A/N: Seven months and I'm back with an update! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, and for those still interested in this story. I have one more chapter to go and this baby will be coming to a close, and I can feel like I've done something productive this year by finishing one of my stories. You don't have to read chapter 2 before reading this, but you are more than welcomed to. *This involves sensitive subject matter, just a fair warning*. Oh and lemons.
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of LJ Smith/CW. I own the plot. Copyright infringement is not intended.
December 18th
Northcross, Virginia was another small, simple town that offered anonymity to whoever was seeking it. The natives boasted about having the best lush green gardens and grasses anywhere south of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was also hailed as a place where everyone was welcome. In the city's downtown area it had a plethora of stately brick buildings with Victorian-era crown molding. But the main staple of attraction was the old movie theater still decorated in its original 1940's motif with some upgraded amenities here and there.
The employees of Northcross Cinema didn't wear the standard black khaki pants and a polo shirt, but wore the uniforms that were a must during the inception of the theater. Double breasted crimson jacket with gold buttons and tassels, pleated black dress pants, top hat, white gloves, and polished loafers completed the look of those who sold tickets, made popcorn, or showed people to their seats, flashlight and all.
Bonnie liked it because she felt the place had charm. The service was nice and swift and she often felt transported back in time. However, the very best part was seeing black and white films because those usually sold the fewest tickets which meant the theater was practically empty.
She didn't know the exact name of the movie Damon said they were going to see. The drive there from his house in Mystic Falls had been spent word sparring, throwing flirty and suggestive looks when Damon didn't have his eyes on the road, and haggling over the radio. It felt good to get away from her overly persistent friends, and of course it was always nice to get out of the house and leave her pessimistic thoughts behind.
Bonnie held Damon's hand as he found a pair of seats in the back of the movie theater. Quickly she did a head count and tallied there were six other people waiting to see the movie, but they were dispersed throughout the theater. She and Damon had an entire row to themselves.
She wasted very little time slipping her boots off and throwing her legs across Damon's lap. The good thing about these seats they didn't offer any armrests. The drink holders were on the back of the chairs in front of them.
Tonight she wore a skirt despite it being frigid outside, but she tried to make up for her lack of clothing by wearing another pair of thigh-high argyle socks.
Damon dug a few pieces of popcorn into his hand and wedged a kernel between his teeth. He leaned over and pressed the treat into Bonnie's mouth via kiss. It took a nanosecond to become something more than a playful exchange of food.
Bonnie was the first to pull away and when she did, she wiped her lip gloss residue from his pouting lips. "There'll be time for more of that later. I would actually like to watch a movie for a change."
"What are you talking about? I bring you here all the time," Damon argued in his defense.
"Yeah, and I can count on one hand how many movies we've actually managed to watch from start to finish without getting distracted. Um, none."
"Well, can you blame me for finding you a million times more entertaining than some overpaid actor?"
"I just don't want your hard-earned money to go to waste."
Damon grinned, leaned over, and sucked the skin of her neck into his mouth. "Trust me," his voice rumbled, "I get my money's worth every time."
Bonnie wiggled to get closer, smiled, and giggled. She couldn't see herself ever getting tired of Damon. In so many ways they were total opposites, but shared so many obvious similarities they were almost symbiotic. Unlike anyone else he had a way of bringing her out of her shell without bribery, or promises nothing bad would happen to her.
A year ago, Bonnie would have been too shy and scared to make out with her boyfriend in public out of fear of getting caught. Damon thrived on being a thrill seeker. After all, he was heavily into motorsports. If he wasn't at work, at home, he was at play. Racing supped up Porches, Ferraris, BMW's and the occasional GT Mustang, or Pontiac as his hobby. He rather swim in an ocean than a swimming pool, and loved cooking and concocting new dishes. In Bonnie's eighteen year old eyes, Damon was a modern-day Renaissance man.
He had his faults like anyone else. His sarcasm could be biting and mean-spirited, and he didn't always call her when he said he would. Damon sometimes put his wants and desires in front of his daily responsibilities, which gave off the appearance of self-centeredness in the eyes of his colleagues. Additionally, he sometimes fell into unpredictable moods leaving Bonnie without a clue as to how reach him. Nonetheless, what no one could ever accuse him of was being boring.
"Do you have a race this weekend?" Bonnie opted to talk about something neutral rather than their constantly firing hormones.
"It all depends on the track and the weather. December is a horrible time to race, but I may still go to work on my drift. Wanna tag along?" he lifted a brow. "You know you're my portafortuna."
"I'll get back to you on that."
"You are such a Debbie Downer," Damon shook his tousled hair in shame. "I'm going to get you behind the wheel of an 8-litre W-16 engine one of these days."
Bonnie laughed, "I have no idea what you just said."
"Ugh," Damon lamented theatrically. "You can't be my girlfriend unless you know the difference between a double pump system and a carburetor."
"Can I get credit for at least knowing where to pump the gas?" Bonnie blinked her eyes owlishly.
Feeling beguiled by her coquettishness, Damon planted a kiss to her forehead. "Maybe. Just answer this…how many laps are there in the Indy 500."
Bonnie pretended to think about it. "Five hundred."
"I knew you were smart."
Their conversation was interrupted by the vibrating of Damon's phone. Digging it from his pocket he saw that it was Stefan calling. The elder Salvatore debated for less than a second before routing the call to his voicemail. When he was with Bonnie it was all about her. He didn't have time to deal with his brother and his elementary school bullshit.
"Who was that?" Bonnie licked salt from her fingers completely distracting Damon.
A crease formed between his eyebrows. "It was my little brother. I'll call him back later."
Bonnie didn't say anything. That was yet another thing she was curious about when it came to her boyfriend. She didn't know what happened between the Salvatore brothers to drive a wedge between them. It could have been the sudden death of their parents, sibling rivalry, or a myriad of other things that simply built up over time. Bonnie didn't want to pry and she wasn't in the best position to offer up any advice considering her own strained relationship with her half-siblings.
Her mood began to sour. Bonnie just had to remind herself she had yet to give her RSVP to her dad's party that would be occurring in three days.
"Why the long face?" Damon asked instinctively feeling the emotional shift in his girlfriend. He had a hunch what she was thinking about and knew to tread very lightly.
"It's nothing."
"Christmas is next week and I still have a butt load of stuff to spoil you with. Don't start lying to me now and mess up your blessings."
Bonnie smiled a bit. "I haven't decided whether I want to go to my dad's party. I don't know why I'm being a baby about this whole thing. Either I go or I don't."
"If this makes any difference I'll be there. I just got my invite though it was an oral one from Mrs. Lockwood herself," Damon widened his eyes for effect.
"Shut up," Bonnie playfully slapped his arm, catching his innuendo. "You're going?" she probed dubiously.
Damon nodded. "Whereas you have a choice, I don't. The current mayor, Carol Lockwood would take it as a personal slight if her staff didn't attend her brother-in-law's shindig despite most of us weren't invited from the get go."
"But why weren't you? Your family has been part of the council since the town was founded, right?"
"Politics and ideals have changed since then. The Salvatore's have always been outcast because we're not truly American. Though the rest of the founding families seem to forget they got off a boat, too. The only reason my ancestors were grudgingly accepted is because of all the gold, silver, and…" Damon hesitated and stared at Bonnie warily. She got the message. "Slaves they brought with them."
They grew a little quiet then at the end of Damon's spiel. No one had to tell Bonnie that Damon didn't personally own slaves, but knowing he hailed from a family that did, made her feel some kind of way regardless.
Damon felt the evening was slipping and he had to get things back on track. He sat the tub of popcorn aside, wiped his hands clean of butter and salt crystals and began to massage Bonnie's legs.
"If you decide to go we could liven things up by announcing our Facebook relationship status," he swung his gaze in her direction and turned up the full voltage of his compelling azure eyes.
Even in the semi-darkness of the theater as the opening previews began to play, Bonnie sat transfixed as the darkened pupils of Damon's orbs dilated. He did this to her quite often when he wanted to distract her or get off a topic he found tiresome or pointless.
His hand methodically squeezed and rubbed her petal soft legs. Those same hands moved higher past her knees.
"I'll think about it," Bonnie finally replied to his question while subsequently succumbing to his ministrations.
Heat seemed to spring from his fingertips to her skin while the nerves underneath jostled for stimulation, and position.
"You do that."
Damon's hand was inching up her thigh and Bonnie placed her hand atop his guiding its journey to the promise land hidden under her skirt.
"Ahhh," slipped quietly between her lips the second Damon wedged his hand between her thighs, and brushed his thumb over her clitoris. Bonnie widened her legs a gander to give him more room to work his magic.
He pushed against the cotton barrier of her panties, and the tell-tale sign of her wetness greeted and soaked his finger. His dick was at full salute.
Instantly their mouths were fused together just as the movie began to play. The loud volume of the theater concealed their feverish kissing, smacking mouths, and moans.
Damon loved this shit. It was always so easy with Bonnie. There was no pretention between them. They didn't have to pretend they didn't like or want each other. She may have been younger than him, but after having a conversation with Bonnie it was plainly obvious to see the girl was mature beyond her years. She had a tendency to act a little ditzy sometimes but it was tolerable. Damon knew women twice Bonnie's age that didn't have two common sense cents to rub together. But her responses to his touch, his smell, his taste was a non-manufactured ego boost, and he loved that he didn't have to alter who he was to be with her.
She offered him a kind of freedom and simplicity Damon had sought after with various women, and destructive habits that led to bouts of depression. Bonnie had become his mood regulating drug of choice and he didn't want to change his prescription.
The other wonderful thing about his girl, she didn't want anything from him other than respect and honesty. However in his usual greedy fashion, Damon wanted more.
He both loved and hated that Bonnie was a virgin. He was her first serious relationship, and Damon didn't want to screw anything up. He tried his best not to pressure Bonnie into having sex before she was ready. On the flip side, the feel and taste of her pussy haunted him; he was hoping he wouldn't have much longer to wait.
Kicking things up a notch, Damon grabbed Bonnie and placed her right on his lap. Her quivering thighs went on either side of his legs. One hand cupped her cheek while the other kneaded the globe of her ass.
Bonnie was spiraling into a bright light. The scent of her arousal rose to her own nostrils, and the steel beneath her bottom enticed her move her hips just a little.
Damon moaned in approval and slipped his tongue in Bonnie's mouth. She circled his with the tip of hers before retreating her forces and enclosing his top lip between her teeth. Burrowing her hot hands under the collar of his shirt she wanted more than anything to rip it off him. Bonnie was sure Damon wouldn't have minded, but she was still very much mindful they were in a public setting.
They were crossing the lines of propriety the second the rickety old seat began to squeak as Damon thrust his hips forward as much as he could. Large hands pulled up but then slipped under her shirt—impatiently and curled around her shoulders, squeezed before heading south and formed to her lace covered cleavage. Two hardened buds tickled the palms of his inquisitive hands, and he wanted them in his mouth to suck. And through all of this, neither one of them had let up on kissing the other.
Damon redirected his mouth to her neck, alternating between peppering kisses and nipping her with his teeth. "You think I can get away with eating you out?"
If her blood wasn't already throbbing in certain erogenous zones, it certainly was now.
Panting, Bonnie answered, "We're supposed to be watching the movie. Instead it's watching us. Again."
Damon's laughter reached her ears. "Tell me the name of the movie and then I'll stop and let you watch it."
Damn, Bonnie thought. She hadn't been completely cognizant of the goings on around her when Damon paid for the movie tickets. She had been too busy objectifying him by staring at his ass in his new jeans. The young woman tried to visualize herself standing outside on the pavement looking at the black letters on the marquee, but everything may as well have been written in French. She couldn't remember any of the choices.
"Eating you out it is," Damon said in victory at Bonnie's prolonged silence.
"Damon!" Bonnie squeaked but it was far too late.
He transferred her weight to the chair to his right, and tried to get her to lie down across the seats. Bonnie held on for dear life to the seat she was perched on and the one in front of her refusing to have such a private act performed on her in public. The thrill of it though was beginning to weaken and chip away at her resolve, but she would stand her ground, and fight Damon's tempting proposition to the bitter end.
"No, stop. We're not doing that here," she hissed.
Immediately, Damon backed off but that tick flexing in his jaw was evidence he wasn't too happy about his ingenious plan being aborted. He sat back properly in his seat, adjusted his hard on so it wasn't pressing along his fly, and glared at the screen moodily.
Brushing her hair off her face, Bonnie scooted closer to Damon and laid her head on his shoulder. He stiffened but soon relaxed, turned, and kissed her on the top of her head.
In no form or fashion was Bonnie an exhibitionist, but she did want to make Damon happy. She thought for a moment on what her friends would do in a situation like this. Vicky probably would have consented to sex since she was the most "adventurous" out of the bunch. Caroline never passed up an opportunity to be pleasured. Elena…probably just would have left the theater altogether to head back to her house to get her swerve on.
Yet what could Bonnie Bennett do that would shock yet please her boyfriend who could have anyone in the world, but wanted her?
The answer came and with it a full body blush. "Can you hand me my jacket?"
Huffing, Damon handed Bonnie her itchy wool coat. He hated that thing. Not only was it made out of a horrible cheap imitation fabric, but it was just plain ugly to behold. It may have been cute once upon a time in the 60's where it belonged, it was just sad now. Her poor excuse for a winter coat prompted him to get her a leather and suede one for Christmas.
Accepting her coat, Bonnie, to Damon's surprise, draped it over his lap. He looked at her. She looked at him, and reached for the button of his jeans.
A Cheshire cat grin spread Damon's lips from ear to ear. He slouched down in the seat to help Bonnie unzip his pants and then her hand invaded his boxers.
She was nervous about doing this because this was her first time touching him there at least without a barrier between his engorged member and her hand. Damon had tried relentlessly to get Bonnie to explore his body but she refused and/or shied away. She felt like such a dullard in the bedroom often letting him do what he wanted to her just so long as things didn't escalate. Tonight, right here and right now she was going to take the reins.
Damon was no stranger to "hand labor". Since he met Bonnie he woke up with a demanding hard on that refused to be placated until he whacked himself off good—thinking about her.
Her tiny, warm hand made contact with his shaft sending a rush through him. He hissed like butter hitting a hot frying pan. The groan that escaped his mouth of its own volition was deep, guttural, and nearly primitive. She fumbled a bit not really sure what to do, so Damon guided her movements, leading her to caress his shaft prior to circling the ultrasensitive head, and finally cupping his balls.
"Just keep doing that," he encouraged, eyes closing.
This was definitely a weird experience for Bonnie as she tested the feel and weight of his granite cylinder of flesh. She really didn't know how to describe it, but from the way Damon was moving and the noises he was making it felt incredibly good to him. So she kept at it volleying her gaze between his amorous face and the ripple of movement happening underneath her coat.
Idly Bonnie wondered how Damon would feel inside of her. If she would like it? Would she crave it with the same mindless enthusiasm as her friends? But all of that would coincide if he would fit or not. He felt terribly large.
"Go a little faster," he panted.
Bonnie increased her speed. "Like this?"
For a second Damon couldn't verbalize his approval. Merely started to lift his hips off the seat so his dick slid up when her hand went down. What would make this feel even more amazing was if she used her mouth. Spit could be an awesome lubricant.
The light from the screen made it easy for Bonnie to discern the play of muscles in his face. How his brow would scrunch, relax, the fluttering of muscle in his jaw.
Damon whispered an expletive as his hips practically flailed and bounced around. "I'm about…ahhhhh…."
Right before she could ask what was happening, Bonnie felt something hot splash on her fingers. Goo. His spunk. Inwardly she recoiled. Outwardly she kept her grossed out factor down to the bare minimum. As much as Bonnie wanted to quickly retract her hand she felt proud she was able to bring her boyfriend to completion although what she did probably paled to the real thing. Still, this was a step in their intimacy.
"Guess it's a good thing I grabbed extra napkins," Bonnie giggled.
Damon chortle and looked at her through half-lidded eyes. "I really needed that. You gotta let me return the favor. After I get cleaned up."
"Then let's get out of here and go back to your place," she suggested.
"Deal."
Bonnie slid her hand away and wiped off the evidence of giving her first hand job. She and Damon grabbed their things, made a detour to the bathrooms, and were walking to the parking lot arm-in-arm.
"Are you happy with the pace of our relationship?" Bonnie queried once they were in his car.
"Yeah. Are you?"
"I am. But…do you ever want more…from me?"
"I'm not going to lie, Bonnie," Damon momentarily took his eyes off the road. "I'm dying to have sex with you. I'm obsessed with seeing you naked all at one time. I understand you want to wait. I can…wait. However long until you're absolutely sure. It wouldn't hurt if you were sure right now," he grinned.
Bonnie laughed nervously. Right there she made a decision. She didn't know what to get a man who had everything, but now Bonnie knew what the perfect gift was that she could give to Damon.
"You won't have much longer to wait," she reached for his hand. "First you're going to have to conquer two dragons."
"Mom and grandma," Damon guessed correctly. "Looking forward to it."
Bonnie laughed. "You're not being led to the executioner…at least I hope not."
"You and me both."
December 20th
It took her a while to gain her courage to do it, but she finally did.
The journal was balanced between her crossed legs. Page after page, Bonnie scanned the contents not really sure what she was looking for, but hoped something important would leap from the cursive scrawl that would shine a light on some of the blanks and mysteries surrounding her mother. On the other hand, the young girl didn't want to read too much since these were her mom's private thoughts, but she wanted to read enough to get the gist of everything.
Bonnie discovered her mom dated much more frequently than she originally thought. However, her dates all came to the same disappointing conclusion the second they learned she had a kid. Where Abby wanted exclusivity that may possibly lead to marriage and maybe more children, those who had asked her out were only looking for a good time with no strings. Apparently, Abby had taken it all in stride and wondered if she should give up on the whole dating/finding "Mr. Right" scene because if a man couldn't accept the fact she was a mother first, then they weren't for her, and they definitely weren't going to be introduced to her daughter.
Bonnie admired her mom for that.
What really got the teen's attention was the fact several entries were missing. A month's worth to be exact. The last dated entry was October 29th, 1994, and the next journal entry was November 27th, 1994 where Abby lamented on being pregnant. So what happened during those four weeks that her mom wanted no record of it?
Bonnie began to do the math. She was born in July so that meant she had to be conceived in early November. By the time she made a blip on her mom's radar, Abby was already several weeks pregnant, and from what Bonnie was reading being pregnant was the last thing she wanted.
"Should I get rid of it? Should I keep it? I don't know. I just know I don't need this in my life. Why am I being punished for what happened to me? Why did this have to happen? I don't want to be a mother to this thing inside of me even though the rational part of me knows it's not the baby's fault. What am I going to do?"
After reading that Bonnie swallowed with some difficulty, her tongue and mouth feeling humid and uncomfortably dry. It never entered into her thoughts her mother may have never wanted her. May have actually considered aborting her. But for whatever reason, her mom decided to have her. Bonnie knew she should feel grateful for that; however, she couldn't help but wonder if her mother viewed her as a burden.
Just like her dad.
She kept it quiet that she found her mom's journal and caught herself several times examining the woman who raised her. The woman who made her chocolate chip pancakes on her birthday. Walked her to school, taught her how to drive, how to do her hair and makeup, helped her with her homework. Scolded and punished her when she actually did something bad, told her to never kiss a guy if he didn't hold the door open for her, or failed to keep his word. A woman wouldn't do all of that if she viewed her child as a hindrance to the life she could have been living if it weren't for getting knocked up when she wasn't ready to be a mother.
Dinner that night, Bonnie didn't say or eat very much. Sheila and Abby exchanged glances and wondered what was up with Bonnie who was usually very talkative and animated during meal time. Seeing her withdrawn and petulantly silent had been prepubescent Bonnie.
"Baby, what's wrong? You're not eating," Abby observed.
Bonnie tore her eyes away from the steamed vegetables that sat untouched on her plate. "Are you happy with your life?"
Abby blinked because of the randomness of the question. "Yeah, I am. Why? Did you have another fight with Elena and Caroline? I swear you three are always on the outs about something."
"They have nothing to do with what I want to know. You're not married," Bonnie pointed out without a shred of delicacy. "I know you're dating Mr. Hopkins and he seems nice but…do you think it's going to go anywhere?"
Abby placed her fork on the plate and stared at her child. "Why all this interest in my personal life, Bonnie? Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?"
Sheila decided to cut in then, "Her dad invited her to his Christmas party. It's tomorrow night if I'm not mistaken."
Abby sighed in exasperation and in enlightenment. She should have figured Bonnie's change in mood would have to do with that bastard. He always did know how to ruin something with his usual flair of self-centeredness.
Bonnie barely glanced in her grandmother's direction because she was too interested in seeing her mom's face contort in its customary scowl whenever her dad became the subject of conversation. She wanted to know what they meant to each other—desperately. If she wasn't a product of their passion, then what exactly was she a product of? Wouldn't most mistresses or chicks on the side be happy they were having their man's baby? Didn't they see it as their ticket to finally claim that all-elusive prize that was caught in a loveless marriage or relationship? Bonnie didn't exactly get that vibe from her mom's journal. To be honest, her conception almost seemed like a punishment or curse to Abby.
"Bonnie, I've known for a long time that you wish we could be a traditional family, and we're not and we never will be. I'm not going to get in the way of you having a relationship with your father. If you want to go to his party, then go. If not," Abby tossed a hand in the air, "that's fine, too."
"I just wish you'd tell me why you guys were never together. Okay, I understand he was married at the time the two of you did your thing…"
A vein began to throb in Abby's temple. She wouldn't exactly phrase her forced involvement with the former mayor as "doing her thing", but she wasn't going to be the one to throw a stone at Bonnie's glass vision.
Sheila squirmed in her chair and tried to think of a way to divert the conversation knowing her daughter was about seven seconds from snapping. "Bonnie, I know you want answers, baby, but have you stopped to consider…"
"I've considered everything!" Bonnie exploded and rose from the table. "I understand we'll never be a family. I get that, Lord knows I do. But did you and my dad ever love or care about each other, at all! Was I just an accident? Did you ever think about getting rid of me?"
Breathing heavily through her nostrils, Abby pushed away from the table, and slowly rose to her feet. She hated to do this but she was done being questioned every few years or so about the circumstances surrounding her entanglement with William Lockwood. She fought through her pain and Bonnie's being perfectly aware that her child just wanted some answers to find her own footing.
"I never loved your father," Abby stated frankly. "He never loved me. We didn't have a relationship, a fling, or a one-night stand. Cancel all those things out and there's only one option left. I wasn't drunk, but I can't say the same for him, but he was lucid enough to know exactly what he was doing."
It took a minute or so for Bonnie to read between the lines. She gasped sharply. "Mom…"
Abby continued despite the pain adding pressure to the center of her chest, "And yes," her voice wavered and a single tear rolled down her russet cheek, "I did consider getting rid of you, but I realized it wasn't your fault what happened. So I carried you, gave birth to you, and you were so sick, Bonnie the doctor's didn't think you'd make it. You needed a bone marrow transplant, and William was a match. Saving your life…was the only decent thing that man has ever done."
Abby said nothing further, turned, and walked away.
Bonnie dropped her dead weight to back to her seat. She couldn't feel anything below the neck. Tears lined the bottom of her eyes. She looked at her grandmother who lost some of the color in her face and looked as distraught as Bonnie felt, and was probably as angry as Abby was right this second.
"He didn't…he wouldn't…" Bonnie's voice was feather soft. She wanted her Grams to deny it.
Sheila stared down at the China plate in front of her. "Your daddy is a monster, chile. There's no getting around it."
"B-but…if he did why would mom allow him to be around me?! If he…" the word got stuck on the roof of her mouth and Bonnie shook her head in denial. She switched gears because she wasn't ready to have that conversation. "I read an article about something he had been accused of ten years ago by some woman named…"
"Chelsea Seabrook," Sheila supplied. "More than likely the allegations she brought against your dad were true. He probably did more than just sexually harass her. I don't like saying these things to you, Bonnie, but you poked and prodded, and you're old enough to understand your parents were never star-crossed lovers. He hurt my baby and she gave birth to you eight and a half months later."
A child of rape, Bonnie couldn't fathom it. She felt dirty all of a sudden or like an abomination. How could her mom have survived being violated in such a barbarous way, discover she was pregnant, and still have the baby? Bonnie knew she wouldn't have been able to do it if she had been in her mom's shoes.
"Baby, I'm sorry."
"You're not the one who should apologize," Bonnie got up from the table, walked almost in a comatose state through the house, and arrived at her mom's bedroom door. She knocked and waited a second before going in.
The room was dark, but she made out the shape of her mom's silhouette on the bed. Kicking off her shoes, Bonnie crawled into bed with her mom, and reached for her hand.
Abby sniffled and entwined her fingers with her daughter's. "I never wanted you to find out the truth, Bonnie. I knew what it would do to you once you did."
"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you. Mama, why didn't you ever say anything? Report him?"
"Shush, we can talk about that later."
As much as she wanted to push, Bonnie held off. If she wasn't conflicted about her dad before, she was doubly torn now.
However, the endless questioning about whether she would attend her father's party was over. Oh, she was gonna go, and she was gonna set it off!
Chapter end.
A/N: Now Bonnie knows the truth behind her conception. The Christmas party will be turnt up. Thanks for reading, dolls.
