A/N: Quick author's note. In this fanfic Damon's last name is 'Whittemore' and Stefan's will still be 'Salvatore'. And if you're wondering about the ages, Damon is in his late twenties (27/28), Stefan is in his mid-twenties (25/26), Caroline and Bonnie are in their early twenties (23/24). Oh, and if anybody is wondering why this fic is called "Bring Me To Life" and it doesn't match the description somewhat, it's because….SPOILERS! I can't exactly tell you, but more shall be explained as the story continues.
BONNIE
Now, Bonnie wasn't entirely sure why she was screaming at the top of her lungs.
It wasn't because she was scared of the mystery man in her bed. No, it definitely wasn't that. But it probably had something to with the fact that she didn't know what else to do. Thinking apparently wasn't an option right now, so the only logical thing she could think of doing was screaming. And she probably would've screamed until her vocal cords gave out and she could never talk again if it weren't for the loud pounding coming from the other side of her bedroom wall.
Behind it, she could just barely hear the muffled yelling of her neighbour (or as Bonnie refers to her as: 'the bitchy old cat lady next door') telling her, or commanding would be a better term for it, to shut the hell up.
She thinks about just screaming for the hell of it, to piss off her neighbour—God knows the old hag deserves it after the crap she pulled that had every resident in her apartment building rioting (but that's another story for another time)—but decides against it, ears only picking up a few words at a time, her brain trying to piece them together and make sense of it all.
The words she got were: shut, report, kicked, landlady.
Shit, shitty, shit, shit! Bonnie thought to herself, coming to the quick conclusion that if she didn't shut up her cranky neighbour would report them to their landlady and have her kicked out.
"Well, aren't you just peachy in the morning." She hears a voice comment and Bonnie's head snaps to the side where, instantly, her eyes land on her naked mystery man.
She glares daggers at him.
"You don't get to complain," she states, pointing an accusing finger at him, "Not when it's your fault I might get kicked out of my apartment—which I happen to love very much, by the way."
Mystery man raises a sardonic eyebrow, the corner of his lips pulling into a smirk.
"Well, I'm glad the relationship is working out—" and before he can even finish his sentence, Bonnie is grabbing one of her many pillows off her bed and hitting him with it.
"You're disgusting!" she shouts, about to hit him with the pillow again, but he grabs onto the other end of it and yanks it right out of her hands with ease. There wasn't even any effort put into it. He might as well have just grabbed it with his thumb and forefinger! Either her grip on the pillow wasn't tight as she thought it had been or this guy really was as magical as he looked.
Oh. My. God, Bonnie thought as her eyes widen, he's like a fucking unicorn! All majestic and shit!
And just as the thought entered her mind, she mentally facepalms herself because of course—of course, that would be the only logical explanation as to why Mr. Nake-Mystery-Man could have snatched the pillow right of her hands so easily like he was plucking a grape off its vine. It couldn't have been because she didn't have that tight of a grip on the pillow and it definitely couldn't have been because mystery man was just stronger than she was with his manly muscles. Nope. Neither of those options could be it. But him being a goddamn unicorn apparently made so much more sense to her.
Yeah, Bonnie was beginning to lose her mind.
"Anyone ever tell you that you look incredibly hot when you're angry?" Mystery man's voice snaps Bonnie back into reality, where her attention goes back to the man lying on her bed, and her eyes narrow into slits. He may be incredibly gorgeous, but that certainly didn't hide the fact that he is, indeed, a giant sarcastic asshole.
Crossing her arms, she retaliates by asking, "Anyone ever tell you that your pervert and shouldn't sleep in other people's bed without their knowledge nor permission?"
For a moment there, Bonnie thinks she's got him, but apparently, mystery man had other things in mind than answering her question and was living up to his new title as being a giant sarcastic asshole by saying, "Hm. Did I say hot? I meant sexy. I am mean, the feistier you get, the harder my—"And, once again, Bonnie grabs the same pillow from earlier that he had stolen and was now lying in his lap, and started hitting him with it again. Was it odd that she found this be somewhat more satisfying than sex? Probably. But she didn't dwell on that thought for long as she continued hitting him.
He lets her continue with hitting him for about a minute, but as the seconds tick by, the more irritated he gets and his annoyance builds and his self-control lessens and suddenly, he's grabbing the pillow right out of her hands.
But this time, however, he had pulled a little too hard and before Bonnie knew she was falling face first onto his chest—his rock-hard, six-pack chest. And so, there they were, face-to-chest, and Bonnie glanced up, having to tilt her neck a little to the side to actually see the man's face, he seemed just as shocked as she was.
But that's not the only thing she noticed.
No.
After all of that, they were still holding onto the fucking pillow.
With angry huff, Bonnie sits up, using her free hand—which was pressed into her mattress and was also placed smack dab in between mystery man's legs and it furthered prove how much the universe was truly out to get her and make her life a living hell, and somehow it had come in the form of a majestically gorgeous, over-sarcastic, narcissistic, walking, talking (unfortunately) asshole—to keep her steady and upright, and using what little strength she did have, she ripped the pillow straight out of his hands and chucked it across her room where it landed near a pile of dirty laundry.
She stared at it silently for a moment, glaring at the damn thing like it had somehow been its fault of why she had landed practically on top of this strange, handsome man. Then, her simmering anger fades, turning into nothing but a sort of warm numbness.
She felt, strangely enough, ashamed for what she had done to the pillow.
And, as if he could hear her thoughts, mystery man asks, "Now, what the hell did the pillow ever do to you to deserve such a treatment?"
Bonnie couldn't help but notice the way his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, but not because of the fact she threw pillow, but because when she looked down at the hand he'd been using to hold onto the pillow, his fingers were curled into a tight fist, knuckles a ghostly white—which said a lot by itself seeing how the owner of the hand already was, almost the colour of snow.
He wasn't confused.
He was absolutely dumbfounded.
And that alone was enough for Bonnie to forget all about the fact that he was a pervert and that she had only been a few inches away from coming face-to-face with his dick.
Smugly, she smirk, raising both her eyebrows as if to 'how do you like it?'
Then, now with both of her hands free, she rises up off the mattress, looming over him as stood on her knees. She wobbled for a minute, but determined to not have a repeat of falling onto mystery man's chest, she balances herself.
You got this, she tells herself, don't you dare fall over.
Fortunately, she doesn't.
Slowly, Bonnie crawls off the bed, the nightgown she's wearing riding up and getting stuck in her boy-shorts. Not daring to look to see the expression on mystery man's face, she walks over to her dresser. Once she's in front of it, she opens one of the drawers, digging through it and pulling out some clothes to wear and one item in particular.
Turning back around, she throws the old pair of sweatpants that she dug out from the drawer and they land at mystery man's feet.
Bonnie watches him as he, curiously, leans over and stretches an arm out to grab the sweatpants. She raises a confused eyebrow as he inspects the sweatpants and for a minute, the room is completely silent, the only being heard in their breathing and the sound of cars driving on the street outside of her apartment building.
After the minute passes, and she's about to open her mouth to ask what's wrong, he speaks first.
"Who's are these, because they definitely can't be yours?" He asks, looking up at her from where he sits on the bed.
"My roommate's—" Bonnie pauses, pursing her lips, "—well, technically, he's not my roommate. More of a good friend who crashes here a little too often and sometimes he forgets thing—such as those sweatpants you're holding. You look to be his size."
He's silent for a moment, and then, slowly, he nods. "...Yeah, wouldn't want to go commando."
At this, Bonnie laughs. "Yeah, wouldn't want that."
Surprisingly, he smiles back at her. "B-But in all seriousness, thanks…"
"Bonnie," she tells him when his voice trails off. "My name's Bonnie."
"Well, hello then, good morning Bonnie," he waves at her, his lips spreading apart to form a cheeky grin. "My name's is Damon—Damon Whittemore."
And mystery man finally has a name.
She shakes her head, but still has to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. "Well, good morning to you, too, Damon. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower...I'd tell you to make yourself at home, but I'm afraid you might turn my nice, neat, clean apartment into a frat house. So, as long as you put those pants on—and keep them on—and don't ransack my underwear drawer, keep your feet off the coffee table, and don't go snooping through my personal items, we won't have a problem. Those are my terms for you staying here."
As she's about to turn and walk out of her bedroom, the sound of his—Damon's—voice makes her stop in tracks.
"And what makes you think I'll be staying here?" he questions, and she doesn't miss the hint of cockiness that laced into his words.
Throwing him a glance over her shoulder, she states, "I figure that since your clothes are nowhere to be found, and you obviously have no idea have you ended up in my bed—and I doubt you're that much of an asshole to forget somebody's name, especially when you woke up in their bed—I was thinking we might solve the great mystery of how the hell you ended up in my apartment, naked if I may add. Sound like a good plan?"
Damon slowly nods. "Sounds good."
"Okay," Bonnie breathes out a sigh in relief. "Good. Now, there's food in the fridge if you get hungry and for the love of God and my sanity, put whatever you find back in its original spot."
Confused, he asks, "Why?"
"Well, unless you want my actual roommate—her name is Caroline, just FYI—to tear you a second asshole, you'll do exactly as I just said—or, just try and not touch anything."
And with that said, Bonnie doesn't wait for a reply and races out of the room, almost dropping her clothes along the way to the bathroom.
Distantly, she hears Damon letting out a chuckle. "I don't bite, you know!"
She enters the bathroom, and just as she's about to shut the door, she yells back, "That's exactly what somebody who does bite would say! You can't fool me, Damon!"
When she doesn't hear him reply, Bonnie sets her clothes down on the counter and undressing, letting her nightgown fall to the floor, along with the underwear she had been wearing. Stepping into the bath, she leans down to turn the shower on, and right when her fingers land on the cool metal of the tap, she just barely hears Damon say the words:
"No, I can't!"
And those three little words send an instant shiver down her back.
Bonnie blames it on the fact she's standing in the nude in the bathroom where the window sends in a cold draft and she's got nothing to keep her warm beside crossing her arms.
Yeah, it's draft, she convinces herself as the water comes shooting out of the spout. Just the cold January weather.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Don't forget to leave a review.