A/N: So here is my first story ever to post on here. I'm a tad nervous but much excited to see how this story develops. The summary I wrote isn't that descriptive just because you'll see why at the end of this chapter. This is rated M for language for now. Just a FYI, this story probably after 2nd or 3rd chapter will be more mature due to explicit scenes. I can be very descriptive ;)

I am already halfway through Chapter 2, so I am not sure when that will be updated. I work full-time but I promise I won't keep you waiting that long. Anyhow on with the first chapter 3

What a miserable day. No, scratch that. What a miserable life.

Here I was, sitting on a stool at the local bar, hurriedly tossing bourbon down my throat. I say 'hurriedly' because I needed the buzz. Nah, what I needed was to be fully intoxicated. Or completely shit-faced. Anything to erase the deep-rooted real life issues bolting through my mind on a daily basis. This amber liquid I'd grown to appreciate was the one thing I looked forward to every day. If I could sleep with it, I would have. Sounds like I wanted to be fucking mated to it…

Shaking my head free of that thought, I gestured to the bartender to fill up my glass. Her thickly lined eyes lit up before strolling to the other side to grab the Wild Turkey bottle. Before I knew it, the bartender was abruptly in front of me, pouring the liquid into my glass. I must have snoozed for a moment unless she had some type of mutated talent to transport. She could also be an undercover vampire, trying to live a normal life without interference.

Ah. This is when I knew I was no longer sober. This was good news. I grinned, leaning forward to rest my chin on my hand. All I could see in front of me was my delectable filled drink, my right hand near it and cleavage spilling out of a tight black shirt. Lifting my gaze from her breasts, I land my hazy eyes on hers to find her regarding me closely. Probably to make sure I wasn't close to passing out.

I go to grab the crystal tumbler, but her husky voice immediately stops me.

"Did you need anything else, Mr. Fox?" The unknown bartender inched closer, allowing me a better view of her big assets.

Hmm. Well, now it was clear she was more worried about me fainting because she wanted to have a chance at me. Not to sound like a cocky douche, but I guess you could say I was a looker. I have short, sandy brown hair with hazel green eyes. Light stubble framed around my face. The females down at my firm would blush every time I walked through the doors. And I always managed to leave places with beautiful women on my arm. So, it wasn't surprising she wanted to take me for a spin.

Did I need anything else? I moved back so I was able to scrutinize her more clearly. Her face was plastered with dark makeup. She had a body shaped like a porn star that whom perverts jerk off to. Her whole image screamed easy target to take home for a roll in the sheets with. She was exactly the type I'd use after my late night drinking binges. However, right now all I "needed" was my BFF, my lovely bourbon.

"Nope," I popped the "p" as I l slid the glass toward me. "Thank you kindly"

Half-smirking at her, I held up my drink up before taking a long gulp.

She sighed deeply, sounding disappointed. "Okay, well please don't hesitate to let me know if you do."

Not even responding, I brushed the Jenna Jameson look-a-like away by shifting my attention elsewhere. Elsewhere included the crowded area filled up with laughing and drunk giddy people. Couples danced close, the sight of which almost caused my alcohol to come back up. It's not that I despised them, but, truthfully, I envied their smiling faces.

They were all exuberant even though intoxicated. Here I was, unsure of what number drink I was currently on, but frowning in my non-sober state. That made me seem even more fucked up. Alcohol was supposed to calm you and allow you to escape any worries, but it didn't work that way for me. The only way alcohol and I got along well was when I drink myself until I'm knocked out on the concrete.

I was a waste of a lung that should've never had the chance to breathe its first air. I'm sorry if this sounds offensive, but pro-abortion activists should've pressured my mother to end me. Then there wouldn't be so much blood on my hands. I was the boy who was born to be cursed for a lifetime. Yep, that was me.

Who was I really though? That was a question I asked myself every fucking day. On my birth certificate, I was named Nathaniel Jacob Fox, conceived by Carnie Reynolds and Jacobi Fox. No siblings. Born and raised in a small town smack dab in the middle of Virginia called Fells Church.

My childhood was fairly easy and from what I can remember, I was happy. As expected, during my high school years I rebelled like any normal teenager, sneaking girls in my bedroom and partying with friends and booze and drugs. I blame this time essentially on losing my father too early. Mother and I were wrecks for a while. I probably inhaled more second hand smoke from my mother's Marlboros during those few years than cigarette addicts smoke in their lifetime. That is how abominable it had gotten.

From DUIs to drug busts, I spent much of my senior year behind bars. I knew more about each sheriff and chief than I did about my so-called friends. Around age nineteen 19 at one of my dealers rave parties, I slept with a girl while both of us were high on LSD tablets. Just that one time only and BOOM! She got pregnant with my daughter, Kelsey. Right away, I blamed the drugs for this happening. I thought LSD stood for "Lousy Sperm Drug." I thought it created sperm to multiply more and be ten times quicker. Obviously if I had a sober brain, I would've realized that was a crock of shit.

During that time of discovering I was going to be a dad. I understood how screwed I was. Not only did I have no financial means to support a child but also I had no clue how to be a father. What the fuck did I know to being a parent? Squat. Zilch. Nada. My knowledge base only went as far as the drug money rolled in my back pocket.

Once Margaret, my baby's mother, gave birth to our beautiful angel, my life completely changed. All it took was one look at her while she was being cleaned off by the nurses, one time holding her fragile, tiny body in my arms. Kelsey changed me forever. I stopped selling drugs. I landed myself a decent job as a file clerk at a Law office, which led me to apply for college to become a defense attorney. I even reconciled and rebuilt my relationship with my mother.

Deciding it was best for our daughter, Margaret & I got an apartment together which meant our status changed to "No Longer Single." Two years later, our second daughter, Lindsey was conceived. Not long after, I walked in at the wrong time to discover my girlfriend in OUR bed with another man. It did break my heart for a while, but what did I expect? Not everything in my life could be perfect. However, they were. Regardless of my cheating ex-girlfriend, I had joint custody of my two daughters. If I became lonely or sunk into a depression, Kelsey & Lindsey always cheered me up.

They were my world. My reason for living. Unfortunately they were taken away from me as quickly as I could pound down a shot. Out of all the concerns in the world I had for my children, I would have never foreseen that a faulty wire would lead to my two girls and their mother dying. And wouldn't you know, today marked the two year anniversary of their deaths. Yippee Ki Yay! What a coincidence. I decided I should mourn by drinking myself into a stupor.

I tilted back my heavy head to gulp back the rest of my drink before slamming the glass down. Sighing, I swiveled my body around on the stool and squinted out the bar windows. Rain was faintly sprinkling down. From my blurred vision it was clear the moon was full. Hmph. Another coincidence - this was exactly the type of night they died on. Turning back around, I leaned my head on the wooden counter, snapping my lids shut in the process. Like the stupid masochist I was, I called forth the tragic memory that had been overpowering me for two years.

I won the Beckman case. Fucking A! Damn right I did after several months trying to find the missing link to wrap up the trial. And who would have thought my past with dealing drugs would guide us there? Yep, for the first time I was grateful for my rebellion and illegal mistakes.

Laughing at the contradiction of that last statement, I turned up the dial on my stereo in my car. Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" blared through my speakers, providing me with an extra oomph. I jammed to the music, banging my head like a maniac. To say I was happy was an understatement. I was soaring and utterly proud of myself.

Winning the case was the main factor to my happiness, but it was also the fact that it was my week to have my daughters, so here I was driving to their mother's to pick them up. Kelsey & Lindsey would be equally proud of me. They understood how determined I'd been, working late nights. It was a normal image of a proud father with his proud children surrounding each other. This was the life.

Stopping at a red-flashing light, I put my blinker on to turn left onto their street.

Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I sang along with Steve Perry at the part of the song that goes "Some will win, some will lose." It seemed like I was one of those that had won. Hey, even without a lucky charm like a rabbit foot. I even remembered walking beneath a ladder earlier. Luck seemed to be on my side.

Peering through the windshield, I noticed a thick fog of smoke engulfing the sky. Hmm. Maybe it was someone grilling on a grill. I sniffed the air and smelled the distinct aroma of smoke. Not the type of smoke you'd smell at a BBQ, but more like…

Before I could finish that thought, I registered flashing lights. Several County Police from what I could gather by the red and blue lights. I really hoped the household that had caused this ruckus outside was safe.

I had never prayed before but that night I did. "God, if you're there, please allow these people to live and not witness any tragedy. I want them to be as happy as I truly am at this moment. Thank you…ah, Amen," I whispered, feeling awkward as a whore would not being on her knees.

As I approached, through the light rain I could see a bunch of people standing around an ambulance and big, red fire truck. They were all watching a house lit up in bright flames. Oh shit, a house fire. Not good. Not good at-

Wait a second.

"Oh my God," I gasped, slamming hard on the brakes.

I threw open the car door with much force, running towards the crowd and pushing my way through.

"Woah! Hold up."

Breathing heavily, I looked up to see a stereotypical obese, bald cop halting me with his hand. "It's too dangerous. Don't come any closer."

Shaking my head, I swallowed deeply. "No, I have to. My daughters live there!"

The cop opened his mouth and formed it into an 'O' of surprise. "Sir, I'm so sorry. I know this is tough but you're going to have to wait and remain calm. The smoke alone could kill you."

Well, that last sentence did nothing to keep me calm. If the smoke could kill me, a fully grown man, it would be much easier for it to incapacitate an eleven and a nine year-old. What the fuck were the trained firefighters doing then? Shouldn't they already have found and rescued my family?

Just as I was about to fight him tooth and nail, two bulky firefighters ran out of the house yelling in terror.

"Get back now!"

The cops rushed everyone as far from the home as possible. Everybody surrounding me either ducked or went into a squatting position.

Hectic voices around me silenced like I pressed the Mute button on a remote. People disappeared from my line of vision. All I could see was the two story-colonial - the one I had purchased for Margaret & my two daughters three summers ago - instantaneously explode with more flames engulfing every room. The windows began to break from the searing heat. Dark smoke escaped through them, traveling towards the sky.

Dropping to my knees, I shook uncontrollably. I was numb. Nothing left to live for.

"1, 2, 3…!" The sudden countdown startled me from my dazed place. My expressionless eyes identified the reason for the countdown. A couple of firefighters were holding a water hose attached to the truck. Not sure how long they sprayed the fire, but instead of seeing red and orange, all around me was dark smog.

How fitting. This was exactly what my mind was currently engaged with, pure darkness covered my thoughts.

My precious babies were both ripped from my life in an instant. Kelsey, my first angel. The one who had a dry sense of humor like me but whose personality was identical to her mother. Lindsey, Daddy's Little Girl. She was always the most excited to see me. Every time I saw her, she would be laughing or smiling. How did I ever deserve such incredible children?

Staring at the burning down house, I saw three firefighters scramble inside with breathing masks on.

What did I ever do to deserve to lose such incredible children?

A woman soon invaded my space. "Sir?"

Speechless, I just looked ahead.

"What is your name?"

"Nathan…" I cleared my throat. "Nathan Fox."

"I know this is a bad time to ask, but one of the Sheriffs told me this was your family's home. Is that correct?"

I nodded like a bobble head.

"Mr. Fox, let me just say I am so sorry for your loss—"

I immediately closed her bullshit apologies out, not wanting to hear any more.

The numb feeling quickly diminished. All I felt after was my body quivering and a plethora of teardrops sliding down my cheeks. I was crying. I, a fucking grown up thirty year-old man, was crying for the first time in many years. Covering my head with my hands, I continued to weep, causing others around me to try to sooth me.

Pain. Death. Tragedy. It hurt. Everything hurt.

I lost...my entire world.

Mr. Steve Perry could kiss my white ass. I stopped believing the moment I was deprived of all hope.

Taking a deep breath, I held up the empty glass. "Another, please."

"Nathan, I think you're just about finished."

Ah, not the voice I was wishing for. I glanced up to find the owner with his tattooed arms crossed over each other, glaring at me. He might have appeared a threat to most, but behind that blonde beard and biker edge, he almost looked like a pretty boy. I'd been in to this joint nearly every night and he knew his intimidation never worked. Nothing scared me except my own mind

"Come on, get me one more." I shoved the glass towards him to make my point.

"Not happening. Sorry, I'm cutting you off for the night," he mumbled back, taking the glass and tossing it aside.

"What a party shitter. Always ruining the fun," I whined dramatically, pulling my wallet out to place a couple of bills on the counter.

"Just get out of here, man. Do you need me to call—"

"No, Dusty," I cut him off.

"It's Dustin," he corrected.

"Whatever."

"Don't do anything stupid."

I stumbled off the stool, keeping my balance, sort of. I flipped him the bird over my shoulder. Pushing the doors open to welcome the humid air, I started to rummage through my jean pockets in search of my car keys. Once I pulled them out, I walked dizzily toward the parking lot, pressing the unlock button to open my black souped-up Audi.

Yes, it was a very fine car indeed, however, I fucking hated the shiny metal on wheels with a passion. Why? Because it was the exact same one I was driving when the fire killed my daughters. The lease wasn't up until the end of the year. Which meant I was stuck with the damn thing. Oh, the irony. I tried to drive all my tragic memories out of my mind, yet here I was driving a physical memory.

I might as well have had a tattoo branded on me that said "Masochist". I welcomed pain or perhaps I was just so used to it, I'd become tolerant. No, I was the inflictor. I caused this all from the point of my birth.

I slid my key into the ignition revving the silent engine to life. I pulled the seat belt across my chest and tried to click it into place, however, just my luck, the belt locked. Even using all the strength I possessed in my drunken state, I couldn't budge the piece of shit.

"Son of a bitch," I complained, slumping back in the cold leather seat.

Not wanting to waste any more time, I gripped both hands around steering wheel then I put the car into drive and accelerated out of parking lot. I turned the dial on the radio, needing the background noise to keep my lame self company. Right away I pulled my hand back, recognizing the tune blasting through the speakers.

"Don't stop believin', Hold on to the feelin'"

Déjà vu hit me. It was the same ominous feeling as in the movie Final Destination 2 when, before a fatal car pileup, the lead girl had a premonition and her radio played "Highway to Hell." The song that was playing might be just be a coincidence, but I'm sober enough to know it didn't mean something bad was going to happen. It just meant God's sense of humor was fucked up.

Like the movie's tagline, "you can't cheat death." Well, you can't cheat past tragedy; it always creeps back to you. I pressed the power off button forcefully, leaving myself in blissful silence I was beginning to appreciate. I swore right then and there, no more radio ever again!

I glanced out my window, and all I could see was blurred. Everything was too distorted. I wasn't even that drunk… really. The fact I was currently driving was a hint I wasn't where I was supposed to be. I should've been lying face down somewhere.

I squeezed my blurry eyes closed for a second while my stomach gurgled. Shit, I completely forgot about the one thing a body needed most: food. No wonder I was losing weight, with booze on my mind all the time.

Still pressing down the gas peddle through the streets blindly, I wasn't aware I drove through a red light. It happened all too fast…

Impact.

Something heavy and fast slammed into my side of the car, flipping it and causing me to launch through the windshield.

Pain.

I landed roughly on the cement, feeling my skin being scraped harshly and my bones shattering. Not able to move, immobile.

The end.

I welcomed death with open arms as darkness took me over.

Beep. Beep. Beep…

Blackness enveloped my vision with no traces of any illumination seeping through. Was it nightfall? Never mind, my lids were closed. Oh shit, hopefully I wasn't passed out on the sidewalk somewhere unknown. From the pounding headache to a stiff, sore exterior, everything felt like I was in a brutal fight. Definitely not a normal bar commotion, but more as if a trained UFC fighter doubles back kicked me into a KO.

Beep. Beep. Beep…

That noise…it sounded like a FEDEX truck backing up. Too close, not good. With all the strength I could gather, I slightly opened my eyes to reveal a bright sunshine bursting through the windows. Blinded for a second by kaleidoscopic colors, I repeated the process of attempting to open my eyes again.

As my blurred vision improved, I looked in front of me to see a flat panel TV hanging on the wall and under it a lonely standard cream chair.

When did I check myself into a hotel? Unable to recollect anything, all I remembered was wobbling out of the bar entrance like an intoxicated dipshit. Oh yes, how could I forget? I'd been shut down by Dusty the Bar owner who could be mistaken for Jax from Sons of Anarchy.

Beep. Beep. Beep…

What motherfucking contraption was causing that sound? Slowly I turned onto my right side, to coming into full view of a LCD monitor showing electrocardiogram waves of my heart rate. So that was what the beeping noise was. I figured it must go off when there were fluctuations in my heart rate. The screen should have flashed "God hates me." Only I deserved to be woken up with a divine punishment.

Pivoting my head to my other side, I found a device that seemed to go in accordance to my breathing. Oh, of course, a ventilator.

I looked down at my long hands, seeing clear tubes taped firmly in place on the backs of each. Then I quickly touched my lower stomach, feeling some pressure. Holy shit, a feeding tube! I frantically scoped the area out, finally coming into full realization.

Jesus Christ. I was in a hospital. On fucking life support! But what the hell was I doing here?

I flinched in surprise at the sound of a door opening. A young and petite African American nurse opened the door, eyes widening as she caught a glimpse of me.

"Oh goodness, Mr. Salvatore, you're up!" she exclaimed, strolling to the right side of the bed.

Huh? Salvatore? Didn't she know my name was Fox, not Salvatore. Maybe, the nurse jumbled up another patient's name. As they say on medical television shows, "happens all the time."

She studied the monitor closely then grabbed a phone muttering some words into it that were too soft for me to pick up.

The pretty nurse hung the receiver back in place, turned around and flashed me a bright smile.

"Doctor Mikaelson will be in here momentarily to check up on you. My name is Bonnie," she said, pointing to her name-tag. ""How are you feeling, Damon?"

Damon? Again, not my name. Furrowing my brows together in confusion, I swallowed before responding, "That is not my -"

I cut myself off at the different sound of my voice. That wasn't mine. This one was livelier and sounded younger; this one didn't have any twang to it. Mine was deeper and lilted with a southern accent. What was going on…?

Bonnie rushed over and placed her tiny hand on my forehead. "Your head feels normal."

The door then opened wide to reveal a middle-aged man with dark groomed hair and brown eyes. One hand was in his lab coat and the other was holding a clipboard. He looked like a Soap Opera doctor, very professional. The kind of doctor you could trust with your life one hundred percent however knew they had a mystery to them as well.

"Damon, such a pleasure to see you awake!" His accent relayed to me he was from somewhere in Britain.

He walked over, nodding at Bonnie before quickly peering at the monitor. He scribbled information down on his clipboard. Sliding the pen back in his pocket, the doctor grabbed a swivel chair, rolled it close to the bed and sat down on it.

"I'm Dr. Mikaelson, but you can call me Elijah if you'd like."

"What is going on?" I questioned softly, still taken back by my voice. Did I get voice box surgery? I wasn't aware there was a surgery to do a substitution of voice boxes. I was loopy. Yep, that was it - the most logical reason. This was feasibly because of the drugs they'd given to me.

"Ah, yes of course you wouldn't know. You've been in a coma for the past year. I've already contacted your uncle and aunt. I thought it'd be better to explain it more thoroughly once they've arrived."

My uncle and aunt? I only knew of one aunt, who was on my father's side, however, I never met the lady since she was living in a Psych Ward somewhere in New York. My mother had no siblings, so having an aunt and uncle was impossible.

Was I hallucinating? It was very plausible. Maybe I was dead. Was this Hell? Well, I supposed Hell would be more dark and gloomy with soulless Demons ripping your skin apart. Cascading fire would be the only light visible and also the smell of burning flesh would fill my nose.

I closed my eyes at that last thought. How comforting to know how Hell made me remember that horrible night. It appeared escaping from that Monday memory was impossible. Fuck my cursed life.

"Damon, your head feeling alright?"

Exhaling a loud breath, I grumbled, "Can you please stop calling me Damon?"

Now it was the doctor who was sporting frown lines, exactly the same ones I'd been wearing since I woke up. "Why? That is your name on your birth certificate. Would you rather be called by a nickname?"

"No. That isn't my name!" My voice broke at the end, and I had to suppress a cough a. Bonnie grabbed a white Styrofoam cup with a straw and brought it over to me. With my eyes closed, I took a long sip of the ice water.

When I open my eyes, I found Dr. Mickaelson and Bonnie looking at each other in concern.

"What?" I probed, flickering my eyes back and forth between them.

Dr. Mikaelson grabbed a pen-shaped device from his pocket and made a clicking sound. "Why do you say it's not your name?" he asked, while pointing the flashlight in my pupils.

"Because I know for sure my name is Nathan. Why is my voice different?"

Bonnie gasped, causing my eyes to widen.

"What, what's wrong?"

"Nothing at all," he responded, clicking the flashlight off. "Bonnie? Could you hand me that mirror over there?" He pointed toward the table in the corner.

Scrunching my eyes, I stared at Dr. Mikaelson. What was he hiding? There was no way nothing was wrong, there was no fooling me. His tone implied a hidden secret behind this.

Bonnie returned with a black-framed hand mirror, passing it to him.

"I'm going to show your reflection so you can see what you look like. You've healed quite well. "

He handed me the mirror. I raised my eyebrows in suspicion at him and all he just does is nodded as I brought it to my face. I jumped back as I realized that the reflection revealed a strange face.

This face wasn't mine. No. This one was completely free of wrinkles. Not that mine was plastered with them, but this face didn't even have a trace of crow's feet. It appeared young, possibly young twenties. Tubes ran through my new nose. The eyes were an unusual aqua blue. The jaw was perfectly sculptured. Raven black hair had a bad case of bed-head.

Shoving the mirror away, I pushed down the wool blanket to reveal a hospital johnny covering a new body. This body seemed a tad shorter than my own. More framed like a swimmer, lanky and lean yet arms bulged with muscles. I looked down at my hands, moving my longer fingers.

"I'm dreaming. Not possible this is a dream," I rambled under my breath, burying my new head into my hands. What was I slipped at the bar? In my past I'd tried every drug known to man, but I'd never experienced anything like this.

Silence filled the room, allowing me time to torment myself with the possibilities. Now I remembered. After escorting my lonesome self out of Dustin's Bar & Grill, I must have gotten into my car and decided to drive myself home. Everything else was faded, other than the memory of glass breaking. And being flipped over… a semi-truck.

Snapping my head up abruptly, the memories quickly rushed back to me. I'd been smashed into by a truck and thrown through the window, where I hit the ground. The physical suffering was so severe, I'd been paralyzed.

There was no way I survived that crash, no miracle in this world could have saved me. There was only one explanation.

"I'm dead," I whispered.

"No, you're quite alive. This is reality, Damon."

"That's not likely because my name isn't-"

"Your name IS Damon Salvatore," Dr. Mikaelson said firmly, giving me a stern look. Then he continued, "You are seventeen years old. You have a brother two years younger than you, named Stefan. You're not going to understand this, but your mother and father have been dead for a year. The cause was the same accident that landed you in here. Your guardianship has been given to your uncle and aunt and-"

"No! This can't be-"

"Yes, Damon. I am telling you the truth."

"Doesn't make any sense," I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Say this with me. My name is Damon Salvatore. You say it now. Come on. Say, my name is Damon Salvatore. Repeat. "

"My name…" I stuttered, very close to disagreeing again. But his unyielding stare stopped me in my tracks.

"My name is Damon Salvatore."

As Dr. Mikaelson patted my shoulder, I peered again at the mirror that had been lying on my lap, scrutinizing my reflection. Maybe I was just loose screw from all the shit I'd gone through, but looking at myself at this moment, at the back of my mind, this felt right. And that was a rare statement from me. Nothing was ever right with me, but perhaps it could be this time. A line from a song then ran through in my mind, making the last sentence irrelevant.

"Some will win, some will lose"

Being lost and losing everything was all I had ever known. This was just another curse or the fates decided to deal the wrong card…again.

A/N: I hope It wasn't too confusing for you all. I know from my proofreaders they first read it and went WTF? But then after they finished they were like wow didn't see that coming. :P

I guarantee this story will be a Damon/Elena love story but she won't show up until most likely the 3rd chapter. I promise it'll be worth the wait.

Nathan Fox by the way looks like Jensen Ackles when I wrote it. Mentally and personally wise he's like Damon so no worries about that. You'll see more sarcasm and his usual cockyness later on. So please forgive me if it seems OOC. Damon is going to be 18 a senior in high school, while Elena is 17. You'll learn more from future chatpers.

Thanks to Jenn for proofreading and going through all my grammar mistakes LOL. 3

Please review and let me know if I shall continue or not. Any questions please PM me!