena."
I sucked in breath. "I will," I exhaled.
He nodded, pleased he could command me at will and went back to painting my toes. "Good. Very good."
This was bad. Very bad. A sense of dread weighed heavily in my stomach. Something was going on. There had been more chatter, more names to memorize than usual. A new partnership, perhaps. He shot his last business partner. Used them like toys until he grew bored and owned every one in their employ, then he let off the final blow. Torture. Stabbed. Shot. Decapitation. I'd seen it all, because he liked me to watch. Liked a good fuck after a kill.
"We're going to a birthday party for a senator," he said, pleased he could be a criminal in front of the law or with the law, as it were. They were all corrupt. I had yet to meet a person in any kind of power that wasn't secretly evil. When child protective services came to my uncle's cottage when I was eight, they were going to put me in foster care until my uncle paid them off. They never came back. At least Klaus was evil in front of everyone. It was almost a point of pride.
"Have you been to a birthday party, Elena?"
I know what he's doing. He wants my words and I have to give it to him, but I can choose what I give.
"No," I replied. This wasn't entirely true, before they died, my parents threw me birthday parties. Ones with cupcakes and sprinkles and princesses. They liked that I was a girl, even though I secretly always wanted a Star Wars theme. Secrets. That's what Klaus was after. We had that in common.
His fist connected with my stomach, the nail polish toppled to the floor. A guttural noise escaped my lips as he lay me flat on my back, his hands on my throat, squeezing, enough for me to struggle for air but not enough to bruise. We did have a party to go to, after all. Klaus would've been okay with bruises on my neck, he'd beaten me in front of associates. They liked to watch, but tonight, he didn't want anyone asking questions, which meant there would be people at the party who would care how I was treated and ask questions.
His hand still pressed around my throat, he lowered his head so he was a mere inch from my face. "You will tell me everything," he demanded. "Your words are mine."
Spots danced before my eyes and I nodded, desperate for air. Just before I was about to pass out, he didn't let go, but he relieved the pressure. Flush against me, his legs caging me in, he unzipped his slacks and pulled out his hardened cock. His hands spread my legs apart and knowing there was no underwear as a barrier, he slammed into me and it split me in two. Pain shot through me as he drove into me, dry without any lubrication. This was my punishment. This was his pleasure.
After his release, he released me from his hold and stood up, tucking himself back in as come started to trail down my thigh. "Be ready in an hour," he demanded before leaving.
I got to keep the story about my birthday, but I was sure I wouldn't be sleeping in my bed tonight.
The night Klaus took me, or in some sadistic twisted way saved me from starvation, the doctor that came to the compound didn't tend to my bruises or malnourishment, but gave me a Depo-Provera birth control shot, and made sure I didn't carry any diseases. But Klaus did feed me and clothe me, and made sure the doctor gave me my shot every three months, so I was never sure how to interpret his behavior in the beginning, except that I wasn't here on my own free will. However, I did discover that I didn't want to die, and that thought, so different from how I felt on the alley, was comforting. I didn't hold onto hope, but I knew from my twenty years on earth that things change and I held onto that fact, waiting for the tide to change and preparing myself for what I'll do.
Louis may buy me almost anything I want, but Klaus bought the clothes I wore. He liked picking things out for me, like a doll he could dress up. The dress he laid out for me was an expensive designer black piece of sheer fabric with a silver hoop that clasped around my neck. It may have a sleeveless high neck, but the back was so low, one could see the curve of my ass. The hem floated above my knees, and the silver heels made my legs look long and lean. I didn't touch the velvet box, because Klaus liked to be the one who tended to that.
He walked in as I was finishing blowing out my long dark chestnut hair, making sure it was the way he liked it, bone straight, going down my back. "Lovely," he said, standing behind me, looking at me through my vanity mirror. "For a whore, you are lovely."
He took the velvet box off the vanity and opened it, revealing my diamond cuff. To anyone else, this may look like an extravagant gift, but I knew what it was because I wore it whenever we'd go outside the compound. It's like an invisible handcuff, tying me to him. Inside the cuff is a tracker that goes off if I'm more than twenty feet away from him. It was made for me, for my wrist, under lock and key. Last time it went off, I was kept in a cage in the middle of the compound, where his staff was allowed to throw scraps of food at me, and touch me. In the rain, at night, during a humid day, I was kept there. Kept under lock and key for ten days. Something I don't want to happen again.
Klaus attached the cuff to my wrist, and placed the key in the pocket of his tux. "You wouldn't want to loose me, now would you? Who knows what would happen to my pet if we were separated?"
I internally gagged, but I knew that there was truth to what he said. It could be worse. I'd repeat that like a mantra. It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse. I could be on the street starving. I could be chained up and shared. Klaus may turn the other way when people touched me, but he'd never share me. He'd kill anyone who'd try to rape me. My first month on the compound, one of his many guards on duty cornered me in my room, thinking I was property of the compound, not Klaus. Klaus heard my familiar cries of terror, ran to my room, and shot him in the head. A rug currently covers up the blood stains.
"You wouldn't leave me, would you?" He asked, knowing my answer.
Wanting my words, I knew what to say. "I'll never leave you, Klaus."
He smiled, pleased with my response. "Good."
I needed to ask him something, but I didn't know how to do it. I didn't want to end up back in the cage, but I knew if I didn't say anything, he'd be even more furious. I couldn't win. The doctor didn't come by to give me my birth control shot. Like clockwork, he always had the doctor visit me. Was this another game? Did he want me to ask? To doubt his competence? I'd wait until later, he'd be in a good mood after the party. He'd also be drunk after the party.
He led me to one of his bullet proof limos. Louis, lean and wearing his usual black suit, nodded at me. "Looking nice, Miss."
I grinned. Louis was the only person on the compound that was genuinely kind to me. Sometimes he ordered me expensive French macaroons from Paris, other times he brought me a newspaper, something I'm sure Klaus wouldn't want me to read.
Once Louis shut the limo door, Klaus pulled me next to him, resting one hand on my thigh while he scrolled through his phone with the other. If I pleased him, I might be able to see what was on his phone. I'd never owned a phone and rarely got to go on a computer, so looking at his screen and watching him scroll through social media, or his emails was a sort of entertainment for me. I rested my head on his shoulder, pretending that I sought comfort or some sort of forgiveness from earlier, instead of what I was really doing, looking at his phone. He was sending an email to Hugo, a business deal was going down tonight, someone coming into Klaus's organization, but I couldn't decipher the coded words.
"Curious little kitten, aren't you?" He chortled, stroking my hair.
I mewed, because I knew it would please him. He wasn't angry that I was looking because he thought I was too stupid to understand. I would always be the whore he found behind a dumpster. "Tonight's a big night for me. I'm making my kingdom so big, no one would dare go up against me. I'm building a legacy."
It was odd for Klaus to think of his own mortality, so something must've changed. He must've been threatened. Who would be dumb enough to threaten Klaus? He wouldn't hesitate to extinguish a small village if he thought someone who lived there was a potential threat to his power. Anyone who'd go up against him signed their own death warrant.
"They're fools," I said, choosing my words carefully. I had to keep him happy. Klaus stopped stroking my hair and looked at me, curiously. "Anyone who'd threaten you is a fool."
A smile spread across his lips. "Yes, kitten. Anyone who gets in our way will pay with more than their life."
My eyes widened. A slip of my mask as a complacent pet. He'd never referred to anything as ours.
"Ours," he repeated, tasting the word on his tongue. He tipped his head down and took my mouth, invading my senses. It was an animalistic need that scared me. Whatever was going on, wasn't good for my own mortality, even if Klaus was beginning to question his. I gave into his kiss, allowing him to take what he needed. When he was done, he laid my head on his lap so he could pet my hair and look at his emails away from my curious eyes.
The party was held in a mansion in a posh gated community outside of Mystic Falls. Police patrolled the gates of the red brick mansion. I watched them while we waited in a line of limos, black Escalades, and Maseratis, check cars for explosives, search the guests before they entered the party. When it was our turn, we somehow got a pass. The police addressed Klaus with respect and nodded greeting in my direction.
Klaus's hand snaked around my waist as we entered the party. The entryway was decked out in Roaring Twenties theme with poker tables and a band playing jazz. Women were dressed in flapper dresses, long pear necklaces, with their hair styled short with pin curls. Men wore fedoras and vests or suspenders, drinking out of thick glass tumblers. It was like something straight out of The Great Gatsby.
Of course Klaus didn't play along with someone else's requirements, preferring to stick out, never someone who could be controlled. I felt like a fool. It looked like fun dressing up in a fringe dress and a wear headband with a feather sticking out of it. Instead I was wearing a flimsy dress that Klaus picked out.
Klaus's hand drifted beneath the side of my dress so his hand was splayed on the flesh of my stomach. He leaned in and bit my earlobe. "They're all looking at us."
Because we're dressed like we stepped into the wrong party, but I didn't say that, instead, I let a smile dance on my lips. "They're looking at you."
Klaus knocked his head back and chuckled. "Of course they are, kitten. I own everyone here."
I leaned in, curious. "Everyone?"
He shrugged, handing me a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Anyone worth owning," he took a sip of his own champagne. "And those I haven't met yet will be mine before the night's over."
I drank the champagne, watching people while Klaus steered me around the room, talking to people while his hands stayed firmly on my waist. I met a famous movie star, a prince of a country I'd never heard of, football athletes, and politicians. I tried to get their names straight. The Secretary of Treasury, Colton Smith, the Secretary of Trade and Commerce, Boyd Price, officials from the FBI, they all addressed Klaus with respect, and though some had a lingering eye, especially when Klaus decided to tweak my nipple while talking to Mr. Price, they didn't so much as shake my hand. It was as though I was a prop, much like one of the fake gangster machine guns some of the men carried around. I wasn't real and carried no threat except that I completed the ensemble.
I gazed around the room while Klaus talked about oil shares in Singapore, when someone's back caught my eye. It was familiar, like someone from a dream I'd awoken from long ago. Raven hair, long enough to run your fingers through, but short on the sides. Broad shoulders, a lean strong build, someone who ran and was used to running long distances. He was talking to a model from a Calvin Klein ad in one of the magazines Louis brought me. She had long blond hair and was laughing at something he said and pointed in our direction. He kissed her on the cheek and turned around.
My stomach dropped because I knew those eyes. Those cool blue eyes captivated me, once upon a time. The velvet lips uttered words of comfort and promised to keep me. As he drew closer, he faltered slightly when he saw me, holding my gaze for a fraction of a second before he turned to Klaus.
"Klaus," He said, shaking his hand. "Enjoying the party?"
Klaus was different around him than anyone else. More eager, more friendly. This was someone who's opinion he cared for. Something I'd never seen before.
"Elena," Klaus said. "This is Damon Salvatore, he'll be working closely with me on the compound."
This was the person joining Klaus. The eighteen year old boy who carried me to his home and made me promises I knew he couldn't keep. They say waves are created by energy passing through water. As Damon shook my hand, I felt that familiar pull, the surge of energy awakening me. Giving me hope. He was dangerous