Chapter 3: Being Selfish

*Thanks for everyone who reviewed so far! Keep telling me what you think. :) I appreciate any feedback!*

After his breathing returns to some semblance of normal, he's able to think more clearly. His eyes travel upward, across the room. Silas is lounging in the corner, one side of his mouth turned up into a half smile.

"You certainly have a...vivid imagination," Damon says, his mouth twisting into a half-smile of his own.

"You enjoyed, I take it?" Silas asks, shifting his weight to his other foot. His eyes dance, dark shadows playing across their depths.

"Immensely," Damon answers. "Although..." His cocks his head as if in thought, "I do believe your technique is lacking something."

"Really?" Silas asks, his tone somehow both cool and skeptical at the same time .

"Don't worry," Damon assures him. "You're just out of practice." A smirk appears across his face. "Being buried alive for a thousand years could do that to you."

"Ha-ha," Silas replies drily. "Very funny."

Damon shows him another grin before pausing to observe the room. It's dimly lit; there is no furniture besides the chair on which Damon is tied to. It's cold, hard steel, bolted to the floor. Damon should have been able to pull free from the flimsy rope tying him to the chair's arms and legs, but he doesn't even try. Silas isn't stupid. Either the chair is spelled or he's sure Damon won't be able to manage an escape. And Damon, despite his built-up tolerance to vervaine, still feels the effects of the herb thrumming through his system. He's not going anywhere.

"So..." Damon says, "I don't really get it."

Silas lifts an eyebrow.

"Remind me again why you wanted to trade me for the cure? Not that I'm complaining," he adds. "I am here after all."

Silas stands up straight at his words, meandering across the room. "What does one do after being enclosed underground for a thousand years?" he asks. "I need some entertainment. And it's not you in particular, it's this..." He waves his hands around, searching for the right word. "It's this...drama that you're involved in. It's already quite interesting." He smiles, almost as if in gratitude.

"Let me take a guess," Damon interrupts. "It reminds you of your own story." He grins devilishly. "The one where your fellow witch gets jealous of your girl, kills her, and then buries you underground for a thousand years. That has to be emotionally scarring."

Silas's expression doesn't change. The smile stays perfectly in place, perhaps turning a little more harsh around the corners.

"I've had a thousand years to get over that. You'd be surprised what you can accomplish in that amount of time."

Damon nods his head in agreement. "Certainly enough time to go completely and utterly insane," he remarks.

Silas shoots him a look.

"Hey," he shrugs, "just telling it like it is."

Silas pauses a moment, deciding wether to take offense, and then laughs. "And you wonder why people don't like you?"

"Trust me," Damon says, "I don't waste my time wondering about what other people think. Or feel."

"Right..." Silas drawls out. "You're supposed to be the bad boy, aren't you?"

"Yep," Damon says, flashing his teeth through a half smile, "that's me."

"And Stefan is the hero. But if he's the hero, where is he? Why is the bad brother sacrificing himself when we all know Stefan is perfectly capable of being the martyr? You really aren't as selfish as you pretend to be." Silas's eyes glint playfully.

"Oh I'm selfish," Damon laughs darkly. "Ask anyone. Ask my brother. I stole his girl from him. I suppose you know that."

Silas shrugs his shoulders. "Only thanks to you. That vervaine made it easy to mess around in your head."

"I noticed," Damon replies drily.

Silas pauses a beat before exclaiming. "I have an idea!" His face lights up gleefully. "How about we call Stefan? See if he wants to join the party?"

"And why in the world would we want to invite him?" Damon asks, his tone full of distaste.

"I don't know..." Silas says, tapping his finger on his chin. He turns towards Damon. "Maybe to give him his chance at being the hero?"

"Trust me," Damon assures him, "he's had enough chances."

"Let's just call him anyway. It'll certainly liven up the drama, yes?" Silas holds up Damon's cell phone, shaking it in the air tauntingly.

"I thought we had a deal," Damon tries, his voice going darker. Deeper. "Just me."

"Ahh..." Silas smiles. "Don't be a hypocrite Damon. When have you ever played by the rules?"

Damon tries to hide his quickly escalating anger. He feels a sudden urge to rip Silas's heart from his chest. It would be a suicidal act, but still. Wasn't that why he was here in the first place? Stefan was not supposed to get involved in this. He would mess it up. Stefan always did. This was the only time he had wanted to do the right thing. The only time, and he wasn't even going to be able to manage that.

There is a reason I'm the way I am, he thinks. Being selfish is just so much easier.

But if he's honest with himself, being selfish has gotten harder and harder since Elena chose him. Actually it had become harder every since that day in her bedroom, the day he had given back her necklace, the day he had admitted that he couldn't be selfish, not with her. He wonders what she will think when she realizes that he not only caused his own death, but Stefan's as well.

That's when Silas turns towards him, still holding the cellphone.

"Oh wait," he says suddenly, "we don't need to call him."

Damon waits, holding his breath, daring to hope.

Silas smirks. "I already did that about thirty minutes ago."

And that's why I never let myself hope, Damon thinks darkly. I always end up disappointed.