Chapter Three

Written for the Secret Santa over at the Damon_Elena LJ Comm.

Elena stumbled through the crowded house, barely managing to stay on her feet as the room swirled around her. She smiled giddily, feeling sloppy as she rejoined the boy who held the plastic cup out to her—Paul, she was pretty sure he said his name was, a nice, normal name—and took it, throwing back the contents.

The sour, bitter taste of the beer was strangely sweet as she swallowed, slamming the cup down onto the counter when she was finished.

"I like a girl who can drink," Paul—or was it Phil? she wondered absently—murmured, chuckling. Elena giggled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her with a quick jerk flush up against him.

"I can drink!" she declared loudly, proudly. She threw her hands up in the air as if she had just scored a touchdown, letting them fall onto his shoulders.

"You want another?" he asked, leaning down to speak in her ear. The volume of the music seemed to grow louder; the loud voices around them almost shouts.

"Yeah!" she cried excitedly. She wanted another. And another. She had lost track of how many drinks she had consumed since she, Caroline, and Bonnie had arrived at the house, but she still wanted more. She wanted so many drinks she forgot everything.

Especially that she couldn't find her friends anywhere.

She and Phil—or was it Preston?—chugged the drinks together. Elena won, letting out an excited screech as she polished off the glass and again slammed it onto the counter. He finished his glass and grinned at her, pulling her back to him.

"Want to go somewhere where we can talk?" he asked. He pointed at his ear and then up at the ceiling. "It's loud in here."

She nodded emphatically, snagging another beer from the counter top as he led her from the over-packed room.

As soon as they stepped outside, into the cool night air, Elena let out a deep breath of relief, throwing her arms wide. She staggered forward as two warm arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

Paul—it had to be Paul—she suddenly noticed, was twice her size. She frowned as something soft and wet pressed against her neck, her eyes widening in horror as she realized what it was.

Gross. He was kissing her.

She started to pull away. "I want to go back in—" she told him, the world around her fuzzy and spinning.

His arms tightened around her, locking her in place. "Where's the fun in that?" he breathed, his breath hot and uncomfortable against her ear.

Her heart raced as she looked around for something—anything—to use as a weapon, but there was nothing. And even if there was, he had her in too tight of a bind. And she was too drunk to probably do anything, anyway.

Why did she drink so much? she wondered, feeling tears of panic start to form in her eyes. Why had she gotten so drunk? She didn't want to be drunk. She wanted to be sober. She wanted to sober up right now. "Let me go," she ordered, her voice trembling in fear.

"Don't be like that," he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

The blood in her veins turned to ice. "Let go!" she ordered, louder. She tried to reach up to pull off his arms, but he locked her down, helpless.

"Be quiet," he ordered, his voice taking on a harsh tone. She felt more tears form in her eyes. "This doesn't have to be unenjoyable."

"Oh," came a voice from behind him. "I couldn't agree more."

Elena gasped as she fell to her hands and knees, suddenly free from her prison. She whipped her head around to see what had happened, her vision continuing to spin even when she had stopped.

"Normal enough for you?" she heard someone ask quietly.

Then everything went black.

Ugh.

Ugh summed up just about everything Elena felt as she rolled over in the unusually soft, unusually feathery cushion she slept in. Her head pounded. Her stomach felt queasy. Everything ached.

And… where was she?

Her eyes flew open, taking in the sunlight streaming in through the open window, the heavy, fluffy down comforter curled up around her, the dark wood décor, and knew she could only be one place.

Damon's room.

She sat up slowly, holding a hand to her head as she surveyed the empty room. Damon, apparently, had left her there to sleep off her hang over. But where was he?

And, as the memory of the night before came crashing back down around her, another thought: What had happened to Paul-Phil-whatever-his-name-was?

She climbed painfully from the bed, tugging her shirt down around her waist from where it had ridden up. She was still in her clothes—at least Damon had the decency not to undress her. She made her way slowly down the stairs, using the hand rail and then the wall to guide herself into the living room.

Damon was sitting on the couch, his back to her.

It was, she realized slowly, the first time she had seen him in weeks.

"It's about time you woke up," he declared, without turning around. "It's almost two."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "How did you know I was at the party?"

He still didn't turn around. "Bonnie called. Said you were letting yourself get manhandled and someone had better come stop you." He tossed a magazine onto the coffee table in front of him, finally turning to her. The dark look in his eyes belied the devilish arch of his eyebrows and upturned lips. "You little minx."

She hesitantly approached the couch, sliding down onto the cushion by the arm. "What did you do to him?"

"Me?" he mocked. "Why nothing, Elena. It's absolutely none of my business who you want to paw you."

She frowned at him. "Damon—"

"I just told him he should respect women a little more," he interrupted, standing abruptly. "Hungry?"

The thought of food made her stomach churn. "No." She looked up at him, embarrassed and ashamed. "I'm sorry you had to—"

"I didn't." He turned away. "Get your shoes on. I'll take you home."

She stood uneasily. Damon was angry. "Damon—"

"Get your shoes, Elena," he ordered, a warning tone in his voice. His eyes flashed as he turned on her, glinting at her.

She knew that sound—and that look—all-too well. She followed him to the doorway, where he had placed her shoes, and slid them on.

They drove in silence. The car ride was almost excruciating, Elena's stomach chugging so hard she was sure she would vomit all over the floor of his car at any second. When he finally pulled up to her house she almost fell out of the car in relief, her pounding head and queasy stomach both making her despise alcohol.

Still, she forced herself to pause before shutting the door. "Thank you," she said softly, feeling strangely shy.

He flashed a mocking smile at her. "Of course," he agreed. She shut the door and the car almost instantly zoomed off, leaving her standing on the curb, alone.