Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created by L.J. Smith, as portrayed in the TV series created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec. All rights to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: Thank you for your sweet reviews. I am actually following the plot of the aforementioned novel, so although I'm putting my own spin on things – adding and subtracting- the general plot will be carried out. Enjoy!

Bittersweet Taste of Revenge

~ IV ~

Elena spent the weekend with John and Jenna, getting a much needed break from her life. They were concerned, of course, having seen the tabloids, but she assured them everything was under control.

"You know how the papers blow everything out of proportion," she said.

"So you're saying he wasn't leaving your apartment Tuesday night," John said.

"Pictures don't lie, do they?" Elena shrugged.

"Elena…"

"He came to see me and I threw him out, ok?"

John chuckled. "That's my girl."

She had left the machine on and, as expected, when she returned to her apartment late Sunday evening, there were several messages for her. One was from Andie Star, informing her that her services were no longer required. One was from Matt, checking in. The rest were from Damon.

Content with the fact that he had not given up, Elena took her time getting ready for bed, sitting down with a cup of tea in her robe and fuzzy slippers before returning his calls.

"Damn it, Elena," he exclaimed when he picked up. Clearly, he had caller-ID on his landline. "Where have you been? Didn't you get my messages?"

"As a matter of fact, I just got back. I needed a break."

"So you stop answering your phone? Is that any way to run a business?"

"First of all, it's the weekend. Second, I had my cell phone."

"Which you didn't answer."

"Which has caller-ID," she clarified.

"So you're screening? What if I needed to talk to you about your work?"

"Did you?"

"No. But that's beside the point."

"What is your point?"

"The point is… I wanted to talk to you."

"And I didn't want to talk to you."

"I wanted to apologize."

Elena's jaw hit the floor so hard, she was surprised Damon couldn't hear it over the phone.

"For what exactly?" she said when she had collected herself enough to speak in a steady voice.

"Do I have to say it?"

She could tell he was struggling. Damon Salvatore didn't do apologies.

"How else would I know what you're apologizing for? It's a fairly long list…"

"I shouldn't have kissed you."

Elena drew a quick breath. "No, you shouldn't have."

"Go out with me."

"Is that a question or a demand?"

"Please," he added, more as a formality than anything else.

Elena bit her lip to stop herself from chuckling. 'Please' clearly wasn't one of the most used words in Damon Salvatore's vocabulary.

"Well, since you ask so nicely… but what about your fiancée? She didn't seem too happy the last time I saw her."

"It's over between us."

"Oh?" Elena couldn't help but be taken aback by the information. "That must have been a difficult decision."

"Hardly," Damon scoffed.

"So… if I were to accept – not saying I will – where would you take me on this date of yours?"

"It would be a surprise," he said surreptitiously.

"Of course it would," Elena rolled her eyes.

"Are you saying yes?"

"No."

"Are you saying no?"

"No."

"I'll talk to you soon, then. And Elena?" he added just as she was about to hang up.

"Yes?"

"Don't screen my calls anymore."

"Goodnight, Mr. Salvatore," Elena said and hung up.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the backrest of the couch. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

The next morning, Elena awoke to the sound of her doorbell. Dazed, she threw on her robe and wrapped it tightly around her petite frame. Yawning, she opened the door, her eyes still not fully open.

The smell hit her first. Bread. Freshly baked bread. Her eyes opened to take in the sight before her. Looking dashing in a crisp black shirt and dark jeans, Damon Salvatore was on her doorstep, holding out a paper bag from the best bakery in town.

"Good morning," he smiled and walked right past her into the apartment.

Too tired to object to the intrusion, Elena simply shuffled over to the kitchen island and propped herself up on a bar stool.

"What are you doing here, Damon?"

"I thought I'd surprise you," he said, walking over to her espresso maker.

"You did. Mind telling me why you decided to surprise me this early in the morning? I need my beauty sleep, you know."

"Nonsense. It's humanly impossible to be more gorgeous than you already are," he said and grabbed the coffee beans off the shelf, putting them into the grinder. "I wanted to see you," he answered her question with a shrug.

"You couldn't see me at say nine o'clock?" Elena stifled a yawn.

"You let me in, didn't you?" he winked.

"Yeah, only because I was too tired to fight with you."

"See – perfect timing," he smirked.

Elena couldn't deny breakfast was delicious. She usually only had a bowl of cereal to start her day, and her body rejoiced at the fill of fresh ground coffee and moist, fluffy bread. So much so, in fact, that a small moan escaped her lips as she bit down on the still warm focaccia.

Damon's smirk grew even wider as he watched her. "Still unhappy with the wake-up call?"

Elena simply glared. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she enjoyed every minute of her breakfast.

As she spotted the morning paper he had brought, a chill went down her spine. He must have seen the tabloids, right? The picture of her in her cheerleading outfit? She had changed a lot in ten years, but if he had any recollection of the night they spent together, he would recognize the schoolgirl in the photo. Sure, she had been heavily made up that night, in an attempt to make herself look older – what high school girl didn't? – but still… Did he know who she was? Did he care? Was this why he kept pursuing her? She had to know now, or her plan would completely backfire.

"Um… so… do you read everything the papers write about you?" she said, masking her concern under the pretense of making general conversation.

"I read reviews of my movies. I have my secretary assemble a file each month. I feel it's important to keep up with popular opinion."

"What about the tabloids?"

"Ugh, hardly. That's just mindless drivel designed to bring you down. I could care less what people think about me as long as they still go see my movies. Why do you ask?"

"Oh… well, my aunt does read the tabloids, and she says you're in them quite a lot. So is everyone you associate with."

"Is that why you're having doubts? You don't want to risk ending up in the tabloids?"

Too late for that. "Something like that."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of. You're a successful writer and you have an impeccable reputation."

"And I'd like to keep it that way."

"Then go out with me."

"Excuse me? Did you not hear what I just said?"

"I heard you. You're worried about your reputation. Then let's see each other in public. Only us sneaking around – although that certainly has its perks – would draw the tabloids' attention. We take things slow – and they'll be bored within days."

"I don't know, Damon..."

"Trust me on this. I know how to work the media. I'll pick you up on Friday night. 6.30."

"What should I wear?"

"Well, I'd say come as you are," his eyes raked over her body, her robe gaping somewhat to reveal her short silk pajama shorts, "but then we'd most definitely end up in the tabloids," he winked. "I'll make reservations at Alejandro's," he said in a more businesslike tone, thereby letting her know the dress code.

"Ok," Elena said softly.

"Ok? So it's a date?" he raised his eyebrows.

"It's a date," she confirmed.

"I'll see you Friday, then," he smiled and showed himself out.

Elena walked over to the living room area and flopped down on the couch. She ran her hand through her short, curly hair – tangled from a restless night – and sighed. Everything was going according to plan. Then why did she have a knot in her stomach?

The closer she got to Friday, the antsier Elena got. She should back out. She should call him up and say she changed her mind.

On Wednesday, a letter came in the mail. Frowning, Elena ripped the envelope open and pulled out the handmade invitation. In calligraphic style, it read Bonnie Bennett and Luka Martin request the pleasure of your company at our wedding…

Elena flopped down on the couch, invitation in hand. She stared at it in disbelief. She hadn't spoken to Bonnie in years, and she was inviting her to her wedding?

Bonnie and Luka had started going out a couple of days after the party at the Salvatore mansion, and they moved out of state a couple of months after graduation.

The two girls had kept in touch for awhile, but when Bonnie announced about two years later that she was pregnant, it was as if something died inside Elena all over again. Elena tried to be happy for her old friend, but it hurt too much. So they drifted apart. That was why she was so surprised to receive the invitation. Perhaps this was Bonnie reaching out, saying she wanted her old friend back in her life.

But Elena was no longer that carefree teenager Bonnie once knew – or even the devastated girl who lost her parents during senior year.

Sighing, Elena put down the invitation on the coffee table and walked into her bedroom. She took out her old journal, sat down on the edge of her bed and opened the book to a page she hadn't revisited in years.

Dear Diary,

I don't know what to do. It's like there's this iron fist gripping my heart, squeezing out my heart's blood. I hear them fighting. Because of me.

I kept telling myself I had come down with the flu, or maybe that my body was reacting to the depression I'd been carrying around. I was too sick to go to graduation, I was too sick to get a summer job before college. At times, I thought I caught… something… that night, something that was slowly draining the life out of me. Instead, it was the opposite. Life was growing inside of me.

Aunt Jenna was with me when the doctor told me the news. I broke down completely. I stayed in my room for days, sobbing like there was no tomorrow. I refused to eat, and it wasn't until Aunt Jenna said I was harming the baby that I reluctantly started accepting the food she brought me.

Now Uncle John's home. He moved in a couple of days ago and I can hear him and Jenna yelling at each other. I told Jenna the truth about what happened, and now she's told John. He wants to press charges. Statutory rape, he calls it. Then Jenna has to remind him that I had just turned 18, and that from what I told her, it was consensual.

I am so embarrassed. I can't believe how stupid I was that night.

"At least she didn't catch something else," I hear Jenna saying.

"She's pregnant, isn't that bad enough?" I hear John yelling.

"We'll help her."

"That's beside the point! She was supposed to have a future. She was supposed to go to college. Now what? She's going to be one of those single teen moms? And he gets off scot-free?"

"Elena doesn't want him to know."

"It's his kid, too. He should pay for it. It's not like he doesn't have the money."

"He also has influence. Who's to say he won't try to sweep everything under the rug? Deny paternity? I don't want her to go through that. She's been through enough already."

"It's not right."

"It's her choice."

Elena closed the book on her memories, placing it back in the box with the rest of her mementos. The bills. The knitted booties that were never worn. The rattle that was never shaken. The nursery rhymes that were never sung.

Elena closed the drawer and pushed back the tears. Friday night was only the beginning. When she was done with Damon Salvatore, he would know what it felt like to have one's heart ripped out and stomped on.