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For this chapter I suggest you listen to the song The Cure by Jordin Sparks. Seriously, it totally fits the mood.

Hush, little baby

Don't you cry

Yeah, I know she hurt you

But it ain't the end of your life

~ The Cure by Jordin Sparks

~ A Chance Is All I Ask ~

It's been a month since my parents bought me Damon and I've gotten quite used to him. Yes, he was still that same obnoxious asshole he was when I first saw him, but he was my obnoxious asshole. It's gotten to the point that I've started to feel of him as a part of me, a limb of some sort I cannot even think myself to be detached from. He wouldn't say it, but I knew he felt that way, too.

Once word got out at school that I own a slave, people were much nicer to me and even seemed genuinely interested to be my friends. Even those who made fun of me started to respect me, or at least pretended to respect me. Maybe getting a slave wasn't such a bad thing after all. True, I didn't treat him much like a slave, more like a roommate, but it's the title that counts.

"I see you've been dreaming of me. Explains the drool," Damon said this morning, grinning like a fool he was. I opened my eyes, only to find myself lying on top of him, my head resting on his firm, warm chest. I have to admit, he was very well built for a slave. Most of his body was covered in horrid scars which were undoubtedly inflicted upon him as punishment for his countless misdeeds, and for a while he tried to hide them until he realized it was futile as I've probably seen them anyway.

At first I was shocked; it was a rather unpleasant sight.

Now I've gotten used to it.

"Damon!"

I jumped up, wiping my mouth. True enough, there was drool in the corners of my lips. But I wasn't dreaming of him. Honest. Okay, so maybe I was just a little bit. Not that I'd admit to anything. Innocent until proven guilty and all that shit.

Damon laughed at me, his laughter a sweet melody for my ears. Okay, so I may have started to like him. In a friendly way, that is. It's not my fault everything about him was beautiful; his smile, his laugh, the way he wiggles his eyebrows when he puts me on another one of his tests. I could see that he knew it and he couldn't resist making me look like an idiot in front of him. It was one of his favorite hobbies.

"Don't you have school?" he questioned, his eyebrow raised in that sexy way only he can do.

"I… What?" I thought it was Sunday. I quickly grabbed my iPhone and sure enough, it was Monday morning and if I didn't hurry up, I would be late for school. "Shit!"

I quickly put my clothes on and picked my books. I've grown comfortable with Damon in the past month; we both felt free to change in front of each other (as long as we weren't naked, though I doubt he'd mind me flashing him). He was, as a slave, sworn to secrecy. I wouldn't punish him if he blabbed, but he still had to listen to me when I told him to stay quiet. There were things I wasn't willing to share with the world.

"Remember to wait here until I come back, okay?" I said as I brushed my hair.

Damon groaned in the background, obviously displeased with the arrangement. I have made a deal with that whenever I was away from home, he would have to stay in my room until I get back. I would always sneak him in some food, of course; I didn't want him to starve. It was my way of keeping him safe. If he was in my room, then my parents couldn't get to him.

That's the thing with Damon; he tends to do the stupidest things sometimes just to piss me off. Last week he set a pornographic picture as my computer background, once changed my homepage from Google to some site about bourbon, and did some other things I don't feel comfortable bringing up. I got over that rather quickly, but if my mother and father were to find out, they would surely punish him. I couldn't let that happen.

My parents have a short fuse when it comes to slaves. If they do something bad, they get punished. Severely. It doesn't matter if it was an accident. I've told my mom and dad countless of times Damon was my responsibility, but I just knew that if I wasn't home when he did something, they would take matters into their own hands. That was something I wasn't willing to put him through.

He was never content with this agreement, but today he was extremely annoyed. He wanted to go out, be free for once in his life. I get that. Really, I do. If only my parents weren't like that, maybe I would've let him go.

I've offered to take him out a few times, and every single time he said no. I knew it was his way of messing with my head, and still, I couldn't help but feel bad. Sometimes I found it difficult to be in the same room with him, and rest assured, he felt the same.

"You can't keep me prisoner, Elena." There he goes again, saying my name in such a way that makes me feel extremely guilty. He approached me and I noticed his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing scars covering his chest. If only he knew what my parents truly are like; those scars would be nothing compared to what they could do to him.

"I'm not, Damon," I retorted in the same tone to show I wasn't intimidated.

"Then let me go."

He may have been an ass, but he still needed my permission. And that was something I wasn't willing to give.

"No. Stay here."

He grabbed my wrist when I was about to exit the door and spun me around with incredible force. Was that supposed to frighten me? I knew he couldn't do anything to me – no, wouldn't do anything to me, yet I still wished he wasn't that difficult to work with.

"We'll talk when I get back," I said in my best attempt to be calm, though I probably came off as passive aggressive.

"No." He said it with such calmness, such tranquil fury that made me shiver. "We'll talk now."

"You can't keep me here, Damon."

"Welcome to my world."

"It's not the same." Way to go, Elena, I told myself. You've just dug yourself deeper. The point of this whole experience was to treat him like a normal person, not just another slave. I always fuck things up without even trying. "Let me go. I have to go to school."

His face was pale, rid of all emotion. He just stared at me with those big eyes of his, pleading for a little bit of freedom he knew he'd never have. I felt incredibly sorry for him. It must be a sad life to be a slave.

"You're just like them. You say you're not, but you are," he said as he removed his hand from my wrist. "Poor little Elena, always the victim."

"No, Damon, listen! I told you, my parents-"

He cut me off. "Fuck your parents!"

Normally I would agree with him, but words wouldn't fix the damage they'd inflict on him for the smallest of mistakes.

"We'll talk when I get back," I said sharply.

He snorted, and on my way out muttered just loud enough for me to hear: "Lots of things can happen until you get back."

Boy, was he right. Only not in the way he'd imagined.

On my way to school I prayed Damon would listen to me, at least just this final time. My parents had a day off today and with Damon being grouchy they had a perfect opportunity to hurt him when I wasn't looking. I hoped with my entire being that it wouldn't come to that. If only he waits until I come home. We can talk about it and come to a better agreement.

It hurt me when he said I was like everyone else. I wasn't trying to be. I did my best to treat him right, always be on his side; I tried so hard to get him to be my friend. He said I had to earn his friendship and that's exactly what I've been doing. It was him who was being difficult. I resisted the urge to tear up as I parked my car on the school's parking lot and entered that little world of rampaging teenagers.

I wondered if Damon could drive. Maybe he'd like to be my driver. That way he'd get to go out more and, if he happens to like cars and driving, maybe even enjoy himself a bit. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

I looked around the crowd of kids, searching for Jeremy, who I haven't seen since he had an argument with our parents two days ago and stormed out. The good thing is that I found him after only a minute of looking. The bad is that the thing he held in his hand looked suspiciously like a joint and people he was surrounded with looked like they supplied him with it. I considered going over there and ripping it from his hand, but then decided against it.

It was mom and dad's mess. They should deal with it.

"So, how's it going?" Caroline Forbes asked, popping up behind me with Bonnie Bennett in tow. The three of us exchanged a hug and began to chat until the bell marked the start of class.

Out of everyone in this damned school, Bonnie and Caroline were the best. True, both owned slaves, but they treated them with kindness and respect rarely seen in our community. Also, they were one of the few people who didn't mock my anti-slavery arguments. They actually seemed to support it.

"I had an argument with Damon," I admitted, rubbing my wrist. His grip wasn't that rough, but I could still feel his fingers on my skin, tightening around it, holding it with force.

"What did he do now?" Bonnie inquired, raising an eyebrow.

They'd grown accustomed with my complaints about Damon's behavior, so I felt free to tell them all about our little fight this morning.

"You know I'm against cruelty, but maybe you should spank him sometime. You know? Like that," Caroline said, winking at me suggestively, mimicking a tap with her palm.

"Caroline!" Bonnie warned.

The blonde shrugged. "What?"

"That's wrong on so many levels," I said. Not that I would mind spanking Damon (or him spanking me, for that matter – with both our consents, of course), but it still felt wrong. Terribly wrong. Leave it to Caroline to be a pervert about everything.

"I'd do it," Caroline said.

Why wasn't I surprised?

After my favorite class ever, History, was over, I begrudgingly got myself seated in Biology. Only one more period and I will finally be free from this hell called school. I'll go home and get this entire mess sorted with Damon, and everything will be fine. Or so I hoped.

"How's your little boy-toy, Elena?" teased Rebekah Mikaelson, the girl I had the luck of sitting behind of. She was one of the people who considered it outrageous when I didn't have a slave, and when it became common knowledge that I've gotten Damon, she never missed a chance to tease me about it.

"He's amazing, actually," I replied. "A lot better than you."

She rolled her eyes. "Feisty much today?"

"Just leave me alone."

Today's lesson our dear teacher graced us with was about scars. As she went over the injury to scab process, to finally healing, I couldn't keep my thoughts from Damon. He's had scars. Lots of them. Probably even more that I didn't see (and didn't want to see). Just what had he done to deserve such disfigurement? Yeah, he was a pain in the ass, but I couldn't imagine myself doing anything like that to him. His previous owners must have been psychopaths. You don't do that to someone, no matter their status. Just because he was a slave didn't mean he deserved to be treated like a toy.

I remembered the first time I discovered them and it hurt just as much. If it was like that for me, I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for him to get hurt like that. Judging by their severity, they were the work of madmen, people who wouldn't stop hitting him even when he was down. The mere thought of that made my eyes tear up.

It's been a few days since I've got him that I've finally seen him half-naked, and what I've seen frightened me. Thick, painful looking scars covered almost every inch of his skin, and for some reason I couldn't keep my eyes off them. I finally realized just why he tried so hard to keep me from seeing him without a shirt and felt sorry for this small invasion of privacy.

"Enjoying the show?" he asked, smirking, trying to keep it cool, although it was obvious he was embarrassed.

"I… Well, I mean… You… I'm sorry." I quickly turned away, allowing him to get fully dressed before I let my eyes wander over to him.

"Like what you see?" he teased once I gathered enough courage to turn back and breathed out a sigh of relief to see him in a shirt.

"Stop it, Damon," I warned, though I knew he wouldn't listen. My demands always prompted him to keep up.

"Why? So you don't have to feel guilty? Tough luck, Elena."

I decided to ignore the remark. "Who did that to you?"

"People like you."

Suddenly that speech he gave about his previous owners trying to break him made a lot more sense.

"I-"

"You're not like that. Yeah, I know that speech. But the thing is," he said, walking over to me, once again getting too close for my liking, "some of them said the exact same thing. Didn't stop them from reaching for the whip whenever things got… a little bit out of control."

"I promised you I wouldn't. I don't break my promises," I said. "Is everything healed? Do you need a doctor?"

He smirked. "Never needed one, never will. Don't pretend to be worried. We all know it's just a mask."

"Why don't you give me a chance?" I asked, at the verge of tears.

"I've given enough of them to know not to fall for that," he replied, wiping away one of the tears that slid down my cheek. "Your tears may get you what you want from your parents and teachers, but they aren't gonna work on me. So stop pretending to care!"

Only I wasn't pretending. I really did care. I still do and probably always will. I kept rewinding that memory in my head the entire way home, thinking of things to say to him. If only I knew of a way to set him free. I've heard of people who accomplished it, but according to the Internet, it was an incredibly difficult thing to do. And I'm barely an adult. I highly doubt I'd be able to pull it off.

As for asking my parents for help – yeah, that's gonna happen. I think they'd rather send Damon off to a certain death than help me free him.

When I walked into my home I was greeted with the sight of Isobel, my mom's slave, on her hands and knees, cleaning what appeared to be blood. The thick substance was everywhere, covering a large portion of the floor and walls, turning their delicate colors dark, rusty, disgustingly rich red.

"What happened?" I asked, startled. Please, don't let it be him. Please, not him, I begged. But I knew it was. It was too obvious to be a lie.

"You should ask your parents, mistress Elena," replied Isobel bitterly.

"Elena, you're home," my mom said, exiting the kitchen with a smile on her face. Dad was right behind her, looking ready to kill someone with a mere look.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"We had a bit of a… problem with Damon," mom responded.

Oh, no. What have they done to him? "What kind of a problem?" I demanded. My heart was racing, ready to jump out of my chest. I prayed they didn't hurt him too bad, but judging by the amount of blood, I'd say he was lucky to be alive. If he was alive, that is. Which I hoped he was.

"He took my bourbon without permission," dad said, enraged.

My eyes widened in shock. They couldn't be serious. "What?"

"He took my-"

"You did this," I gestured to the bloody mess, "to him over bourbon?"

"It was expensive!"

"And he didn't ask for permission," mom added promptly.

My eyes began to tear up; I could already feel them getting swollen and red. "I can't believe you," I said, shooting them one last glare before sprinting up the stairs. Actually, I could believe them. It was just something they'd do. I was so stupid, leaving him after that clear promise he'd do something when I'm not here. I should've known better. "Damon! Damon, where are you?"

I found him in the bathroom attached to my room. This was one of the times that I was grateful I had my very own bathroom. He was sitting on the floor, almost entirely covered in blood, his body a painful mess of cuts and bruises. He looked at me with those gorgeous eyes of his and my heart instantly sank. How could they do that? He was mine; my responsibility. They should've let me take care of this.

"Oh, my god, Damon", I said, gasping.

I've expected terrible, but this was too much. I took the first towel I could lay my eyes on and soaked it in warm water. I owned no first aid kit and I was pretty sure my parents wouldn't let me use theirs for this, so I had to improvise. I reached for one of his wounds, but he pushed my hand away, glaring daggers at me.

He was pissed. Very.

"Just let me take care of this. Please," I begged, hoping to make him give in, but he just kept his eyes on me, threatening death.

"I knew it," he rasped. "Just like the others."

"No!" I exclaimed. I've had it with these accusations. "I told you to stay in my room! Why didn't you listen? Why didn't you…?" With this I burst into tears. I couldn't keep it in anymore. This was his mess. He disobeyed me and paid the price. It wasn't my fault: it was his.

Something in his demeanor suddenly changed. He allowed himself to relax, at least for a bit, and in his eyes there was no more hatred directed at me. He wasn't as tense as before and I took it as a sign of acceptance. He was letting me get close and I wasn't going to miss the change to help him. I knelt before him and started cleaning his wounds, doing my best to be as gentle as possible, apologizing for every wince he gave.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. I couldn't believe my ears. Damon was a lot of things, but I never took him for an apologetic type.

"Why did you do that?" I asked. "It was a really stupid thing to do."

He shrugged in a completely nonchalant way. "I like bourbon. And I wanted to piss you off."

"You succeeded." I wiped a large gash on his arm and he let out a moan. "Sorry."

"There you go again, pretending to care," he accused.

"I'm not pretending," I said, tired of arguments. I looked around both my room and the bathroom, but there was nothing even resembling bandages. "I'm going to have to improvise," I told him before attempting to rip apart an old towel I found.

He put a hand on top of mine, stopping me. "Don't. I can do without."

"What are you talking about? You'll get an infection!"

"I won't. I've been through this before. It'll sting for a while and then it'll go away. No big deal."

"I'll go buy some bandages," I offered.

Damon shook his head. "No. I'll be fine." He outstretched his hand toward me and I realized he wanted me to help him get to his feet. I was surprised. He never wanted my help before. I guess desperate times call for desperate measures. I helped him limp over to the bed and did my best to make him as comfortable as possible.

"I'm really sorry," I said.

"For what?" he questioned.

"Keeping you prisoner. You were right, that's exactly what I've been doing. It was wrong and I apologize for that. It won't happen again."

"My, look who's gotten better at acting," he mocked.

"Damon, I'm serious!"

"So am I."

"Why are you so convinced that I'm a liar?" I asked, pouting like a child. "Why can't you just accept that someone could care about you?"

"Because I'm a slave, pouty," he replied. "And owners don't care about slaves, no matter what they say."

"Maybe I do."

"Keep telling yourself that. I see you already believe it."

"How can I prove to you that I mean well?!" I snapped. I felt tears welling up again and barely resisted an urge to scream. He was driving me crazy and I couldn't do anything about it. No matter what I said or did, I couldn't change his mind. He was convinced no one could ever care about him because of who he was. Whatever happened in his past clearly impacted him, changed him forever.

"That's the thing, Elena. You can't! So stop trying!" he retorted.

"No! I am not giving up on you!"

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Because I want to help you!" We both took a moment to calm down, take a few deep breaths and get our fast-beating hearts under control. "Just give me a chance. Please."

"So you can betray me?" he questioned, this time a bit calmer than before.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I wouldn't do that. You said I need to earn your friendship, but I can't do that if you don't give me a chance."

He looked at me, obviously considering it, and nodded after a moment spent in uncomfortable silence. I smiled at him, proud of his willingness to finally accept my kindness, and in the heat of the moment put my arms around him, pulling him into a warm, friendly hug. This startled him, made him twitch, but he made no movement, no indication this affected him in any way other than shock.

I heard him hiss in pain and quickly backed off. Stupid me. He was still shirtless and covered in open wounds. I caused him pain without even thinking about it.

"Sorry," I said honestly. "Did I hurt you."

He shook his head. "No."

"Damn it. You're bleeding again." Way to go, Elena. I always have to mess things up. I reached for one of the wet towels I left lying around and gently wiped the blood off a cut on his chest. "I'm so sorry about that. It was completely inappropriate."

"By all means, go at it again," he joked, raising an eyebrow in a flirtatious way.

I laughed. He could be pretty funny when he tried. "Do you have a driver's license?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Would you like to drive me to school?" I asked. He glanced at me questioningly, so I quickly went to explain. "I thought you could drive me to school, go around the town, and then pick me up once I'm done. How does that sound?"

"You want me to be your driver?" he asked.

"Why not? It'd be fun. And you wouldn't have to be here when I'm gone."

"What's the catch?" he questioned, suspicious of my intentions.

"No catch," I assured him. "You gave me a chance and I'm taking it. Sound good?"

He smirked. "Very."

At least we finally came to an understanding. Maybe this friendship will develop sooner than I thought; I sure as hell hoped it will. And not only friendship. Maybe something even greater.

I've only known him for a month, and all about him; his life, his demeanor, even his freaking laughter and the way he looked at me; everything screamed trouble. But for some reason this felt like the good kind of trouble.

It was the kind of trouble I loved.

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