The cheap sheets were scratchy against my face, irritating enough to make sleep impossible. Fluffing and re-fluffing the pillow had no effect what so ever. Defeated, I accepted the fact that I probably wasn't going to get much sleep tonight. Okay, so maybe that wasn't the only reason I was having trouble sleeping. This whole trip was supposed to be a way to discover what my feelings for Damon truly were. Sure I cared about him, and we were friends but was it more than that? Over the past two years we've been on a relationship roller-coaster even though we weren't even dating. It went from me hating him then liking him, and then hating him again, it's like a never ending cycle. My thoughts were interrupted by the clank of the bathroom door opening.

My breath caught in my throat. He was stunning. The way the moonlight reflected off his pale face and his toned abs gave him a ghostly quality that made it difficult to stop staring at him. His icy artic eyes penetrated my soul in a manor only Damon was capable of. My eyelids mashed shut; it seemed the only way to stop myself from gawking. I glanced over at the chair, where he was drinking; we made direct eye contact again. For a moment that's all we did, stare. But, it was only a moment until he put down his drink and began to rise from the chair

As if in a trance, he came over to the bed and lay down gently, like he was afraid I would ask him to move. My heart beat like a snare drum. But, why? We'd shared a bed numerous times so what was the difference? It was evident; this was the closest I've ever been to figuring out where we stand. Physically, we were inches between us; emotionally we'd never been so far apart. I pried open my heart looking for answers, Stefan and Damon had a section of it that was all their own. Unfortunately, what came up was information I already knew, I cared about them both, no doubt about it. The confusing part was just how much I cared, and it was going to take much more than sharing a bed to figure it out.

My mind drifted to this afternoon. Jeremy had said Damon gave Rose a dream while she was dying to ease her pain. That was a sweet gesture because when I saw Rose on her last day she was a wreck. So for Damon to portray such a lovely dream, he must have cared a great deal about her. Why didn't he want to admit that he wasn't just a blood thirsty ass?

"You never told me about that," I started softly, turning to face him, "What you did for Rose."

He sighed softly replying, "It wasn't about you."

I could've gotten mad, but I didn't, instead I gave a tiny giggle. It was true. The reality was Mystic Falls was almost the Everybody Loves Elena show and I hated it. Almost every horrible thing that had happen could be traced back to me being the doppelgänger. So the thing he did for Rose had no impact what so ever on me and he wanted it to be his secret. I understood that; even more so, I respected it.

What I didn't understand was why he acted like he didn't care about anyone but himself. He's saved my life numerous times, but has yet to tell a single person. I've seen him be compassionate and sensitive to me and others. So why is it so hard for him to admit that he does care?

"Why don't you let people see the good in you?" I questioned smirking a bit.

His face remained hard as stone, while he continued to examine the ceiling, "Because when people see good, they expect good."

That wasn't the answer I was ready for, But it kind of made sense. Damon didn't want to be compared to Stefan. Stefan, who always did good for the ones he loved, even if it left his own life in shambles. That was one of his great qualities. Damon was known be a hero now and then, like when he rescued me from the car accident or when he helped me get Stefan back. The difference was Damon was almost ashamed that he wasn't a heartless monster.

He turned his face to mine; "I don't want to have to live up to anyone's expectations."

You've already lived up to mine I almost admitted, but I shoved the words down my throat just in time. Before my connection with him ran too deep, I remembered something.

He was Damon, the guy who compelled Caroline, killed my brother, forced me to drink his blood, and caused his own brother so much unnecessary pain. I almost laughed at myself. There's no way a relationship would work between us, he has too much of a troubled past. How could someone who had done such terrible things even be capable of love?

Again, he was Damon, the guy who danced with me at the Miss Mystic Falls dance; saved my life numerous times, compelled Jeremy to ease his mind, and offered to help Stefan control his blood lust. He was a closeted hero.

His cold hand brushed gently against mine. Just that simple contact caused butterflies in my stomach. He took my fingers in his callused palm and held them. The intertwined hands fumbled around a bit. Our eyes met and I knew I could stay like this and never move. There was something tugging at my conscious, making it impossible to be completely at ease. Stefan.

Pulling my fingers away from him as swiftly as possible, I grabbed my robe and left the room without a glance back. The wind blew against me, sending my hair in all directions. It felt soothing to be outside, opposed to being in a small stuffy hotel room. I had once told Stefan it would always be him. Now I wasn't so sure. My actions were just as awful as Katherine's. How could anyone stand to be in the same room as me, let alone love me? Footsteps approached behind me, I didn't really need another Damon kiss to feel bad about.

"Don't," I pleaded, looking straight ahead.

"Why not?" he replied, his voice was lacking its usual sarcasm. I racked my brain to come up with a decent answer. Maybe due to sleepiness, nothing came to me. Shaking my head slightly didn't help clear my mind in the least.

"Elena," he muttered. I couldn't think of a reason because I wanted to kiss him, every atom of my being wanted to. Before my brain could convince me otherwise, I spun around and dashed over to his surprised arms.

I couldn't help feeling the adrenaline of my heart when he first took my waist in the moonlight. I felt so protective and secure in his presence, that I had forgotten we were by the soda machine in a crummy motel. It would be satisfying to kiss him anywhere. The way our lips moved in a rhythmic motion, we acted as one. My hands grasped forcefully at his jet black hair, and we pulled each other so close, I'm surprised we didn't merge together.

As we continued, I couldn't understand why I ever doubted my feelings for him. The kiss began to get more urgent, we backed up a few steps until by back was pressed against a pillar. My hands remained on his shoulders, while his lips made their way down my neck and explored parts of me that had never been touched by lips. He didn't stop and I didn't want him to. Our faces became level and I kissed him, like I'd never kissed anyone before, so rough and full of passion it was almost painful.

We broke apart, still clutching onto each other. I gazed into those beautiful sapphire eyes and knew how much I wanted him, not just now, but tomorrow and the day after that and so on and so forth. We leaned in but when our lips met it wasn't rough, but gentle and soft. I was protected in his arms and I didn't want to have to let go. We picked it up a little bit, but why not? Nothing was stopping us.

"Elena?"

Expect my little brother. His expression was emotionless, but his eyes showed concern, and that familiar feeling of guilt slithered its way into my stomach. We pulled away quickly but a quick mutual understanding passed between us, everything in regards to our relationship, had just been changed forever. There was no going back.