12 Months Earlier: Part 1

The fluorescent moon lit the shadowy streets of abandoned Las Vegas, where only the underground bars were worth inhabiting. Strippers and cons didn't come around here, so I was told. Only the intellectuals and artists were seen in this part of Vegas. Being out of town on "business" was my pitch to the locals who'd ask my story. But I'm not on business. I'm on vacation, strictly ordered by my boss.

"You look tired, Damon... How about you take a break?"

Leslie, like others in the office, was triggered by the growing stubble on my face, which I usually keep clean and baby's-butt soft. I also started wearing flannel because it felt more suitable for the amount of moving I was doing in a day, making shirts easier to sweat in.

But tonight, I decide to keep it even more casual and wear a plain white tee, no pun intended. I figure I'll try this new pick-up trick I learned from Tyler. He says there's no way I won't get play tonight. So I enter the brick building looking positively joyous and shuffle through the crowd, taking a seat at the desolate bar.

The bartender slings a whit rag over his shoulder, laying his hands on the smooth wood. "What's your poison?"

Here goes nothing. "I'll have an apple martini, dry," I say, watching amused as his eyebrow curls in curiosity. Nonetheless, he turns a heel and proceeds making my drink.

Tyler's an interesting friend. He's always got this insight that seems useless, but really isn't. Like the time he told me to go commando when I run so my junk will be noticed. The first day I actually tried that, not telling Tyler of course, I got three numbers from other habitual joggers that had otherwise ignored me. I silently thanked Tyler for the fun I had that evening with a young lady who will remain nameless for privacy sake.

Don't think for a second that my taking Tyler's advice is admitting that I have no game. On a good day, I get more ass than a toilet seat.

"That's a rather feminine drink, don't you think?" I let a sly smile creep across my face, turning around slowly to be greeted by a promiscuous looking brunette. She takes a seat next to me at the bar and sets her mini purse in front of her.

"You're awfully worried about my beverage choice, don't you think?" I retort.

"Well, that's because I genuinely care about you. Wouldn't want the guys in this bar thinking you're gay. And the ladies..." She trails off.

"What about the ladies?" I wonder, finally taking my drink from the bartender. I take a cautious sip. Definitely dry.

"The ladies might think this apple martini is just your sneaky way of getting them over here." Busted.

She quickly sees the cool defeated expression I'm sporting and laughs in my face. I join her, laughing hysterically.

Once the laughter comes to a halt, she sticks her hand out to me. "I'm Elena."

The bar instantly becomes ten times louder, blasting another obnoxious dance tune from the nineties. I lean in close, trying to elevate my voice above the music. "And I'm gay!" I yell.

She leans away from me, meeting my eyes in shock. "Are you serious?!" She questions.

I grin anxiously as an embarrassed smirk appears on her face. She apologizes and begins to walk away. Everything is going according to plan thus far... Seconds after she disappears into the pit of dancing bodies, I turn to another woman next to me, fresh off the dance floor. I play like I've just bought this martini specifically for her and slide it her way.

She smiles at me. "How'd you know?" She asks.

I shrug and chat her up for not even ten full minutes before Miss Elena returns to the bar, beads of sweat lining her forehead. She nudges the woman I'm conversating with and whispers in her ear. Davina, that's her name, raises her brows and awkwardly begins laughing at Elena.

"If he's gay, then why did he just invite me to his place?" She questions. Elena peers at me quizzically and I grin back at her.

"Elena, is it?" She scoffs. "You were kind of interrupting our conversation. Do you mind?" I wave her away.

I hear her mumble some obscenity directed towards me as she gallops away. Davina giggles in my face and I find myself becoming annoyed with her already.

"I have to piss," I tell her. She laughs caustically in my face again and nods understandingly. I amble towards the restrooms and make a quick left out the exit.

Just as I'd suspected, Miss Elena stood against the brick walls, peacefully smoking a cigarette. I could tell she's already acknowledged my presence as she was looking everywhere with the exception of my direction. I stood directly outside of the door, about ten feet away from her, staring placidly.

There was something about Elena that I craved. Whether it was her soft and angelic features or her subtle but defined body, I don't know. It could be her aromatic flowing hair of which every strand I'd like to touch. Her borderline-raspy voice that I'd like whispering in my ear. Her simple black dress and heels that seem to have required no effort at all to put together. The fact that she's wearing hardly any makeup. The way she's standing with one knee pointed towards the cool air, putting her body off balance but still evened.

It only took three minutes for her to become irritated with me and roll her eyes. "How long are you gonna stand there?" She snaps.

"I'm going to stand here until you agree to go on a date with me," I explain.

She begins to laugh at me, but only for a short while. "Have fun with that," she flicks her cigarette on the ground and stomps it subtly. "I'm going home."

"I'd offer you a ride, but, you know... I'm not movin'..." I sing.

"Nice, but I have my own car," she says, beginning to walk pass me.

"I'm not just an excellent singer, ya' know..."

She continues walking, "Oh, really?"

"I'm also an incredible dancer and a pretty face," I pose and she's still walking. "Hey Elena?"

I finally get her to turn around as she's approaches the parking lot. "What?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" I sneakily pull her mini purse from out of my back pocket. I wonder if she'll accuse me of stealing it or thank me for finding it. She strikes me as the paranoid type.

"My purse..." She ganders towards me.

"Actually, I was going to say you were forgetting to say yes." I hand the purse over.

She eyes me curiously, alternating from my eyes to the purse. "I never caught your name."

"Damon Salvatore," I greet, sticking my hand out.

She holds it softly as I wait for the those sweet words to escape from her lips. "One date, Damon."

"Great, let's go." I lead her to my car anxiously.

"Right now?" She stumbles along.

"Mm hmm."