She who walks with men understands the secrets of the universe
Chapter Three
When Bonnie wakes up the next morning, she is frightened. She doesn't recognize her surroundings; the sheets don't feel like the one's she has slept on for most of her life.
She wonders if all of those past months were a dream and that in reality she is still stuck in the hospital.
For exactly thirty-six seconds, she thinks in circular thoughts.
"You can't lie in bed all day," Damon says, standing over her with a Styrofoam coffee cup in his hand. He's showered and dressed in fresh clothes but he looks too satisfied with himself and there's faint smell of perfume that Bonnie doesn't recognize.
She wonders who he has feed on.
"I'm getting up," Bonnie responds, the panic gone. She remembers where she is and with whom.
She does the same things she did last night before going to bed, right down to calling her father and friends. She finds shorts and a t-shirt and slips them on.
"Are you hungry?" Damon asks, distracted almost.
"No. Let's just go," she says even though she knows she'll regret that choice later.
The car ride is silent and Bonnie is okay with that. She starts to fiddle with the radio, and Damon doesn't stop her.
"You can make it for the next couple of hours without having anything?" Damon asks, attention split between the road, and her face.
It's on the tip of her tongue to ask him why he cares but she withholds the snide comment.
"I'm fine," she responds instead.
Although Damon continues to drive he doesn't believe she's fine, "Do you want water?"
"No. I don't want water."
"We are going to see another witch. Do you really want to go in there weak?"
Bonnie doesn't feel hungry or thirsty at the moment. She feels sad. Sometimes she gets these dark moods, a malaise of sorts where she can't bring herself to do anything. She never remembered having them before the accident but after, it's sometimes all she can do to get up and pretend everything is fine.
"I'll stop anywhere you want me to." Damon says, her silence disconcerting, not comfortable like before.
"I don't. Just keep driving."
"What if I'm hungry?" Damon tries, hoping now that the attention is focused on himself, Bonnie wouldn't shut down.
"If you're hungry, you can stop. But I thought you already ate."
Damon smiles a little, knowing that Bonnie is referring to a different kind of substance, "I meant people food. As amazing and enjoyable as blood is it's more out of necessity. I feel like having bacon."
"If you want to stop you can stop." Bonnie barely reacted to his enthusiasm regarding blood, and the mention of bacon did nothing for her appetite.
"We'll stop," he determines for both of them.
They do indeed find an IHOP™.
Damon orders food like he hasn't eaten for days. A fork is speared through his CINN-A-STACK™ pancakes before he comments, "Are you just going to watch me eat?"
Bonnie smiles a wide plastic smile, "It must be what your victims feel like, look at you snack away on them while they are forced to watch."
Damon calls her a bitch and Bonnie pretends not to hear.
"Order something," he insists, mouth overflowing with food.
"I told you I wasn't hungry."
"We may be a little too busy to stop later so eat something now," Damon adopts his most menacing stare.
"Shut up and eat your food." Bonnie commands.
Damon doesn't say much after that.
They make it to St. Stephen, South Carolina at 3:00pm, and Bonnie thinks they would have been there sooner if Damon hadn't made a stop.
Damon kills the car when they reach a house. Damon looks at the paper in his hands, scribbles of his brother's hand-writing, and looks back at the house.
"It's looks...old," Bonnie says because it's the first word to come to mind.
"This can't be the house," Damon responds. It doesn't look impressive in the least, and he doubts that an ancient book is hiding in there somewhere.
Damon gets out of the car, his phone already in his hands. He calls Stefan, that much Bonnie is sure of. He speaks so low that she can't hear what's being said. Damon grimaces at one point and Bonnie tears her eyes away.
She looks at her nails, the skin underneath, how healthy they look, fingers devoid of hard work.
Damon finishes his conversation, and goes around the car to open the door for Bonnie. "It's the house," is all he says.
They walk through a lawn that is turning brown even as the sun beams on it. The porch is next, and Bonnie almost trips, the wood is way too loose not to be a safety hazard.
A cool hand on her elbow keeps her upright, and Bonnie doesn't want to keep having to say thank you when she hasn't brought herself to say it the first time.
The door opens before either of them has a chance to knock.
The woman who answers the door is a strange kind of old. One really couldn't determine her age, the lines of her face seeming to shift with every blink.
"I'll talk to her but not to you," the woman says and Damon is only mildly offended.
Bonnie doesn't really want to go into this woman's home alone but her gut tells her that the woman won't hurt her.
The house is surprisingly better kept inside than outside, and she supposes it's because of magic. Looking at the house, Bonnie suddenly understands. The decaying outside is unassuming and won't draw much attention.
"Sit down, sit down," the woman urges, a friendly smile spreading across her face.
Bonnie sits on a chair that must have been an antique, it's carving and seat fabric not recognizable in any modern furniture design.
"Would you like some tea, girl," the woman asks and weirdly, Bonnie doesn't find the use of 'girl' insulting.
She is just a girl after all.
"Yes, please," Bonnie responds, trying desperately to remember all of the manners that southerners cling to so dearly.
The woman appears a moment later, tea in hand. Bonnie takes a sip of the tea, the flavors pleasing but undistinguishable.
"You put vervain in this?," Bonnie asks.
The woman nods, sipping her own cup of the concoction.
"Something else." Bonnie states, knowing that she'd be here all day if she were to guess.
"Yes, yes. Something to keep you strong," the woman responds with a wink.
Bonnie does feel immensely good all of a sudden. The melancholy that chewed up her morning was gone. Her body felt revitalized, she could run a marathon at a moment's notice.
"The book is not here," the old woman says.
"Where is it?"
"It moves around. Never stays in one place, never wants to be found." The woman speaks of it as if it's a human; real live flesh and bone.
"That boy out there..." the woman begins, wanting Bonnie's complete attention before she goes on, "that boy out there is way bad, too bad."
Bonnie doesn't have to guess that she speaking of Damon.
"But he don't know how to be another way. Too lazy to change. He's too young. Can you wait for him to grow up?"
"I―I don't know what you mean." Bonnie says.
"Right now, he's too tough. He hurts you when he tries to love you. There's too much junk in his head," the woman says in that old broken way.
"The book. We're here about the book."
"I know what you're here for," the woman responds, irritation creeping into her voice. "You don't listen, he don't listen. I don't have the book."
"Do you know anyone who may have it?"
"The book, the book. Too much dirt scrubbed over the name to be anything but a book. I knew a Bennett witch once. Yes, I did. I knew her. She knew herself. She embraced herself. You run, just like that boy outside. The two of you run together. I lived in Alabama once. That's where I saw it, that book."
Bonnie tightens her mouth. She would never dream of disrespecting her elders but how can she follow a lead based on something from years ago?
"So you saw it when you lived in Alabama. What year was that exactly?" Bonnie asks, still polite despite fraying nerves underneath.
"3 months ago," the woman responds with a smile too young for her face.
"But this house looks like it's been here for years, and you are―traveling at your age must be tiring," Bonnie responds, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.
"How old do you think I am, sweetie?"
"Let's go," Bonnie announces, as soon as she's out of the house.
"What did she say?" Damon asks.
Bonnie halts her steps, almost bumping into him in her short stop. "You didn't hear anything she said?"
Damon shakes his head, "I couldn't. It all sounded fuzzy. Must be a spell."
Bonnie nods in agreement, "That's not her real face either. She used a glamour: witches own brand of witness protection program."
"So you came out empty handed. She doesn't have the book."
"I get the feeling that other people maybe looking for it, too. This could get tricky. We're going to Alabama."
"The book is in Alabama?"
"Well, maybe. It moves."
Damon blinks very slowly at that statement, "It moves," Damon reiterated.
"Yep. So... we'll move with it."
"Alabama is a fucking seven hour drive," Damon complains.
"Oh Damon, where's your sense of adventure?," Bonnie jokes, more comfortable now then she ever was when she started this trip.
"What's wrong with you?" Damon asked, noticing the mood change.
"Nothing is wrong with me."
"Something's wrong with you," Damon keeps one hand on the steering wheel while he feels her forehead, her cheek for a fever, "You're not going to throw up are you? You can't throw up in this car."
Bonnie slaps his hand away, "I feel fine. I'm not nauseous or anything," although his hand felt wonderfully cool against her warm skin.
"I'm hungry." Damon announces.
"Seriously. Didn't you stuff your face at IHOP™?"
"That was a while ago. And I'm not that kind of hungry. Could you reach into that bag in the back?"
Bonnie was never squeamish around blood, except maybe her own. But she was in the majority because no one liked to see their blood splattered all over the place. "You want me to get you a blood bag?"
"Yeah," Damon takes his eyes off the road for a split second, "Be a trooper. I can't concentrate when blood lust is gnawing at my insides."
Bonnie needs no further prompting. She leans over the back of her car seat.
Damon eyes her round ass, the backs of her thighs, her smooth legs. Thus, he's too preoccupied to see a bag hurtling straight towards his face.
Bonnie gives him evil eyes because she knows he was being a pervert.
Damon stops at a gas station to refill.
Bonnie picks out ridiculous array of junk food: chips, mini donuts, beef jerky combo packs, among other things. She also picks up a six pack of Heineken because dessert wine is not an option.
Once the two are in the car again, Damon asks, "Do you want to keep driving or do you want to stop someplace?"
Bonnie thinks for a moment before answering, "Let's stop."
Damon drives from the gas station keeping his eyes peeled for a place to stay.
They find a cheeky looking Motel 6 in Augusta, Georgia.
A group of kids play in an outdoor pool while their father and mother look on, happy as clams.
"I'd like one room. Two beds, please." Bonnie asks to the plastic smiling motel representative.
After some rapid typing, clicking, and frowning, "I'm sorry. We have a room available but with one bed."
"That's fine, "Bonnie responds.
By the time she has retrieved the key and turns to face him, Damon has fixed his stunned expression.
"One room. One bed," Damon comments, cockiness invading the words and making them dirty suggestions.
Bonnie remains quiet, mind already on drinking her beer and watching crappy television.
In the room, they each make their calls home. Under any other circumstances, neither would call their loved one's so often, but these aren't normal circumstances.
There is constant danger from one source or another and it's imperative that one would call and check to see that everyone is alive and reasonably well.
Bonnie opens her first bottle of beer, when Damon announces that he's going to pick up dinner.
"Okay," Bonnie responds, "bring me something good."
The door closes and Bonnie relaxes, closing her eyes for a brief second.
She estimates that Damon will be gone for a while, may be enough time for her to do what she couldn't do when he was around.
Bonnie takes off her shorts, lie down on the bed, close her eyes, sticks her hand in her underwear, and think of England.
Damon returns to find Bonnie sitting on the bed, watching what is likely to be a terrible movie.
It's laughable that she thinks he wouldn't be able to know what she'd been doing while he was gone. Nothing could block out the smell of her.
Damon found a Ruby Tuesdays™, and ordered random things from the "Tue Go™" menu: Buffalo Shrimp, Lobster Mac 'n Cheese, Southwestern Spring Rolls, and Cheesecake for dessert. He figured she's bound to like something.
"How's the beer?" Damon asks.
Bonnie shrugs, gives an slightly skewed facial expression which is the universal sign for, 'Not bad.'
Bonnie has worked up an appetite, so it's no surprise that she monopolizes most of the food.
The conversation is light: the weather, finding the book, noisy kinds in the room next to them, the weather, crappy film on television, warm beer, the weather.
Bonnie is sure to die of consumption like in 'Jane Eyre.'
"What were you thinking about when you stuck your fingers inside your pussy?" Damon asks, almost conversationally, as if they were discussing the stock market.
Bonnie chokes on a spring roll, "I don't know what you're talking about.," she responds after an awkward coughing spasm.
"You don't know what I'm talking about," Damon parrots, mocking her with a smirk.
"I don't want to talk about it." Bonnie says, quickly stuffing her mouth with a buffalo shrimp.
"You know, if you're feeling...lonely, I could be of some assistance to you," Damon states carefully, with all the seriousness he can muster.
Bonnie resists the urge to laugh cruelly, "No, thanks," she stresses between tight teeth.
"Why not?" Damon presses on, "It doesn't have to mean anything. You know what I'm capable of. I'm not ticking you or anything. Go into it with your eyes open."
"I don't like you," she's not exactly lying as she says it.
"You don't have to like me. But you want me. And the more you deny it the more it will eat at you." Damon made 'eat' sound like a vulgar word.
"I want you?" Bonnie asks, not believing her own ears.
"Yeah. You want me. You want me like a woman wants a man. You're not that sanctimonious that you can escape desire. Lust."
Bonnie blinks. She can't figure out how they got to this conversation.
"No," she says finally. No to his proposal. No to his ideas. No.
"Okay," he responds sitting back into his chair, taking a swig of warm beer.
Bonnie thinks that he's better at hiding his disappointment than Jeremy is.
It must be all those years of burying emotion in an open grave.
That night, they sleep in the same bed, backs facing each other.